“Canceling training is what he wants,” argues Brac.
“Would you have the children continue as though Lokesh hadn’t come here?” Ashwin challenges. He knows we would not. “We’ll assess the matter day by day.”
Basma and Giza sprint to Brac and leap. He catches them and swings them around. “Come play with us!” they plead.
Brac carts them off to join a game that Indah started. Ashwin’s gaze lingers after them, dark circles under his eyes. He was up late reading again.
“Find anything new in your library?” I ask.
He shakes his head, and I deflate. The only record we have of a mortal traveling into and out of the Void is the tale of Inanna’s Descent. Ashwin recalls some but not all of the story. We have been searching the library for the written version with no luck. Even if we find the text, the gate to the under realm lies at the bottom of a frozen alpine lake. Deven’s mother, Mathura, has traveled to the Southern Isles with Brac’s father, Chitt, to question the Lestarian elders about the existence of another gate. We have yet to receive word from them.
“Would you like to ride back to the palace with me?” Ashwin asks. “I’m stopping by the temple building site.”
Out of respect for his viraji, I have avoided spending time alone with him. Nonetheless, he is still my cousin. “I’d like that. Brac can stay with the girls.”
The trio are far into the game. The trainees take turns blasting their powers at a coin on the ground. Whoever makes it jump the highest wins.
Captain Yatin waits atop his horse outside the main door. His snug uniform shows off his bulky arms and barrel chest. He shaved his long beard, a mandate for officers. Natesa often complains about missing his hairy chin. I think his boyish face softens his daunting build.
“Lokesh is gone,” Yatin reports. “I lost him in the market.”
Ashwin assists me onto his horse and climbs on behind me. Our bodies are snug, nothing more. The attraction that was once between us has been dispelled.
We set off uphill through the flow of people. Yatin and the other guards ride close to dissuade anyone from approaching. Most hurry in the other direction when they see me. Two wash girls do not recognize me until they are in front of us. They both utter “Burner Rani” in dismay and run off.
I pretend their abhorrence does not bother me so Ashwin will not get upset. Truthfully, a piece of me misses my imperial title. Relinquishing the esteemed rank of kindred has left me off-centered. I have sought stability by serving my trainees and teaching the temple wards, but I am like a sunbird without a perch.
We ride into the temple courtyard. Celestial glories are etched into the stone exterior, patterns of the sun and phases of the moon. In the short period since we broke ground, the artistry has been remarkable. After much convincing, Priestess Mita commissioned Tremblers to perform the carpentry, shortening overall construction by half the time.
The floor plan is patterned after Samiya, except for the added windows and classroom where the Claiming chamber would have been. No more does the Sisterhood rely upon the generosity of benefactors. As fate would have it, the brethren of the Parijana faith are very frugal. They have enough in their coffers to support every division of the Brotherhood and Sisterhood for decades to come.
Ashwin enters the archway and admires the multicolored walls. At our behest, the master architect sought inspiration from our diverse empire. Every landscape is portrayed, from the desert to the mountains to the southern seashore. Ashwin buffs a dusty tile with his sleeve and peers up at a shell chandelier, a replicated design from the Southern Isles.
“The builders should conclude their work in a few weeks,” he remarks.
Priestess Mita will oversee the dedication, then the sisters and wards will move from the palace and live here. I continue onward, leaving that lonely thought behind.