Secrets and Suspicions
“What’s the point in waiting?” Kunaia said. “I ordered the Police to keep the Royals occupied but I can’t keep them contained forever. Meanwhile, you’re on sitting on your ass and can’t seem to do the one thing I require of you.”
“I always thought impatience was a bad habit for a politician,” the voice said. She sounded young, just as Gomati had described her, if indeed it was the same woman. Prem wondered what that zeal and energy in her eyes might look like, the fire that he’d described in her. Was she the stranger in gray, the one with the burning eyes?
Kunaia raised her fist, pounding the top of the desk so hard the floor shook and the vocalgraph hopped in place. “The little wench practically handed her head to you on a platter tonight! Not to mention she’s announced plans to march with the rest of the cattle on New Years’ day.”
“Interesting,” the voice said, sounding decidedly uninterested. “What of it?”
“Perhaps, if it’s not too inconvenient for you, you might try killing the little trollop and be done with it!”
Prem went cold, so much that her heart nearly stopped beating for just a moment. She remembered wondering if Kunaia Rao truly resented her family, but to hear Priya’s murder being discussed so openly left a lingering burn at the back of Prem’s throat. The Prime Minister’s life was suddenly balanced on the edge of one of Prem’s knives, and now it was a question as to whether she’d leave it there or cut it short for good. The idea of killing Kunaia had its advantages—Prem knew that Vati approved, but Vati didn’t really care why she killed. Priya certainly would not approve, but she’d see the logic in it eventually.
“I’ve made all the necessary preparations,” the nameless killer said. “Everything is prepared, and everything has transpired as I predicted. My plans are flawless. I’ve told you only what you need to know for your own protection, just as we discussed. I won’t accelerate my schedule now just to placate your restlessness, Minister.”
“Then we’re done here,” Kunaia said in a cold, dismissive tone. “You’ve wasted enough of my time for one night. I’ve already provided you with everything you asked for. What else do you want from me?”
“I heard your men caught one of the other sisters, but then you let her go. Why?” It was hard to determine through the metallic, ringing quality of the speaker, but Prem thought the woman’s tone sounded curious, if deliberately neutral. That intrigued Prem, so she held back on deciding whether to kill Kunaia, at least for the moment.
“That girl? She’s nothing to worry about—just a pathetic shut-in who thought to amuse herself by going off on some kind of foolish adventure.” Kunaia sniffed. “My Police caught the tart gallivanting about with my idiot son in Black Bay, of all places. I thought I’d taught him better than to go sullying himself by going to such places.” Kunaia rubbed her eyes, gave another, sharper sniff. “The eldest of the brood collected her slack-jawed sibling the next morning and they both tucked their tails in before running home. Once word got out to the papers I made sure to publicly scold my son properly, of course—the less that foolish boy consorts with any Royal slattern, the better.”
Hearing Kunaia talk about Mariander that way made Prem’s cold blood turn hot and roar in her ears. That a man like Mariander could be birthed by someone like Kunaia Rao seemed impossible, and listening to the way she talked made Prem’s jaw ache from clenching her teeth so tight.
“You should reconsider your opinion of that one,” the voice said. “That woman is Sachin, the Pureblood Killer.”
Prem stayed absolutely silent, even forgetting to breathe for a moment. That was a secret she’d coveted for a long time, but somehow it had slipped from her grasp, and now two of her most dangerous enemies knew the truth.
“She brought down the Hogenkal gang and set off a blood feud in this city that lasted for years,” the killer continued. “When it was over, most of the gangs had disbanded or went into hiding, but Sachin was still standing.” It was another mention of that damned gang war; the subject kept coming up, lingering like a sore on the roof of her mouth that refused to heal. Prem decided then that she wouldn’t kill Kunaia. Even though the thought of feeling the old bitch’s entrails sliding between her fingers made Prem smile, leaving Kunaia alive might give Prem a chance to find out who the other assassin was, and maybe even provide a chance to stop her. Kali Shodh was only two days away, and Prem needed every advantage she could get.
“Spare me,” Kunaia said, sounding bored. “I don’t care who you think she is. If the girl’s so dangerous, just collect a few more of your ilk and do with her as you see fit.”
Prem felt a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth—perhaps fearing what Kunaia might do with Prem’s secret was a little too premature. “Assassins aren’t like normal soldiers,” the voice said. “Strength of numbers means nothing to someone like Sachin. That’s why you needed someone like me—and why all the others turned your offer down.”
“Cowards and fools, the whole lot of them!”
The mysterious woman laughed. “Even killers can be patriots, Minister—Sachin is proof of that. Your new Rani hasn’t been on the throne long enough to make any serious enemies, and she’s better protected than you could have anticipated.”
