Confrontations
“Mari Prem?“ Kurien’s voice had a metallic tinge to it as it came out of the car’s speaking tube. “We’re here.”
“About time,” Prem said to herself once the tube closed. After an insufferable car ride, her stomach was a tangled, desiccated knot. She smothered a very unwelcome belch behind her hand, twisted up her mouth, turned her head and coughed. Then, taking a deep breath, Prem opened the door and stepped out into the morning sunshine.
Parliament House looked even more impressive and ostentatious in the light of day. The sun had only risen an hour earlier, but the air was already full of the sound of puttering engines and honking horns as cars and busses left puffs of dust and vapor behind them. The traffic was a constant, rolling wall of steel, copper, brass and wood circling around the building, with bespectacled diplomats riding in the back of expensive boilercars, taxi drivers dropping off and picking up passengers, and the ever-present velocipede riders cutting their way through the moving rows of vehicles like shears through reams of silk. Off in the distance, Prem saw dirigibles landing on the wide lawn north of the building, and a steady stream of foot traffic coming and going. The Parliamentary Police oversaw all of it, blowing whistles and directing traffic.
After her nighttime visit, the Honored Battalion had stepped up in a new show of force: they were everywhere, armed and dressed in full regalia. If Prem had to guess, it seemed like their numbers were twice as strong, at least. Even the reflecting pools were under guard now—that last part amused her immensely.
Prem could feel the morning heat through her sandals, radiating up from the cobblestones. She needed to blend in, to look like any other Gilded resident paying Parliament a visit, which meant a change from her usual wardrobe. Her anarkali dress was bright green with a gold hem and matching stitching. While the garment was too fancy for her tastes, she wore a short-sleeved tunic and serviceable pair of thigh-length culottes hidden underneath. Her hair hung loose to her bare shoulders. The only thing that clashed with her outfit was a slender belt with brass studs about her waist, and a long dagger with an ivory hilt on her hip.
“I feel practically naked,” she said, grumbling.
“‘You shouldn’t try to change a tiger’s stripes,’ you know.” Kurien climbed down from the driver’s seat and pulled up his driving goggles with one hand. He still wore his injured arm in a sling, but had insisted on being the one to escort her to Parliament.
“Have you been talking to my sisters again?”
“Also, a proper Gilded lady would let her chauffeur open the car door for her.” Kurien’s lopsided grin took the sting out of his teasing.
Prem frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door, Kurien.”
“That’s true, Mari, but a Gilded lady cares more about what she is than what she does.” He winked at her. “Shall I think of some more bits of advice for you to take advantage of in the future?”
“Pass, thank you.”
He looked across the crowded street, scanning the crowd of blue-coated guards. “You’re sure you want to go through with this? I never saw you as the type to go into politics, if I might say so.”
Coming back to that place already was a gamble. More than that, it was stupid, and Prem knew it. But it still felt like the right decision—this was where she felt she needed to go, so this was where she would go. “There’s something I need to do here. Wait for me, will you?”
“Just make sure you come back,” he said with a grin as he patted her arm. “You look nice, by the way. I hope the Deputy appreciates the effort.”
Prem blinked in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then she turned away, feeling her cheeks go hot while walking to the edge of the curb and waiting for the policeman directing traffic to blow his whistle and urge her to cross. She even pushed some of her hair up over her ear, wondered if she should’ve rouged her cheeks a bit.
The doors to the Parliamentary Police headquarters were draped in banners of blue and gold, matching the flags flying overhead. Rows of deep blue cars and buses were parked nearby, shining in the sun. Prem walked between the thick columns, right past a pair of Battalion members who stood at attention. They never even looked at her as she went up the shaded steps and through the opened doors.
Bluebottles were everywhere inside, a sea of deep azure coats as far as she could see. Prem couldn’t stop the cold chills from crawling up her back and neck, and it took all her self-control to keep her face smooth and not start twitching. She didn’t know how to find Mariander’s office, and the best way to get noticed would be to stop and act like she was lost—that seemed like what a “proper Gilded lady” would do. Prem walked up to a large, dented metal desk where a dark-skinned man sat behind a large stack of paperwork, scribbling away at the report in front of him. “Excuse me.” Prem cleared her throat, trying and failing not to feel foolish.
“Can I help you?” The man didn’t sound particularly interested in helping her, or anyone else. He also didn’t look up from his writing.
