“I want to apologize to you for what happened earlier this morning,” Amar says in a low voice. “You were right to challenge my brothers—to question them about their honor. What they did to you—what I did—wasn’t honorable.”
I finally recover use of my voice. “It wasn’t your fault, Rajkumar. You didn’t do anything.”
“No, I didn’t. And with my silence, I became an accomplice.”
The grim tone of his voice both surprises me and fills me with suspicion. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” I say, fully conscious of the green room’s open door. “I am but a serving girl working for your mother.”
“We’re all servants in a way. The king must serve his subjects and so must the other members of the royal family. The Code of Asha states that to coexist, we must honor and depend on each other, magi and non-magi. It’s what the old high priests—the great acharyas of Ambar—called a sandhi or a joining.”
“Not all acharyas believe in being joined to non-magi, do they?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Wasn’t it a priest who came up with the idea of the tenements, separating magi and non-magi before the Great War?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Amar admits. There’s a curious look in his yellow eyes. “You are very right—again.”
You also sound too well-read for a servant who isn’t the royal tutor. I curse myself for my runaway tongue.
“Forgive me, Rajkumar,” I deflect quickly. “I spoke out of turn. I heard people talking in the city and—”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Siya ji. No one in this world is perfect—me least of all.”
I say nothing in response. I’m not even sure what I can say to someone this candid about themselves. And that’s when I realize—
“Rajkumar … I don’t remember telling you my name.” Well, my false name. With an added honorific. But still.
“You have your sources of knowledge. I have mine.”
I should take his words as a warning. As the threat that they probably are. But Amar smiles at me again, his eyes squinting mischievously—so reminiscent of a boy half his age that this time I can’t help but smile back.
“Shubhdivas, Siya ji.”
“Shubhdivas, Rajkumar Amar.”
I step into the green room and close the door behind me. I find Yukta Didi standing by the cupboard, frowning. “About time you came in. Now take this.” She thrusts a poker at me, its tips gleaming silver and sharp.
“What’s this for?”
“Blood bats, girl. Weren’t you listening to me outside?” She gestures to a wooden almari pushed up against the wall—a cupboard that looks completely ordinary, apart from the fact that it’s rattling from the inside. A bloodcurdling screech follows, sending shivers down my spine.
“We had an infestation in the servants’ quarters last month.” Yukta Didi would have appeared completely unperturbed if not for the hard set of her jaw. “Most of them are gone now, but these two escaped into the palace itself. The head of palace maintenance contained them in here, but he nearly lost an eye in the process. He refuses to come near them, and so do the other girls. Rani Amba wants you to have a try. She thinks it’ll be an excellent introductory task for you.”
The perfect punishment, you mean. I stare at the poker in my hand and then back at the rattling cupboard, dust rising from it in a cloud.
“I could try whispering to them,” I say.
Another scream echoes in the otherwise silent room. Yukta Didi grimaces. “Whispering, huh? Didn’t think there were any whisperers left in Ambar these days. Certainly, there aren’t any left at the palace. Though I suppose even generally redundant magic has its uses if you know what you’re doing.”
I bite back my irritation at her dismissive tone. “If I fail, it won’t matter, will it?” I ask. “I won’t open the cupboard unless I’m certain. They’ll remain locked in.”
Yukta Didi stares at me, her grip on her own poker tightening. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying. But mind you, girl, if that lot gets loose again, you’ll pay for it.”
I’m sure Rani Amba will agree with you, I think grimly before placing the poker on the floor. The almari’s doors are latticed with crevices, carved into the wood to form two interlocking moons. The gaps are so tiny that it’s impossible for the flying rodents to break through, but large enough to see a shadow moving within, the blink of a glowing red eye.
The first step in whispering is contact. It doesn’t have to be physical. But I need to be close enough so that the animal senses me. Senses that I’m different from other magi. I brush my fingers against the door.
My name is Siya, I think, loud and clear in my head. I want to set you free.
I repeat the words over and over, until there’s a low moan from within. The rattling stops for a brief moment. There are more sounds, but this time I ignore them, picking out the blood bats’ scattered thoughts like heartbeats. One bat, two …
“Five,” I tell Yukta Didi. “There are five bats inside. Three are babies. The mother is frightened. She thinks we want to kill them.”
“As we should. They’ve caused enough trouble.”
“Shhhh! Not so loud.” Animals can’t understand human speech, but they sense our moods from the tone of our voices. I close my eyes again, listening to the sounds in the cupboard. My mind floats, at ease with whispering in a way it never has—and likely never will be—with death magic, picking out the shapes of the creatures within.
“We need to open the almari.” My words make Yukta Didi blanch. “If we do that, I know I can convince them to leave.”
The older woman glares at me in disbelief. But, a long moment later, she walks over to the window and opens it. “Get them to fly out this window. If you can’t, then…” She holds up the poker, and I’m not entirely sure if