“She should’ve never been Rani in the first place!” Kunaia slammed her fist on the desk again. “I won’t let all my planning fall to pieces just because some wench whose tramp of a mother couldn’t keep her legs together got in my way.” She sat back in her chair with a sigh, rubbing her mouth with one hand. “What about the old man you talked about? I was told that they were actively searching for him.”
“They were.”
“I never approved of having a loose end like that in the first place.” Kunaia straightened. “Has he been dealt with?”
“I eliminated him,” the killer said. “They found him first and he said too much, but it doesn’t matter now. Their only lead is dead. All they have left are suspicions with no proof or evidence to support them.”
“I hardly see why that’s worth celebrating.” Kunaia sounded like she wanted to spit. “Those sniveling twits have known long enough how little I thought of them and their mother. What’s to stop them from accusing me anyhow, proof or no proof?”
“Not my problem, Minister. I promised you a death by New Year’s, and as you feel the need to remind me, that’s what you paid for. I’m all you have left now. And you need me more than I could ever need someone like you.”
“Is that a threat?” Kunaia said, glaring at the vocalgraph.
“Only if you want it to be.”
The sound of footsteps outside made Prem’s heated blood freeze again in an instant. She looked over her shoulder at the door, but the person passed by without stopping. Perhaps Kunaia didn’t insist on total privacy like Prem had suspected. It reminded her of how exposed she was in that place. Perhaps leaving now was best: the sooner she returned to the Palace, the better. Then the sound of scraping claws on the wood floor made the hairs on Prem’s neck stand up again. Kunaia’s dog was staring right at her, its head raised, ears pulled back. The beast might not be able to see Prem clearly, but it could smell her, and worse than that: the beast had a Kushin inhabiting it just like Mariander’s mongoose, and now that spirit could sense her presence. Prem was getting damn tired of stumbling across familiars.
“What, who is it?” Kunaia spun around in her chair, looking towards the shadows where Prem crouched. “Who’s there?!” she called, standing up.
The kanni pushed up to all fours and began to bark, hackles up, bristling with anger and alarm. Over the barking, Prem heard the woman on the other end of the vocalgraph start to laugh. “She’s listening in, isn’t she? You’re really there, aren’t you, Sachin?! I knew you would be!” Anything else she said was lost in another fit of laughter.
Prem turned and reached for the doorknob, just in time to hear the rush of returning footsteps, and see the knob begin to turn on its own. She backed up as the door opened, a man’s voice interjected over the cacophony of noise. “Prime Minister, is something wrong?” Prem caught a glimpse of a blue coat and a Battalion soldier’s helmet.
“There’s an intruder, you idiot!” the Prime Minister shouted.
The door opened wider. For the pause of a heartbeat, the Battalion member and Prem stared at one another. Had he been any other soldier, she would’ve expected him to hesitate, but he reached for the revolver in his belt as soon as their eyes met. Even so, he was still too slow: grabbing the desk behind her with both hands for leverage, Prem kicked his hand to one side with her left foot, pinning his wrist to the doorframe just as he squeezed the trigger—three shots rang out and bullet holes splintered the floor while she felt the burn of hot powder on her toes. With her other foot she kicked him in the chest, knocking him back into the hallway. Prem hurried after him, hearing the sound of claws on the hardwood floor as the kanni hound came after her. She turned and pulled the door shut, trapping the beast inside as it barked and jumped, scratching at the barrier in its way.
The soldier found his balance and raised his gun again. Leaping off the balls of her feet, Prem spun in the air and kicked him across the face. His helmet came off and went bouncing down the hallway, rattling with a curiously-pleasant, hollow sound. The man collided with the wall and slid down to a crouch, cradling his head in one hand. Prem sprinted down the hall towards the skylight and freedom.
Kunaia was shouting through the cracked door over the sound of her dog barking: “Guards! Earn your worthless stipends and stop her!” Her voice was even more grating as a shout, and Prem almost regretted the decision to not kill her. She looked back at the sound of more footsteps, saw another Battalion soldier chasing after her, his pistol raised. She ducked behind a pedestal as he squeezed off one shot; it ricocheted off of the stone bust, spilling gray powder on her head. Prem grabbed the heavy stone sculpture in both hands and threw it at him. He dodged to one side, giving her time to pull one of her knives out from behind her back and lunge towards him.