“I’m looking for—’’
“Just put your name on the sign-in sheet,” he said, pointing with his pen to a clipboard hanging from a nail on the edge of his desk.
Prem paused, picked up the board and an available pen, signing her name slowly in large, simple block letters. Her penmanship was horrible, and had been that way ever since she was a child; Vati had other things in mind for her to learn than proper handwriting. “How long—’’
“Take a seat and someone will be out to take your statement soon,” he said, still not looking up.
“But I’m not here to give a statement.”
The policeman looked up for the first time. Prem had the impression that she’d said the last thing he expected. “You’re not.”
“No. Sir.” Prem didn’t have the slightest idea how a “proper Gilded lady” should talk, but she felt certain one would be polite to a figure of authority. “Superintendent Neru and I know each other. Socially. I was hoping to speak with him.”
He stared at her for a long moment, looking her up and down. By the time he finished, Prem wanted to either claw her dress off or his eyes out, she wasn’t sure which. “Wait here,” he said, pointing to a row of chairs against the wall before standing up. As she took a seat, he disappeared into a sea of desks and blue uniforms.
Prem sat down, crossed her ankles. Her heart was pounding. The air tasted strange on her tongue, dusty and unnaturally dry. She felt alone, exposed and vulnerable, but that was nothing new. Still, she would’ve liked a change of wardrobe and something a little heftier to defend herself with than a glorified letter opener. The air was full of humming energy, the sound of typewriters clacking and pens scratching on paper. Individual conversations and the lingering traffic noise outside blended together into a nameless cacophony of humanity. Prem closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts—of her sisters, of the assassination plot, of Vati and the man she’d come to meet. Minutes passed by as she fell into a silent trance.
“Prem?” A hand on her shoulder startled her—Prem grabbed onto the wrist as her eyes popped open. She was ready to twist the arm around and pull out her knife when she stopped, looking up. Mariander was staring, startled by her sudden motion. “Are you alright?”
She let go of his wrist. “I’m fine.” Prem got to her feet. Just being close to him made her heart start racing again. “Can we talk?”
“Yes, of course. Please, come this way.” He opened an arm, gesturing through the crowd of desks, then lead the way.
Prem followed, keeping both hands folded in front of her. He led her into an enclosed room with a wide mahogany desk and a number of shelves on the walls weighed down with expensive looking books and various bric-a-brac: a bronze bust; several clay sculptures; a small statue of Mael, legs crossed and hands pressed together, along with a burnt stick of incense that hadn’t yet been thrown away. Mariander’s desk was empty, not a single report or scrap of paper to be seen—Prem wasn’t sure what to think of that.
Mariander shut the door and started to turn around, giving Prem all the time in the world to set her feet and get ready. When he turned to face her, she swung a balled fist at him, catching him deep in the belly with enough force to lift his feet right off the floor. Hot air exploded from his mouth. He grabbed onto the doorframe to stay upright, fighting to take another breath but only managing a pitiful wheezing. “What… W-What was… What?!”
Prem narrowed her eyes at him, shifting her feet into a fighting stance. “You lied to me.”
“What?” Mariander repeated, looking more puzzled than afraid.
“You told me you weren’t a daayani. You insisted on it.”
“Because I’m not!” When Prem took a step closer, he backed up and raised a hand to stop her. “Wait, Prem! Wait… Wait, wait. Please.”
She pointed at him, her finger right under his nose. “Your mother has a Kushin hound, and if she’s not a magician of some kind then I’m a blind beggar boy. Magic passes through the blood—if she’s a witch, so are you.”
Now Mariander stood straighter, his ragged breath still rasping and shallow. “I…I could barely manage a breeze to lift a sheet of paper, much less convince a spirit to follow orders.” He coughed. “I gave up studying magic before I was out of secondary school. And how do you know about my mother’s dog?”
Prem didn’t flinch at his question, having already expected it. “When we met, you told me that you couldn’t, ‘in good conscience,’ keep any attempt on my sister’s life a secret. Did you really mean that?”
The man’s puzzlement only doubled. “What?”
Prem fought back a rush of frustration. “You wanted to protect the new Rani. Was that the truth or not?”
“Yes! Yes, Prem, it was the truth. It still is. What is this all about? And what does it have to do with my mother?” Prem didn’t immediately answer, but he still raised both of his hands as if to stop her from attacking again. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you, truly I didn’t, but my mother swore me to secrecy a long time ago—politicians are generally mistrusting when it comes to magicians.”
“Yes, who could possibly find reason to mistrust your mother?”
