The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Epilogue Bhumika

It was Padma who told her about the new river cutting through the forest.

Her daughter was still small. She was almost grown now—whip-clever with a mind like steel—but she would always be small. A knife of a girl , Khalida muttered once, and Bhumika could not dispute it. But Padma had never let her small stature stop her from seeking trouble. She often wandered alone into the forest, or in Hiranaprastha itself. Bhumika did not have the heart to stop her, and had never tried.

Besides, her daughter was uniquely blessed with friends. Lord Ashish, new to his title but wise with his wealth, and Pallavi, one of the youngest and canniest warriors Ganam had chosen to mentor now that he was in charge of staffing and training Bhumika’s personal guard. And Rukh, of course—Padma’s brother in all but blood, who ran the mahal like he owned it, argued with Ahiranya’s ruling council for hours on end, and still climbed trees with Padma when she demanded it.

She watched Padma slink out of the trees and run toward Bhumika. Her long braid whipped about in the air behind her.

“Mama,” she said. “The river runs through the bower.”

“Does it?”

Padma nodded sharply. “And there was someone there—a woman,” she said. “She asked me to get you.”

There were often people seeking her out. She was only one of Ahiranya’s ruling council, but there were people who still valued the old ways of temple elders and called her High Elder still.

The crown mask lay in a chest by her bedside, and sometimes she would unwrap it and remember those days, seeking magic on its surface. Nothing ever answered her.

So she expected nothing unusual when she nodded, and told Padma to find herself something to eat, and made her own way toward the bower of bones.

In the time since the yaksa, Ahiranya had settled into its bones—sometimes literally.

Graves had been dug here for the mask-keepers, and the souls who’d drunk waters broken from the source, for the sake of Ahiranya. There were wishes written now on the ribbons in the bower of bones. Wishes for a peaceful future. For good harvest. The yaksa were gone, but the Ahiranyi knew themselves and worshipped the earth still.

Bhumika stood beneath the bower’s leaves and looked. There, at the edge of the bower, lay a silver stream, water rippling over rock. And in the water stood a woman who was all flowers.

Bhumika’s heart froze.

She had seen yaksa. She had seen the skin of her loved ones worn by monsters. She feared—a deep and terrible fear—that she was seeing the same curse again.

But then the woman made of leaves and flowers was gone, and the woman who stood before her was Priya. Just Priya, with her dark skin and easy smile, her pin-straight hair and squared shoulders. Priya, who’d always loved too much and too tenderly, who’d died and still found a way to say goodbye.

“Bhumika,” she said. Her smile was shaky. Her eyes familiar brown. She hadn’t aged at all. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I know—I’ve been gone a long time.”

Bhumika could not speak. A trick, a yaksa trick.

“I don’t know how long I can be here, standing in front of you,” said Priya. “I’m… not like they were. The yaksa.” She held her arms wide. “Didn’t you wonder why the trees stayed so strange in Ahiranya? Why they seem to hear you? Maybe you don’t know, but the world isn’t like that for people who aren’t at least once-born. There’s still a little power left, and it moves through me.” She lowered her head. Raised her chin. “The rot isn’t fading on its own, you know. It’s tiring work.”

Bhumika stepped forward. One stumbling step. Another.

She threw her arms around her sister.

“Priya,” she said brokenly, tears in her eyes. “Priya, how could you have left me for so long?”

Priya’s arms surrounded her.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re a monster for leaving.”

“I’m a monster generally.” Her grip tightened. “I love you too, Bhumika.”

Slowly, they untangled, and Priya looked at her smiling, her eyes just as teary as Bhumika’s.

“I’m not alone,” said Priya. “And neither are you.”

“I’m not alone,” Bhumika agreed, voice thick. “And you…?”

Priya’s smile deepened.

“I never thought I could have her,” Priya said. “But I have her. She has me. We’re going to see the world. It may take lifetimes.” She touched a hand to Bhumika’s and took a step back. The sunlight, dappled by leaves, shone through her.

“I’ll see you again,” Priya said. “Tell Padma to eat more, will you? Our little grandma’s too small by half. And tell Rukh—tell Rukh I’m proud of him. I always will be.”

“I will,” Bhumika said weakly. And when Priya vanished, she slowly sank to her knees.

Kneeling in the grass. Dappled light on her shoulders. She heard footsteps behind her. Her daughter’s silvery, light tread. Her husband’s heavier footsteps.

“Bhumika,” Jeevan said, his voice low and concerned. “Are you well?”

She exhaled, a smile on her mouth. Tears in her eyes. She’d wipe them away soon enough, but not yet. Not yet.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”