A second shot rang out and Prem’s vision flashed with red lightning as pain shot up her left arm. She grabbed his wrist while the edge of her knife was stuck between the hammer and the frame of the man’s gun, preventing him from firing again. He tried to wrestle both weapons away from her, just an ordinary soldier doing his job—Prem had invaded his territory and he was supposed to stop her. It didn’t feel right to kill him, but his gun had four more bullets in it and she wasn’t going to give him a chance to use them.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Prem head-butted him. More red flashed behind her eyes as she connected with his nose. Blood spurted, stinging-hot against her face, but it threw his head back as she twisted the gun out of his grip. Her left arm throbbed from shoulder to wrist. She started running again, sliding her knife back into place while popping out the revolver’s cylinder, shaking the bullets and metal casings out, six sparkling off-key notes followed by the dull thump of the gun as she threw it away.
The skylight waited for her at the end of the hallway. The man she spied on earlier had stuck his head out of his office door, and they met eyes for a second before his went wide with fear and he slammed his door shut, locking it. Prem crouched down, using Vati’s power to launch herself straight up into the air. More shots rang out and she spun as she ascended, listening to the high-pitched whizzing of bullets pass by. She flipped in the air, landed on her feet, grabbed the skylight and slammed it shut before she started running again.
The moon was hanging even lower in the black sky by that time. Prem stopped behind one large generator and raised her left arm to check her injury. The machine’s great fan hummed as it spun, swallowing the sound of her shallow panting. Her sleeve was slick and soaked with blood, with a pulsing ache in the soft flesh of her arm just above the elbow: the bullet had only grazed her, just a shallow wound, but sometimes those could be the most painful. It took precious seconds to unfasten the tight button at her wrist, to roll the fabric of her sleeve up and make an impromptu binding for the injury. She stayed low as she ran after that, keeping away from the edge of the wall to avoid being spotted.
Just on the edge of hearing, Prem caught the sound of whistles being blown. Others joined in, but they were no threat to her as long as she kept moving—it would take time for word to pass along about her intrusion, precious moments that she could take advantage of. Daring to peek over the edge of the roof, she saw the Battalion patrols still marching in time, unhurried, still unaware of her presence. Favoring her left arm, Prem waited for the guards to pass and slipped over the edge of the wall, a night-blue shadow against the pale stone, clinging to the cracks in the rock face as she slid downwards. The going was slow, too slow, and Prem knew she was losing too much time. Halfway down the basalt reliefs, she heard the next set of footsteps approaching and had nowhere to go or hide, all while sticking out like a handful of thumbs.
Another whistle blew and the group of soldiers stopped in their tracks, turning around to see who raised the alarm. Prem dropped the rest of the distance to the flagstones and rolled. She found her feet and began to sprint, toes digging into the flagstones as she ran.
“Intruder!” shouted a voice behind her. “There, over there!”
Prem vaulted over the hedge, rolling across the grass and onto her hurt arm; she choked back a cry, bit down on her cheek so hard she tasted blood. Three rifle shots shattered any lingering silence the night had left, but they all went high over her head. The grass smelled raw and bitter as she pushed to her feet and kept running, having no time to care about her injury. It felt like one of her dreams, as though Vati’s presence was right behind her, ready to strike her down again, but this time it’d take more than just waking up to save herself if her pursuers caught up to her. She could see the nearest reflecting pool just up ahead—if she could reach the water, she’d be free.
“Stop!” yelled one of the men.
“Halt, or we’ll fire again!” said another.
When Prem still didn’t stop, her pursuers took those promised shots at her. One zipped over her shoulder and another missed her head, but not by much.
Prem leapt into the reflecting pool with a splash, tumbling end over end before rolling to a stop on her belly, coins ringing and scattering in all directions. The water seemed as cool as a moonlit breeze and it soaked into her clothes, soothing the fire in her left arm. She heard the footsteps of the Battalion men around her, and Prem knew their guns would be trained on her. The metallic clicks of the guns’ hammers being pulled back were loud in her ears and she looked up, staring right down the black barrel of one man’s rifle.
“Get up,” the soldier said. “And keep your hands away from those knives.”
Prem didn’t move, but took a deep, much-needed breath before she focused her eyes to find his at the other end of his weapon. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He pushed the muzzle of his rifle right between her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
She smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Too late.” The rush of the Genja, green and gray and alive, swallowed her up. Prem heard swearing and the sound of more shots, but their bullets couldn’t touch her now—they passed right though her, bouncing off the stone and metal coins and spinning away.
“Bye,” she said, giving herself to the holy river and disappearing.
Prem was spitting and swearing as she came up out of Vati’s old pool in the palace garden. She was angry, mostly at herself for almost getting caught, but stopped when she saw who awaited her, seated on a bench near the water’s edge: Priya sat with both hands clasped in her lap, looking unsure of herself, which wasn’t something Prem was used to seeing.
“Have you been out here the whole time?” Prem said, voice muffled before pulling the soaked mask down to her neck and pushing her hood back.
“Not the whole time,” Priya answered. “I just…” The young Rani pulled her coat tighter around herself. “It just felt wrong for you to come back here alone.”