Mariander opened his mouth, closed it. “Point made. But I shouldn’t have lied to you in any case. It felt wrong, but I worried that you would behave differently towards me.”
“I should have,” she said, backing up, crossing both arms over her chest. “Not just because of your mother, but also because you’re in this…farce of a police force.”
“No.” Mariander made a wide circle around her, stepping up to his desk. Prem watched him, eyes narrowed but still observing his demeanor, the look on his face, the way he kept watching her with such intensity. “There might be some bad people here—’’
She laughed. “Might be?”
“There are bad people in every profession, Prem. A lot of these people do their job properly. That’s why I joined, so I could be more than just a rich noblewoman’s son. I wanted to do something that mattered.”
Prem felt warm while looking at him, simultaneously overdressed and stripped naked at the same time, like she might melt under his stare. She couldn’t look away from him, and she didn’t want to. They both watched each other, each not speaking. Prem’s heart was pounding, but she wouldn’t be the first to give in.
“What do you know about the explosion at the warehouse on Tagore Street?” he said.
“Why do you ask?” Prem looked around the room. “Is it safe to talk here?”
“Yes. Or it should be.” Mariander took a breath and continued, leaning back against his desk. “That warehouse is owned by 4P Holdings, one of your family’s shell companies.” Prem raised an eyebrow, but he continued. “There was a fire, and I’m told that some of the Guard were on-site and injured as a result. Please, Prem, help me understand what’s going on. Help me so that I can help you.”
For a long moment, Prem stared at his dark, handsome face and into his kind, pleading eyes. She took her time walking to a chair in front his desk and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. It went against everything she knew to trust him. Her instincts told her to get up and walk out without a word. But she wanted to believe in his sincerity, the honesty she sensed in him. “We found Amar—his name, his true name was Gomati. He was hiding in the Grays.’’ Before he could inquire as to that, she kept going: “My sisters made preparations ahead of time to question him away from the palace with the intent of turning him over to you when it was done.”
There was a grim look on Mariander’s face. “Prem, you know I have to tell my superiors that you’re holding a prisoner illegally.”
She shrugged. “Tell them whatever you like. Gomati doesn’t care—he’s dead.”
Mariander stared at her for a long moment, then took a long breath. “Can you tell me what happened? Please?”
It was the way Mariander phrased his question that made the difference. She thought about it, then nodded, trying to relax. “The signs pointing to Gomati were a ruse—he was never the one plotting to kill my sister. Someone used him to make a false trail for us to follow. That explosion you mentioned was caused by the actual assassin. Some of the Guard were hurt in the blast, a few of them seriously. The real assassin killed Gomati and managed to injure both of my older sisters; Preet was hurt badly, lost a lot of blood, suffered a brain injury. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
“The Seneschal? Oh, gods, Prem. I’m sorry.” Prem saw concern on his face. She believed him. “Will she be alright?”
Prem nodded. “The doctor seemed to think it was possible. All we can do now is wait.”
“Prem, when you…questioned Amar—sorry, Gomati—did he say anything about the assassination plot? Maybe mention anything about this other assassin that you think killed him? You said he was a false lead, but did he know anything?”
“He didn’t know who the assassin was. We haven’t been able to identify them. But I know who’s behind the plot.”
“You do? Who is it?”
She took a deep breath, looked him right in the eye. “Your mother. She’s the one responsible.”
He didn’t look as stunned or surprised as Prem had hoped for, but maybe that said more about Kunaia then it did about her son. “No. That… That’s not possible.” Mariander shook his head. “My mother might be difficult to get along with, but she’s not as callous as that.”
“I heard her say it, Mariander. I heard her admit to it. She and the assassin, the real assassin, were discussing the plot to kill my sister by way of a vocalgraph in her own office. I think the attack’s going to happen on Kali Shodh, when Priya’s marching with the people to bathe in the Genja.”
“You heard my mother say this?’’ A worried, sickening realization appeared to be coming over Mariander, shining in his eyes. “But… Mother’s been here working late the past few nights. How could you have—’’ His eyes went wide and he actually gasped. It was such an innocent thing, but Prem couldn’t help but smile.
Standing up quick, Prem pressed her fingers against his lips to silence him. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’ve probably already guessed the answer anyway.” After waiting a moment to make sure he wouldn’t interrupt, she drew back a step, the memory of his warm breath still tingling across her fingertips. “All I have is an admission that means less than nothing—no court in the country would accept a case just on what I heard, no matter who my family is. I have no proof, no evidence. But it is the truth. Your mother is involved in this plot, and now I’m going to stop her.”
