He gaped at her, shocked by her words. Beyond the circle of guards, folk crowded close in an attempt to witness the exchange.
Amrita gestured to Hasan Dar. “Stand down, and let them hear this.”
“Highness…” he protested.
She raised her hand again, and he obeyed. The guards spread out, giving the spectators an opportunity to draw closer. Unobtrusively, Bao unslung his staff and took a defensive pose at the Rani’s left shoulder. I stepped out of the palanquin and stood at her other side, ready to shield her at need.
A memory teased at my thoughts, the memory of Snow Tiger attempting in vain to calm the crowd who had come to rescue her, the dragon’s voice whispering in my mind. Lend her your gift, he had said. Make a gateway.
It had worked then. Without pausing to wonder, I attempted it now, calling the twilight. Instead of breathing it out, I poured it into Amrita, my fingers brushing her bare arm.
The air around her brightened visibly, drawing soft gasps from the crowd. Amrita gave me a brief, perplexed glance, and I nodded at her in silent encouragement.
The Rani took a deep breath, steepling her fingers in the soothing mudra that eased conflict. “Listen, then, to what I say to this potter’s son, for it holds true for each and every one of you.” She gazed at the boy, and he flushed beneath her shining regard. “You are not lessened by this change, young one. Is your lot in life the worse because someone else is lifted out of misery?” She shook her head. “No. The gods reward greatness of heart, not meanness of spirit. Do not seek to look at those below you and gloat. Look at those above you and aspire. I mean to build schools, good schools. If you wish to be a potter like your father, well and good. It is an honorable profession. If you wish to learn another trade, you may. You may become a merchant, or a builder of temples, or a soldier in my guard. I am placing your kharma in your own two hands. Is it truly a change you despise?”
Dev fell to his knees. “No.”
“Good.” She touched his hair. “So do not throw any more rotten onions at me, eh?”
He shook his head. “I won’t.”
The crowd let out a collective sigh, adoring her once more; and while their response was due in some small part to the sparkle of magic I’d lent her, mostly it was due to Amrita herself, her courage and her unfailing kindness.
The Rani Amrita smiled at the crowd. “I thank you for your patience, and for listening.” Pressing her palms together, she bowed deeply to her people. “May all the gods look kindly on you.”
With that, she returned to her palanquin, and I joined her, letting go my grip on the twilight. The crowds parted for us, Bao and Hasan Dar and the guards resuming their protective positions.
“That was most beautifully said, my lady,” I said to her. “I do believe you swayed their hearts.”
Amrita gave me a sidelong glance. “I do believe you gave me some assistance, dear one. I felt the touch of your magic.”
I smiled. “Only a very little bit. A tiny push to help move change along. After all, I am not nearly as dangerous as Kamadeva’s diamond.”
“No?” She laughed, a merry, ringing sound that gladdened my heart, and the hearts of all who heard her. “I am not so very sure of that, Moirin,” she said affectionately. “But I am grateful nonetheless.”
EIGHTY
After the incident with the onion-throwing and the Rani Amrita’s resounding response, the mood in Bhaktipur was calmer.
The protesting priests made one last attempt at insurrection, covertly contacting Prince Ravindra in the hopes that he would be willing to consider a coup against his mother. Clever Ravindra waited for all of those in league to show their hands before rebuffing them in a passionate public address.
“Shall I dishonor my beloved mother, who has taught me everything I know of courage, who has endured great suffering to ensure the safety of our people?” he asked in the city square, his narrow face filled with affronted dignity. “No! A thousand times, no!”
“He’s quite the little speech-maker, isn’t he?” Bao murmured.
Amrita smiled with rueful pride. “My young prince is quite a good many things.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man Ravindra would grow into; and I couldn’t help but grieve at the fact that I would never know. Bao caught my eye, and I knew he was thinking the same thought. It would be very, very hard to leave this place, to leave the Rani and her son.
“Not yet,” he said softly.
I shook my head. “No, not yet.”
There was to be a celebration the day the proclamation was made official, a great purification ritual to symbolize the no-longer-unclean status of no-caste people. Amrita fretted over the details.
“I do not think it is wise to delay,” she said. “But I wish it were spring. The river will be cold. And there will be no fresh flowers! Only dried garlands. There should be fresh flowers to mark a new beginning.”
The image of a man with a seedling cupped in the palm of his hand came to me, and I drew in a sharp breath. “If my lady wishes for flowers, there shall be flowers.”
Amrita raised her brows at me. “How so, dear one? Can you coax the very flowers to bloom out of season?”
I smiled. “Actually, yes.”
So it was that on the day that the proclamation was issued, a month after the Rani Amrita had begun making the rounds of the temples, we traveled in procession to a fallow marigold field outside the city, escorted by the guard, trailed by half a dozen empty wagons and scores of curious Bhaktipuri folk on foot.
It was not a large field, but it was big enough that it daunted me. I had never made an attempt of such scope before, and I hoped I had not boasted out of turn. If I succeeded, there would be no doubt that the gods’ blessing was on this endeavor… but if I failed, it would cast grave doubts on the Rani’s actions.
I stood and breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, letting my awareness filter through the soil. The plants slumbered deep in the earth, not even beginning to dream of spring yet. I remembered how I had coaxed the bamboo to flower in the glass pavilion where I had first asked Master Lo to teach me.
Bao touched my arm, remembering it, too. “You can do this, Moirin.”
“I hope so,” I murmured.
I hitched up the folds of my sari, kneeling on the soil with bare knees. When Hasan Dar came forward to offer a square of silk, I shook my head at him. I needed to feel the earth beneath me.
“What is the dakini doing, highness?” someone called.
“Asking for the blessing of all the gods upon this day,” Amrita replied in a firm voice. I glanced up at her. She smiled at me with perfect trust and love.
I prayed I would not fail her.
I breathed, slowly and deeply, taking the measure of the task at hand. I prayed to Anael the Good Steward, to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, to the many Bhodistani gods, and to Sakyamuni the Enlightened One.
Lending a bit of the twilight’s glamour to Amrita had been a small push. This, this would be a very large push.
In the back of my mind, I saw Jagrati’s stark face, and there was a terrible, vulnerable yearning in it, a hunger that this might come to pass. If I did not fail, mayhap her angry spirit would rest.
“Please,” I whispered to any gods listening, sinking my hands deep into the loose, rich earth. “Oh, please!” I took a half-step into the spirit world and held memories of languid summer sunlight in my thoughts, memories of warm, moist air, of everything good and green and fertile, breathed it all deep into my lungs.