“What if I came in through the front gate?” Prem stepped out of the pool, pushing wet hair out of her face. “You would’ve been waiting out here all night.”
“You always come back in this way.” Priya stared at the pool for a moment before looking away. Prem thought she saw Priya shiver. “I wish you wouldn’t. I hate this place.”
“Why?” Prem needed to tell Priya what she’d heard, but her sister’s reaction stopped her. “Stop talking like that, it’s annoying. You’re acting like an idiot.”
“This place is evil.”
“This place is nothing but an old pond under a sandalwood tree.” Prem’s arm still ached, but the wound was closed and healed now, her flesh woven back together through the potent power of the water and Vati’s magic. She rotated her shoulder, flexed the pained muscle, massaging it in her fingers. “Let it go, Pri. You were young and made a stupid mistake—it happens.”
“But look at what’s happened to you!” Priya said, sounding near to tears all of a sudden.
“I said that I didn’t want to talk about this.” Prem scowled.
The Rani stood. It looked to Prem like her younger sister was trying to find her fire again, calling on the same bravado from before. “Look what you’ve become. You…you’ve turned into a—’’
“A what? A monster? A murderer?” Prem gave her sister a long look. “We are what we are, Pri. Wishing that things were different is for children.”
“I was going to say ‘a stranger.’” Priya stepped up in front of Prem, face to face once more. Prem wondered how alike they might’ve turned out had that hot summer’s day and Priya’s fateful swim not happened ten years before. “There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t think about it, Prem. About how it was all my fault. That I’m to blame for what happened to you.”
“So blow yourself from a cannon or stand an elephant on your head,” Prem said, reaching back to wring a bit of water out of her hair. “Whatever will get you to stop this mental flagellation of yours.”
“Hey!” Priya puffed up again, which was better in Prem’s eyes than acting afraid or despondent. “Weren’t you the one saying that ‘I have to find a way’ to live with what happens because ‘I’m the Rani?’ What happened to that, Prem?”
“I did say that.” Prem nodded, ignoring her immediate instinct to shut down in the face of Priya’s scolding. “And you’re the Rani now. Back then, you were an eight-year-old cry-baby. There’s a difference. Damnit, Pri, give it a rest.”
“But—!”
Prem gestured, a frustrated motion with both hands, eyes widening for effect. “Priya! Do we really have to talk about this tonight, of all nights? I just came back from listening in on people plotting to murder you, and this is what you want to waste our time with? Ten years of guilt that you need to vomit everywhere?”
Priya hugged her arms around herself and looked down at her feet. Prem did the same; she was dry by that time, and they were standing in a pool of the water she’d sluiced off of herself.
With a sigh, Prem pushed past her own discomfort, taking hold of her sister’s hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. It was the truth, and Prem hoped she sounded sincere. “You became a target the moment you took the throne. You can’t let your emotions affect you like this now.” Prem wasn’t used to playing the role of comforter. The words tasted like a mouthful of dry rice, uncomfortable and strange as they scraped against her teeth.
“I hurt Preet and Pranay tonight,” Priya said, still looking down. “And I almost killed you ten years ago. It’s my fault and I have to live with that, like you said. But I promised myself I wouldn’t ever put my family in danger again.”
“And you’re going to break that promise.” Prem grabbed Priya’s wrists, gave her sister another hard shake, enough to make her look up; Priya looked startled or surprised by the vigor in Prem’s voice. “These people—Preet, Pranay, everyone here, even me—we serve at your pleasure now. Don’t you ever let your regrets cloud your judgment: ‘when you can’t dance, don’t blame the floor,’ remember?”
Priya gave a little smile. “One of Mother’s favorites.”
“We’re here now. If you constantly second-guess everything you do, Kunaia and her toadies will eat you alive. Gods, you know that better than me—you’re the family politician, remember?”
Priya snorted. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“You can’t take back the past, but don’t blame it for what happens in the future. Wake up, open your eyes; be the Rani you’re supposed to be. I know you can do it.” Prem patted Priya’s cheek. “Clear?”
“Clear.” Priya blew out a long breath, puffing out both cheeks, before showing an embarrassed smile. “Thanks, Prem. I’m still sorry for what happened, but…I’ll do better. For all of us.”
“I know you will.” That was a lie, but only a little one. Prem was still hopeful, though.
Priya took a hard breath, and Prem saw a change come over her: the young woman’s eyes looked a little clearer, prettier, and her face became composed and strong again. “Now—what did you find out?”