Mariander looked down at the floor, not speaking. Prem had an impulsive urge to hug him, and she knew that someone like Priya would have. It seemed that her youngest sister was right: Mariander did appear to be a good, decent man. She felt sorry for him, but it wasn’t out of pity—he couldn’t choose who had borne him.
“Prem.”
She gave a small tic of her head to one side. “Hm?”
He looked up at her. “What do you want me to do?”
“Kunaia probably intends on marching with Priya during the procession to the Genja—I don’t know that as a fact, but I still expect it’ll happen. She wouldn’t miss her chance to be in the center of the action on the day an attack takes place. I also expect that other Parliament members will be there as well—they all won’t miss their chance to mob for the photographers.”
He nodded. “That’s usually how it works, the politicians playing nice with the royal family in front of the public. Mother’s attended the New Year’s procession for as long as I can remember.” He looked down, giving a mirthless chuckle. “Actually, it was just announced this morning that most of the Parliamentary Police have been given other assignments during the Kali Shodh march.”
Prem felt something jump in her chest. “What kind of assignments?”
Mariander shook his head. “Just new patrols mostly, trying to put a greater show of force throughout the city that day.” Then, he frowned. “Except—’’
“Except that leaves the Golden Way and the worshippers there unprotected.” His nod confirmed that she was right. “She knows we’ll be forced to use the Royal Guard for Priya’s protection, which won’t be nearly enough to handle a crowd of that size. It might even prove that the Guard isn’t up to the job of protecting the royal family—assuming any of my sisters survive the attack, she’ll pin all of us under the thumbs of the Parliamentary Police by fiat.”
“So what do you want me to do?” he repeated.
She stepped up closer to Mariander, looking up into his eyes, wondered what he thought when he looked down into hers. “Order the men and women in your command back to the Golden Way. Use the Police to do something good for a change: help the Guard, keep the other citizens safe. Keep my sister safe.’’ It didn’t matter if Prem was a black-souled killer. It still felt right to convince a man she barely knew to protect people she would never know at all. It was what a mari was supposed to do. It was what Prem and Sachin both had to do, together. “I know without a doubt in my mind that something bad is going to happen. If we’re not ready for it, people are going to die. More children are going to die. I don’t want there to be more deaths like Nakushi, Mariander—not if I can do something about it.” Prem rested a hand on his arm. A thrill went up her own and coiled around her heart. “Will you help me?”
Mariander was quiet. Prem could see so many things working behind his eyes, things she could only begin to guess at. He nodded. “I will, Prem. As much as I can.”
Another moment of silence came between them, but it felt different then. Prem gave into impulse one time: she pushed up onto her toes and kissed him right on the lips. He opened his mouth in surprise and she slipped her tongue in, brushing it along the edge of his teeth and the thickness of his own tongue in return. He caught his breath and she wrapped her fingers in his coat, pulling as close to him as she could. His warm lips tasted better than any momo bun ever could. Her chest ached and her belly went flush with heat, the pressure building up inside of her, rushing up her back and neck. It was a wonder that steam didn’t come out of her ears.
The kiss lasted for a long moment. When Prem pulled back, she saw wonder and bewilderment in Mariander’s eyes. Going back onto her heels, Prem smoothed down the wrinkles she’d twisted into his coat, but she didn’t step back. It felt good to stand next to him. She looked at his lips again and licked her own, tasting his heat, his flavor.
“Why did you do that?” he said.
She smirked. “Just…wondered what it’d feel like, to be honest.” Mariander didn’t say anything, which turned Prem’s smirk into a proper smile. She stepped back. “We’ll see each other again soon. Don’t forget what we talked about.” Before she lost her nerve, Prem left him standing there, exiting his office and shutting the door behind her.
The heat of Mariander’s kiss was still fresh as she exited the building, crossed the street and reached Kurien. He was still waiting outside, leaning against the side of the car. “So, did he notice your outfit?”
“No,” Prem said, still smiling. “I guess he was a bit distracted.”
“Then he’s either a fool or a blind man.” The Guard sighed in a dramatic fashion and opened the rear door for her. “I would’ve said something.”
It took Prem some amount of self-control not to laugh. “I still think I made an impression on him. Let’s go home, Kurien.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Priya came rushing down the stairs, a pair of Guards in tow, as Prem entered the front door of the palace. The Rani stopped, skirts in both hands. “I… Prem! You look amazing! Where have you been?”
