And what of her grandmother’s secrets?Constance still didn’t know why Aai had chosen a kind-hearted English civil servant over the princes that must have been lined up at her feet.
Then there was Ellie, struggling even now with the question of how much she needed to conceal her principles, her passions—and her love.
We are all hiding, Constance thought with a shiver of surprise.It was what the world demanded of women in order to protect their hearts.Fight their battles.
Survive.
Perhaps that was the lesson woven through Sita’s placid smile—the secret of what had to be kept safe until the time was right to unleash it upon the world.
None of their stories were true when one only read what was written on the surface.
Padma spoke again, her voice edged like iron.“Charles Reginald Borthwick has harmed more innocent people than I could hope to count.He will go on harming them, unless he is stopped.He is just another demon, dressed up in a uniform with the power of an empire at his back.Should he gain the Brahmastra, he could unleash exponentially more destruction.I brought you here for Kali’s blessing because that is what she does—bring down demons.”
Constance gazed up at the beautiful, dangerous goddess on the altar.“Then I’m glad we came.”
Her grandmother’s hand brushed Constance’s cheek, dry as paper and softly warm.Her eyes shone with a quiet, steady pride.
They rose together.The priest stirred, offering Padma a bowl of bright red paste.She swiped a bit of it up with her thumb and marked her forehead with a practiced gesture—a simple dot beneath a crimson crescent.
She turned to Constance.
Constance lowered her head and felt the warm pressure of her grandmother’s thumb on her brow.The paste tugged against her skin as it softly dried.
“Don’t forget to take your leave,” Padma chided gently.
Constance gave the goddess another bow, her palms pressed together over her breast.If you are in there,Constance thought, projecting the words from her quick-beating heart to the figure in front of her,help us beat this rotter.
The flame of the puja lamp danced in a wind that Constance couldn’t feel.
As she turned to go, the priest held out an offering wrapped in silver paper.
“What’s this?”Ellie asked in a whisper.
Constance peeked into the wrapping.“They’re treats!”
“It’s prashaada.Kali’s blessing,” Padma corrected her wryly.
Constance popped the prashaada into her mouth, letting the sweet flavor dance across her tongue.Did it make her feel blessed?
She felt…ready, and let that warm, steady conviction carry her back out into the clear light of the morning.
?
Seventeen
Neil raised ahand to shield his eyes from the sun that gleamed off the pale stone as he stepped out of the palace.The forecourt was framed by high walls, save for a patch of vibrant green that marked the entrance to the garden where Constance had made—and then withdrawn—her request that Neil pretend to be her fiancé.
Not that the withdrawal had mattered.Neil had gone and put his foot in it over tea and curried doughnuts, panicking at the notion that Constance’s lovely and well-meaning family might try to marry her off to some wealthy, handsome Indian prince.
Well, now they were all convinced she was marrying herself off to an unemployed archaeologist.
Neil hadn’t enjoyed lying to Constance’s relatives, but he couldn’t entirely regret his rash words.What did his own reputation matter, anyway?He hadn’t any left worth speaking of.
The lingering nervousness he felt about his fake engagement centered on the bigger question of how he and Constance would manage to break it off and still remain friends.
Neil admittedly didn’t have much experience with such matters, but he couldn’t think of a single acquaintance who still chummed around with their ex-fiancée.
Constance’s friendship mattered to him.The idea of sacrificing it—even to save her from a charming Indian prince—left Neil feeling bereft.