“That we were right.” Remembering what the Prime Minister said, the way she spoke so casually and dismissively about Priya’s plotted death, and about their mother, and everything else, all of it rankled in Prem’s stomach. It still made her angry, but now Prem had something to focus on, to hone and sharpen that anger, give it a keener edge. She took Priya’s arm, led her towards the stairs that would allow them entrance back into the palace. “Kunaia’s in on it, but we can’t prove anything.”
“At least you confirmed our suspicions,” Priya said. She sounded remarkably calm for someone discussing her own presumed murder. Prem was proud of her for that.
They returned to their private balcony, which felt cool and comfortable in the evening air. Prem fell into Preet’s stuffed chair and let her head fall back, closing her eyes for a moment. “Gods, it feels good just to sit down.” After a moment, she looked across the table to her sister. “Any improvement for Preet or Pranay?”
Priya shook her head. “I haven’t heard, but that’s probably a good thing. It means they’re still asleep, I hope.”
“How about you? Did you sleep?”
“Me?” Priya laughed. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, asking me that. Once you left, I didn’t bother trying. I knew I couldn’t rest until you came home.”
Prem nodded. “It was still worth the risk. And I found out some very useful information.”
“Oh?”
“Gomati told us the truth: our assassin is a woman. I overheard Kunaia talking to her, and she didn’t sound very old to me.”
Priya’s eyes widened. “Did Kunaia say her name?”
“No, but I didn’t expect her to. Either Kunaia doesn’t know the assassin’s name, or she doesn’t care to know it. Even if she had said her name, it likely would’ve been fake, anyway. Whatever they’re plotting, the attack’s going to come by the New Year’s festival, that’s all but certain—Kunaia practically inked it on her calendar. You should cancel your plans for that day, make some kind of excuse.”
“Why? So someone can sneak in here and smother me in my bed?”
Prem frowned. “That’s what the Guard is for, Pri. You’re too used to walking around alone by yourself. You can’t get away with that for much longer.”
“Should I walk around in chainmail too, Prem?” Priya twisted up her mouth, shook her head. “There’s only so many ways to protect me here. And if our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want to get this out in the open? Let’s get it over with. I can’t live the rest of my life locked in the lavatory.”
Prem wanted to lie, to say something that would convince Priya that hiding was the better choice, so much that it boiled hot in her belly, but finally she nodded. Another part of her knew that Priya was right, and that Priya wouldn’t be the one fighting—that was the Guard’s job, and Preet’s and Pranay’s, and hers as well. Priya was the prey, but Prem and those like her had to see to it that the killer never finished the hunt. She wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was, so she didn’t say anything.
“I trust you,” Priya said.
“That’s probably a mistake,” Prem replied.
“And Preet.”
“That’s definitely a mistake.”
“Prem!” Priya huffed, scowling for a moment, but eventually it melted into a half-smile. “I also trust Pranay. And Kurien. And the rest of the Guard. People will be watching to see how I react to this threat, especially because it’s the first New Years since Father died.” Prem felt another dull pang when Priya said it, like not thinking about it meant it wasn’t really true. “I know it’s a risk, but if there’s a chance to turn Kunaia’s plans against her…” Priya’s voice trailed off. It was a brave face she put on, and Prem was proud of her again.
“I just hope that your need to show how brave you are doesn’t get you killed.”
Priya smiled, but it faltered, failed. “Me too.”
“Are you sure that you’re ready?” Part of Prem hoped Priya would still back out at the last second, somehow.
Priya nodded. “Yes.”
Prem sighed as she picked up the mouthpiece of Preet’s hookah, sliding her short fingernails along the length of the hose that she coiled in her lap. “Something else about this mystery woman: she knows who I am. Who I really am.” It was a deliberate choice of words—am instead of was. She’d been Sachin for so long, and reclaiming that identity again felt meaningful, somehow.
The young Rani sat up straighter. “Really? Is that bad?”
“It certainly isn’t good. Prem the Mari and Sachin the Assassin might resemble each other, but looks can be deceiving.” Prem laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I never told anyone in my old life about who I was, except when I felt I could trust that secret wouldn’t leak out.”
“I guess it got out anyhow.”
Prem thought back over what she’d heard, about how the other assassin talked about her. “It felt like she knew I’d be there. I don’t know… It was like she wanted me to hear their plans. She even talked about the blood feud, that damn gang war that keeps coming up over and over.” Prem slammed a fist against the armrest. “What does it mean?”
Priya moved closer, took the seat next to Prem’s chair. “Well, you said that you were there for the feud—what happened?”
Prem closed her eyes, pressing her lips so tight between her teeth that a hard breath would make them bleed. Her fingernails left small, measured striations across of both palms. “I’ve never wanted to tell anyone about that, Pri.”
Priya reached over, rested a hand on top of Prem’s. Prem didn’t pull away. “Do you think…maybe you could talk about it now? Just to me?”