Knowing she was blushing again, Prem decided to try a different tactic: telling the truth. “I went to see Mariander.”
Priya was gaping at her, mouth open, eyes wide. “You did what?!”
Prem coughed. “Never mind. Did something happen while I was gone?”
“Oh!” Priya hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and took her sister’s hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Preet’s awake!” They hurried up the stairs, the Guards and Kurien following close behind. Once they reached the bedroom, the two let themselves inside. The sickroom was dark; thick curtains were drawn to block out the sunlight while the gas lamps were set to a low flame, leaving the space in a hazy twilight.
Pranay sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, reading a book—aside from a bandage tied over her head covering her left ear, she looked the same as always. She’d even changed back into one of her white dresses. “I wondered when you’d get here,” she said.
“Where’s Doctor Zaidi?” Priya said.
“Enjoying a well-deserved rest, actually. I caught him napping after staying up all night to monitor Preet’s progress.”
“Shtop talkin’ ’bout me like I’m shome kinda potted plant.” Preet spoke with a slow, growling slur. Her head was wrapped in a thick bandage, as was her neck and both hands. Seeing her sister in such a state made Prem realize she was genuinely afraid that Preet might not recover, and had worried she might not even wake up at all.
Preet gave a weak, tired cough. “And keep…keep Kurien outta here.”
“You didn’t tell her?” Priya said to Pranay.
Pranay shook her head.
“Tell…me what?” Preet swallowed each time her voice broke off, a motion that appeared to hurt a great deal.
“Kurien came to check on you last night,” Priya said, moving over to Preet’s bedside where she knelt and took the injured sister’s hand. Prem followed, taking a standing spot at the foot of the bed beside Pranay’s chair. The eldest sister eyed Prem’s choice of wardrobe but didn’t offer any comment.
Preet closed her eyes, swallowed twice, opened them again. “Damn it.”
Priya gave a tiny laugh, but it was frayed at the edges. “How are you feeling?”
Preet swallowed again. “Like shit.” She looked at Prem, eyes widening at the sight of her state of dress. “You look…diff’rent.”
Prem pursed her lips, nodded her head. “You too.”
The Seneschal gave a little laugh, then winced and moaned. “Damnit, Prem. That hurtsh.” She coughed again. “You shtill…mad’t me?”
“Maybe a little.” The look that both Priya and Pranay gave her made Prem want to smile, but she held it in. “But I’m glad that you’re awake.”
“Yeah. Shorry, Prem.” Preet sighed, closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again. “You did good.”
There were several ways to take that compliment, but Prem only nodded. “Thank you.”
A soft knocking came from the door, followed by Kurien’s voice. “Rani?”
Preet shut her eyes and turned her head. “Don’t let’m in.” Her voice was tense, and to Prem it sounded like the woman wanted to cry.
“Overruled,” Priya said. “Come in, Kurien.”
“Traitor,” Preet said, sniffling.
Kurien came in carrying a small wooden box in his good hand. Prem thought he looked awkward and uncomfortable, with the eyes of all four sisters on him—quite a change for the man who always seemed so self-assured and certain of himself. “How are you feel—’’
“Like shit,” Preet repeated, adding a bit of a growl for emphasis. “How would you…be feeling?”
Kurien pursed his lips. “Right. Moving on.” He offered the box to Priya. “Rani, I was just given this. You’ll want to see what’s inside. All of you will.”
Priya took a seat on the bed next to Preet and took the box. “What is it?” Prem and Pranay drew in close before the youngest sister opened it and they all peered inside. Several large pieces of broken glass were contained within, discolored with soot and black ash.
“Don’t touch them, please,” he said. With a pair of tweezers, Kurien took hold of one of the glass pieces and held it up, slowly turned it over in the low light. There was the ghost of an oily sheen, bubbled and rippled in spots; the color refracted and shimmered even in the low glow of the gaslight.
“What happened to it?” Priya said.
“It’s been seared by a hot flame—note the discoloration.”
“Where did they come from?” Preet said. Her voice was still weak, but had a new intensity to it.
“We found these fragments inside the warehouse, near the source of the explosion.”
“Where the light fixture fell?” Priya asked.
“No, Rani, near the location of the second explosion, at the spot where we think the assassin was hiding. These were the biggest pieces we could salvage. We think they belonged to a container or decanter of some kind. I asked Mari Pranay to take a look at them earlier.”
