The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Chapter 38 Malini

MALINI

Rao’s arrival was a welcome relief and the first surprise that had brought her joy in a long, long time. She greeted him herself on the mahal’s grand marbled bridge, standing beneath a parasol held by an attendant, a smile on her face as he lowered himself from his chariot and bowed to her. It did not even bother her as much as she had expected to see Sima still on the chariot he’d left, doing her very best not to be noticeable.

“I am glad to see you, Prince Rao.”

“And I you, Empress. Please forgive me for rudeness but—I must see you alone.” There was a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. A fierceness. “It is very, very urgent.”

She examined the stone, turning it back and forth in her hands.

It was just black stone, but it felt unlike any other stone she’d held before. Oddly cold. Like ice—though she knew it was not.

She winced as she lowered it back to the table. Her chest ached oddly, a twinge along the rope-knot of her healed scar.

“You didn’t see the way to the mine?”

“No,” Rao said. “I was blindfolded. I’m sure he also took me a winding way, so that I won’t be able to recall the route by sense memory either.”

She nodded, thoughtful.

“So this kai wants land. An ambitious man, is he?”

“He wanted the Lal Qila at first,” said Rao. “But he’ll accept a portion of Dwarali soil instead.”

“He still demands a great deal. But if this stone does as he claims, of course he will have it.”

“He sent one of his sisters to negotiate on his behalf. She remains with some of my men beyond Srugna’s borders. She can bargain for him. He’s promised that her word is his bond.”

Relief was coursing through Malini, far too early.

“Does this heart’s shell have any worth against the rot?” Malini asked.

“They didn’t know,” said Rao. “There was no rot on their land. Not yet.”

“Then we will take it to the Srugani fields and see what it does to them. If it serves in the fields and in battle, then the kai will have all he wants,” said Malini. “You did well, Rao.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “We traveled hard, Malini. I… I will be glad for rest, if you’ll allow it.”

She wanted to ask him if he was well now. Healed. But the question would not leave her lips. It was, after all, absurd. Of course he was not. She was not.

“Yes, rest. We’ll test this heart’s shell,” she said instead. “If it’s of use, I’ll begin my bargaining with the kai’s sister.”

Malini had her opportunity almost immediately.

There were rituals to an imperial visit to a Parijatdvipan court. But these were not normal times, and Malini had chosen not to indulge in them. She had come to support King Lakshan in a time of crisis, she assured him. Multiple feasts and dances and hunting trips were not required and were certainly not wanted.

When he held court, she did not take his throne, or raise her own throne above his. Instead, when he sat upon the raised platform of his throne, on a silk knotwork cushion with rose-salt incense burning in alcoves behind him, she sat on her own cushion to his far left, surrounded by her personal guard and by her generals.

She was glad she had come here today for his audience with his courtiers. It allowed her to delve even deeper into the woes of Srugna. The growing panic, and the ever-depleting state of their coffers was on full display. It also helped her understand how they could be helped: the food and weapon supplies that would need to be diverted to them. The soldiers, in great numbers, that would need to be funneled to the border with Ahiranya. The ones she had brought with her would not be enough. She would need to leave Prakash here to organize what was needful.

She was listening closely to a report on Srugna’s eastern farming villages when there were a tumult of noise at the grand arched entrance of the hall. It had no gates or doors to bar shut, and no curtains, so there was nothing to impede Malini’s view. She turned her head and watched as a handful of Srugani warriors—one of them clearly barely a child, for all that he had a mace hefted at his side—demanding entry. Two of the courtiers of King Lakshan were trying to dissuade them. The voices of the warriors rose, but the boy—and only the boy—remained silent. The others were ringed around him in an obviously protective circle.

“If they are not allowed entry, bring the boy to me later,” Malini said quietly, turning just slightly to speak into Prakash’s ear. He murmured his agreement.

The noise was not relenting, only growing. With a darting, near-panicked look at Malini, Lakshan finally raised a hand, palm out. The sound quelled.

“Bring my warriors forward,” he said in his rumbling voice. “They may speak.”

They all walked forward onto the circle of carnelian-flecked marble where petitioners were always bidden to stand.

They bowed together, low to the ground, then stood.

One of the older warriors nudged the boy forward. “Speak, lad,” he urged.

“M-my king,” the boy managed to say, his voice reed thin. His gaze darted about the court and fixed briefly on Malini. He was clearly overwhelmed, unfamiliar with the grandness of a highborn court. “I…”

“This boy,” one of the other warriors said, stepping in when the boy’s voice trailed to overwhelmed silence, “is the only survivor of a patrol along the border with Ahiranya.”

He was young to be a warrior, and young for such a dangerous duty. Circumstances were more dire than Malini had first judged them to be.

“I saw something on the border,” the boy said. At first his voice was a whisper, then stronger, as he clenched his fists, raised his head, and found his courage. “She had others with her. People like her with magic in them. And they… they entered Srugna. We tried to stop them, but we couldn’t. They’re in our country.”

A rising murmur of discontent swelled in the room.

Malini leaned forward. In a voice that was clear and sharp and cut through the swell of noise like a knife, she said, “Describe her.”

The boy looked at her, startled. But he did as she’d asked.

“Not tall,” he said. “Not… I thought she was a child, but she wasn’t. And she—she had flowers on her.”

It was not a lot of information, but Malini did not need more. She knew the truth in her bones.

He’d seen Priya.

“King Lakshan,” Malini said. “I have brought my people to help you. Let my generals speak to your warriors and assist you in facing this terrible threat.”

King Lakshan gave his assent and his thanks.

As Prakash moved forward to gather the warriors, Narayan leaned forward to speak into her ear.

“Low Prince Ashutosh has offered his liegemen,” he said. “Seasoned warriors, well trained. They are trustworthy men. I will send them to test your stone against this threat, Empress, if you allow it.”

“Yes.” As he rose, she continued. “Narayan.”

He stopped and turned to listen to her voice.

“Impress upon them my orders,” she said. “If they capture someone with the magic of Ahiranya—be they yaksa or mortal—I want them alive. If the stone works, a knife through an arm or leg should hold a prisoner well enough.”

“Alive,” he repeated. Almost disbelieving. He did not ask her why, but she read the question in his eyes.

“Dead men cannot tell us what lies at Ahiranya’s heart or fuels its strength,” she said softly. “And I find more and more that I must know what the Ahiranyi are capable of and how I can stop them.”