Prem opened one eye, giving Priya a long look through her lashes. “I don’t know. I told Pranay a little about what happened. Can you keep a secret better than Pray can?”
Her sister blinked, opened her mouth, closed it again. The light was low, but Prem got the impression that Priya was blushing. “It’ll stay just between us. I promise.”
For a moment, Prem closed her eyes again and thought about the past, as deep and exhaustively as she had in a very long time. Even years later, those were some of the rawest, clearest memories she had of her time away from home.
“Are you afraid that I’ll judge you?” Priya’s voice was softer still. “Or of what the others would think if we knew the whole story?”
Prem smiled, but there was no mirth in it. “Not exactly.” When she opened her eyes again, Prem could see the ceiling overhead stained in shadow, with sharp lateral lines of blue, green and gold, but what she saw beyond it was still fresh in her memory. “The Hogenkal…they called themselves ‘the Company,’ handling their list of crimes just like a business. They dabbled in lots of things: underground banking, counterfeiting, drug trafficking, prostitution, assassinations, money laundering—all the usual offenses.”
“How did you end up there?” Priya said. “If it’s okay to ask, that is.”
“Vati made me go there. The Hogenkal paid for wet work. I guess he thought it was safer for me to ‘learn the trade’ if I had some kind of protection, I think. I proved capable enough that they kept me around for other jobs.”
“I’m sorry—‘the trade?’”
“Murder, Pri. I murdered people.” Prem gave her sister another long look. “Remember?”
“Oh, right.” Priya coughed, shifting in her seat. “Sorry. Go on.”
“The Hogenkal’s leader was named Nivas, the youngest grandson of the original founder. He was already old when I met him.” Prem wrinkled her nose and fought to keep her face neutral. “He was a forceful, ego-driven man with a personality to match. His gang seemed more like a cult: they hung on his every word, and would do anything he asked.” Her tone turned dark as she fought back a sharp, nauseating rush of disgust. “But Nivas also had an unhealthy interest in little girls, little boys—anyone young enough to catch his eye. He was insatiable. It’s a wonder he had any time or energy left to run his gang.”
“Did he ever… Did you have to…?” Prem watched her sister physically squirm in her seat, sounding uncertain of how to ask such questions, yet compelled to ask them anyhow.
“Once.” Prem’s voice was flat, empty, but there was still a lingering spark of loathing in her voice, one she’d kept burning for so many years. “There were other children in the gang, some of them my age, and I had a reputation that usually scared people away. But there was a girl named Chanda. She liked me, for some reason.” A small smile came unbidden to Prem’s face, lasting for a moment. “She was so impulsive, so bright and chipper every morning, no matter what happened. She was a lot like you, actually.” Priya smiled, too. When she did, Prem’s faltered, but held. “We became very close. I even told her once about what happened in the Garden—about the demon abducting me. I felt safe with Chanda, like we were just a couple of normal kids…whatever that means.”
“What happened to her?”
A moment passed before Prem spoke again. “Nivas happened. Chanda started sleeping a lot less in the dormitory, and I found out Nivas was calling her up to his room. I also started noticing other things about her: fancy clothes, jewelry, a new doll. He fed her gourmet food and expensive sweetmeats. She relished every little gift Nivas lavished on her—Chanda was as enamored with him as any girl her age could be.”
“You weren’t…” Priya worked her jaw, trying to form just the right word. “…jealous of her, were you?”
Prem didn’t hesitate: “No, although some of the other kids were. Then…one early morning I found her back in bed much earlier than usual. She had bruises on her face, as well as a bloody nose and some other injuries I’d rather not talk about.” Prem was grateful when Priya didn’t speak, didn’t frown or react—her little sister sat there in silence, staying very still, waiting for Prem to continue. “She was in that bed recovering for days. I finally got her to tell me what happened, about how Nivas lost his temper that night and beat her half to death. She kept saying it was her fault, but I didn’t believe it. So I decided I was going to hurt him, just like he hurt her.” Those familiar events played themselves out in Prem’s mind again, just as they had almost every day for almost a decade. “Nivas wanted me as soon as he saw me—I realized that later—but he held back, probably too afraid of how a demon-possessed lover might react once he got too…amorous.”
Priya gave a small shudder.
“So I put my plan in action: I played coy for him, teasing his patience, wearing out his self-control—what little he had, anyway. I did everything I could to charm him, lull him into letting his guard down.” As Prem continued, Priya sat up in her seat. “Finally, he cracked. He called me up to his room one night, just like I knew he would. But he was stronger than he looked, and…I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was.” Prem squeezed her knees with both hands, having run out of words, unable and unwilling to explain further.