“And whatever was inside it affected the glass that way,” Prem said.
Kurien nodded.
“It’s called ‘pyroglycerine’,” Pranay said. “In liquid form it’s very unstable, and that’s what makes it dangerous. All it takes is an open flame, or even just shaking it up, before the mixture overheats and explodes. Kurien thinks that’s how the intruder might’ve blown a hole in the wall to escape.”
“Where would someone find something like that?” Priya said.
“It’s used in explosives, Rani,” Kurien said. “Any number of factories in the city stock some amount of the stuff, not to mention how much there might be available for purchase as a private buyer.”
“But who would risk carrying around such a dangerous thing?” Priya frowned. “That just seems to be begging for it to blow up on accident.”
“Maybe she intended to use it on Gomati if her chakrams and the gas fire didn’t finish the job,” Prem said. “When the Guard was too quick for her to get away, she used it to make a fast exit.”
“‘She?’” Pranay said.
Prem and Priya looked at one another. Priya nodded, so Prem did the same. “You should probably sit back down,” Prem said. After Pranay did so, she told the others what they’d missed, including her first outing to Parliament and eavesdropping on Kunaia. She downplayed her escape, as well as her return visit to see Mariander that morning. No one interrupted her, and Prem actually found it easy to talk in spite of having so many eyes focused on her.
Preet swallowed again. “I’m goin’ with all’f you… tomorrow.”
“No.” Priya, Pranay and Kurien all said it together.
“You’re staying here,” Priya added.
Preet grimaced. “Wanna bet?”
“Preet, you nearly died! You’re not getting out of bed,“ Priya said. “I’ll make that an order if I have to.”
“Then… I’ll jusht can-shel Kali Shodh.” Preet tried to push herself up in bed, but from the looks of it, pain stopped her from getting very far.
“Preet, you can’t.” Pranay’s voice sounded tired, but Prem heard a hint of irritation, as well. “Stop being so goddamn stubborn.”
“But—’’
“No!” Pranay—calm and composed Pranay—pushed to her feet again. “Stop it! You’re not going to do anything! You’re going to stay in bed. You’re going to let Kurien, and Prem, and myself, and all of your men do their jobs, and you’re going to get better. Just be glad that nobody’s said anything about chaining you to a bed—yet.’’ Pale, demure Pranay pushed her spectacles back up her nose, blew out a sharp breath, and retook her seat.
Nobody said anything. Prem watched as Preet sulked, not bothering to hide it, twisting up her mouth and curling her bandaged hands into cotton-y fists.
“Seneschal.” Kurien straightened his good arm, clicking his heels together as if presenting himself for inspection. “What are your orders?”
The look Preet gave the man should have set him ablaze. “Don’t make fun’f me, Kurien.”
“No, ma’am.” Kurien shook his head. “Preparations for the New Year’s procession still need to be decided on. You’re awake, so you’re back in command: what are your orders?”
Preet stared at the man for a moment before looking not to Priya, but Prem. “Can your Deputy be trusted?”
Prem licked her lips. “I thought you didn’t trust the Police.”
“I don’t.” Preet squinted. “Do you?”
Prem only had to think for a second. “Mariander will help us.”
“Good. You’re in charge now.”
It was such a sudden, unexpected thing to hear that Prem nearly fell over. “What? Me?”
“Yesh.”
“But why me?”
Preet coughed again. “Becaush I can’t be there. Becaush you took a chance for Pri…put yourshelf at rishk, showed that…that you thought she was worth it.” She paused for a moment, swallowed with a wince. “And…becaush I shaid so, damn it.’’ Preet took a breath, looked at Kurien, then to Prem. “Undershtood?”
Kurien saluted with his good hand. “Yes, Seneschal.”
The weight of Preet’s decision felt very heavy on Prem’s shoulders. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that it made up for all of Preet’s behavior or for their constant bickering, but she wouldn’t humiliate her sister by backing out now. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You’d…better not.” Preet closed her eyes. She looked completely spent just from the effort of talking so much, and didn’t open her eyes or try to talk again. In moments, her breathing was slow and steady as she slipped into unconsciousness again.
Priya closed the wooden box and set it on the table. “Alright, Prem,” she said, voice low. “What do you want to do?”
“It’ll be risky. And dangerous.”
No one answered, but no one argued, either.
Prem nodded. “Alright. Here’s my proposal.”