“Oh, Prem.” Priya covered her mouth with both hands, disgust and horror in her eyes.
“When it was…over…I got so angry. I was so close to him that I could taste the rot on his breath and smell his oily taint…so I grabbed a cheese knife and gutted him like a carp for his men to find the next morning.”
Priya gagged. “Gods!”
Prem sniffed. “He wasn’t my first kill, but he was the first one that mattered. I was ten…I think.” She twisted up her mouth, letting out a long breath. It felt bittersweet to finally tell the story, all of it, but the sting of Priya’s reaction was an unwelcome distraction. “I heard later that the Hogenkal said I was an Idrayani honey pot—a piece of bait working for the other side, meant to entice Nivas into letting his guard down. After that, their feud got real hot, real quick. It lasted for years, and half of the gangs in the Bay got wrapped up in it before things calmed down. I got used to sleeping with one eye open for a long time.”
Prem forced herself to watch as Priya looked away, closed her eyes and shuddered again. It was a reaction she was used to, and she couldn’t blame Priya for it. She kept staring until Priya opened her eyes again.
The Rani took a deep breath. “I wanted the truth, so…” The youngest sister swallowed. “What happened to your friend?”
“I lost her.” Prem looked down at her hands. “I managed to sneak into the Hogenkal mansion a couple of weeks later, but I couldn’t find Chanda. I searched everywhere, looked anywhere I could think of, kept watch for months. I expect she was killed as retaliation against me, for what I did. I never did find her.”
“I’m sorry, Prem.”
Prem’s smile was as dry as her long-broken heart. “Sorry won’t bring her back, will it?”
“Do you have…more stories like that one?”
“You wouldn’t believe how many.”
Priya lunged for Prem, wrapping both arms around the elder sister’s neck. Prem tensed up, but took a breath and waited for the panicked beating of heart in her chest to slow down. A moment later Priya pulled back, sniffing, wiped a tear from the corner of each eye with her fingertips. “I know, I know,” she said, as if expecting Prem to start scolding her again. “I know what you said about regrets, but…I didn’t know your life was like that.”
Prem smiled, shrugged, because what else could she do? “It’s not what any of us wanted to happen, but it happened. You became Rani, I broke Vati’s control, made it home again… I just want to find out what I came home for.”
“What do you think it was for, Prem?” Priya took a seat right on the edge of the table in front of Prem’s chair, hands folded tight in her lap, leaning in close, her beautiful eyes lit up with wonder, need and unshed tears. “Was it important? Was it just so you could come back to us? Was there something else you had to do?”
“How should I know?” Prem spread her hands, throwing her head back and scrubbed her face in frustration. “Father died, and then Mother…when she…” Her mouth was bone-dry. She licked her lips, pressed her swollen tongue against her teeth. “I just wanted to see them one last time. Now that’ll never happen.” Prem looked out at the garden, at the thick nest of shadows below. “When I realized that, I had this sudden, crazy need to see all of you again—you specifically. I felt certain that you were in some kind of danger, that you might die just like they did. That’s why I came back.” Prem had fought so long to keep the past to herself, even managed to keep most of the truth from Pranay, but now she’d confessed almost everything to Priya—the truth was out, at last. She wanted to feel something, some sort of relief, like talking would lift all of the weight off her shoulders for good. But Prem was more conflicted and anxious than ever, as if all of the pent-up emotions she’d contained for so long were vibrating under her skin, ready to break her into pieces.
Priya sniffed, rubbing her hand under her nose as a child might. “I’m going to hug you again if you keep this up.”
“Don’t,” Prem said, pointing a finger to stop her sister. She covered her face, closed her eyes and groaned. “Gods, what am I doing? Why am I even talking about this?”
“Because I asked you to!” Prem knew her sister was urging her on, trying to keep the conversation going. “Talking can’t hurt anything, right?”
“It’s just so pointless. I only know I can’t keep going on like this, always feeling like I’m someone different in here than I am out there. Sachin doesn’t bother talking about things—she’s strong, quick on her feet, never lets anyone intimidate or frighten her away from a fight. Prem’s none of those things. She’s not a fighter. She’s weak, she’s awkward and confused, and doesn’t know where she fits in. She’s helpless.” Prem spat the word like a curse.
Priya tilted her head. “You talk about yourself like you’re two different people.” She poked Prem hard in one shoulder. “From what I’ve heard, Mariander Neru doesn’t seem to think you’re any of those things.”
Prem didn’t like Priya’s mention of Mariander. She looked away, confused and torn over the feelings that came over her at the sound of the man’s name. She thought of wanting to kiss him. She thought of her bath, went hot all over, and blew out a frustrated breath before anymore of that particular memory came back. “Well, he doesn’t know anything. None of you do, and after everything that happened—!”
“Prem, listen to yourself.” The feeling of Priya’s hands on her shoulders made Prem look up into those stunning, dark eyes. “Yes, you’ve had a terrible life. But you’re not a slave to what happened. You were strong enough to beat that thing inside of you. You came home. And yes, Mother and Father are…they’re gone.” Priya blew out a hard breath, the gold ring in her nose twinkling in the moonlight. “But they have each other, a new life together. You have this life now, with the rest of us. You’re Prem and you’re Sachin…whatever that means. Remember what you said—‘you can’t take back the past, don’t blame it for what happens in the future?’ Eh? Maybe?” Priya showed a tiny smile, reluctant yet heartfelt at the same time.
Something in the way Priya said those words broke through Prem’s frustration of trying—and failing—to balance her conflicted desires with the new expectations she’d placed upon herself. Prem stared, her mouth half-open, but unable to speak.
It couldn’t be as simple as Priya made it out to be.
“From what I know about him, Mariander sounds like a good, decent man.” Priya pulled her hands away, giving Prem room to breathe and relax again. “After what you’ve been through, you deserve to finally have some good, decent people in your life.”
Prem’s mood suddenly turned foul again. She grunted, started to push up to her feet. “This is a waste of time.”
“No, no!” Priya reached out, taking Prem’s hands. “I’m sorry, I am. I’m tired, and I’m talking too much. This is just…new for me. It’s new for everyone. You do have a place here, Prem. We need you here. I need you here. You’ll stay, won’t you? Please?”
The look on Priya’s face tugged at Prem’s heartstrings, no matter how desiccated and black they were. She sighed, squeezed her sister’s fingers, pulled her hands away. “Fine. But, enough talk about the past. Remembering it all is so exhausting.”
“Good! I’m glad that’s settled,” Priya said. She clasped her hands together.
Prem pointed again. “I mean it.”
“Right, right.” Priya cleared her throat. “You were talking about…” She made a circular gesture with one hand while looking up. “…something about Kunaia’s assassin, wasn’t it?”
Prem felt the tension in her back and shoulders fade with a long, slow breath. It was a relief to focus on something she knew how to handle, something she could prepare for. “You should’ve heard her voice, Pri, the way that woman talked about me. It was almost…like a prayer.” She picked her head up, rubbing at her neck. “She knows who I am, and that’s important. I just wish I knew why.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Priya yawned, smothering her words behind one hand for a moment. “I’m sorry, Prem. Honest. But, I think I’m finally ready for bed.” She stood, stretching her arms over her head. “Is that alright?”
The question was so unexpected that Prem laughed. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” The Rani extended a hand, and Prem took it, standing up. “Was there anything else?”
Prem paused for a moment as she put the hookah’s mouthpiece down. “I think that Kunaia might be a witch.”
That stopped the Rani in the midst of another stretch, and her eyes went wide. “What? Are you serious?!” Her voice even squeaked in surprise.
“Perhaps she’s a mantrik, but I’m not sure when she’d have time to study any mantras. She’s too busy plotting new ways to overthrow the monarchy in between sessions of Parliament.”
Priya pursed her lips. “Politics and magic generally don’t mix all that well. Parliament keeps trying to pass a law barring magicians from holding public office—except it keeps mysteriously dying before it can get out of committee.” The Rani showed off a smug grin. “It could be useful information to know, at least.”
“Maybe,” Prem said, shrugging. She didn’t understand politics any more than Preet did. “Both she and her son are in the habit of collecting Kushin-possessed pets: Mariander’s carrying around an enthralled mongoose, and I’d have gotten away a lot easier if not for Kunaia’s dog waking up and sensing where I was hiding.”
“What?!” Priya grabbed onto Prem’s arm. “She saw you? What happened?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Prem pulled out of her sister’s grasp and walked to the door.
“Prem—’’
“It’s fine, Pri,” Prem said, turning around, raising both hands to quiet the other sister. “Honest. I’m here, aren’t I? Let’s just say that Kunaia’s going to be looking over her shoulder for awhile.”
Priya looked doubtful, but Prem’s lie was either convincing enough to soothe her sister’s complaints, or Priya didn’t think it worthwhile to keep arguing. “Did she recognize you?”
Prem didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and stared back without a word. If Kunaia was as smart as her reputation led on, she might guess who paid her a late-night visit, but Prem wasn’t going to give Priya something else to worry about.
Now it was Priya’s turn to raise her hands in surrender. “Fine, I believe you. Besides, Kunaia won’t say anything, if I know her—she wouldn’t dare to even consider the idea of someone getting the better of her.”
“Kali Shodh will be here in a couple of days,” Prem said. “We’ll find out if we can get the better of her soon enough.”