A slender boy some ten years of age entered the room, clad in breeches and a long tunic of maroon trimmed with blue and gold. I hadn’t known there was a son, but I could see his mother’s gravity in him, unleavened by her gentle mirth. He stooped and laid his hands on the tops of her bare feet in greeting, which I later learned was a sign of respect the Bhodistani showed to their elders-although sons did not always honor their mothers thusly.

When he straightened, I pressed my palms together and bowed to him. “Well met, young highness.”

“Oh!” Ravindra gave me a long, startled look, then glanced at his mother. “Yes, I see.”

“Not a sister then, eh?” she said to me, her eyes dancing. “Come, come, sit. We have many hours to eat and talk.”

Dish after dish was brought to the table, and it was all I could do to pace myself and eat with decorum, famished as I was. There were the lentils and rice I’d eaten a great deal of in Manil Datar’s caravan, only seasoned with exquisite spices and served with cooked greens and many other vegetables. There was a spicy chicken stew, rounds of flatbread, and a wide array of a condiment called achar, tangy pickled fruits and vegetables. In keeping with the physician’s advice, there was all manner of fresh fruit-oranges and pears, mangos and bananas. After the mountains, it was an incredible bounty.

In between bites, I spun out my story.

For a mercy, I didn’t have to lay out the whole complicated length of it. The traders who crossed the Abode of the Gods carrying tales of the Falconer and his Spider Queen, and the Lady of Rats, also carried tales in the opposite direction. At the first mention of Ch’in, the Rani let out a startled sound.

“Oh!” Her eyes went round, her gaze shifting from mine to the bangle on my wrist, and back. “The Emperor’s jade-eyed dakini!”

“You heard the tale?” I asked.

“Yes.” The Rani’s expression turned somber, and she regarded me differently, less lightly. “I wish to hear it from you, but that, I think, will wait. What brings you here, looking for me?”

I explained about Bao’s death and the Maghuin Dhonn Herself and my divided diadh-anam, struggling more than usual to do so in a scarce-familiar tongue. Mother and son listened attentively, hands resting on their knees, thumbs and forefingers touching in identical poses. For a boy of ten, Ravindra was uncommonly grave. I told them how I had set out after Bao and wintered among the Tatars, only to find him wed to the Great Khan’s youngest daughter.

For the first time since I had mentioned Ch’in, the Rani’s sparkling smile returned. “Bad boy, eh?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “And yet…”

Her gaze softened. “You love him.”

I nodded, and told the rest of the tale. How the Great Khan had betrayed me to the Vralians, and sent Bao on a quest in the opposite direction, one that had led him into the lair of the Falconer and the Spider Queen. How I had learned of it from the Khan’s daughter, whose advice had led me here.

When I finished, mother and son exchanged a glance, both of them looking troubled.

“I wish…” Ravindra said in a plaintive tone.

“I know, little prince.” The Rani tilted her head. “It is late. Go, go meet with your tutor. I will speak to Moirin, and we will speak more, later.”

“Yes, Mama-ji.” He went obediently.

A sense of foreboding brushed over me, light as a feather, and just as subtly barbed. I had found sanctuary in this place, but nothing else. “You cannot help, can you, highness?” I murmured.

“Amrita,” she said softly. “You may call me by my name, please.” There was a world of sorrow in her dark, lustrous eyes. “I am sorry, Moirin. I would like to help you very much indeed, you and your bad boy, this Bao of whom you speak. It is only…” She spread her hands, and there was nothing in the gesture but helplessness. “I do not know how. Tarik Khaga had my husband slain. Believe me, if I could have rid the world of the Falconer and his unholy bride, I would have done so by now.”

It was exactly as Manil Datar had said.

I frowned, thinking. “I’ve seen the paths up the mountain to Kurugiri. It is a maze, yes, but there are only so many ways. Why not…?” I didn’t know the word for blockade. “Put men there so no one can come or go? Would they not starve, and…?” I didn’t know the word for surrender, either. “Do as you say?”

The Rani Amrita shook her head gently, the filigreed gem on her brow swaying. “You cannot see it from below, but there is a valley in Kurugiri. Not so green and good as Bhaktipur, no. It is higher, much higher. But enough grows there that they would not starve, and they raise yaks.”

“So they do as they wish?” I asked, frustrated. “Take what they wish? Who they wish?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Here and there, the falcon takes a few lambs. Such is the cost of living. The shepherd dare not abandon his flock to the wolves in order to seek the falcon’s lair; and I am the shepherd here. I am sorry, but I have no aid to give you.”

“Why did he not take you?” I flushed. “Forgive me, highness. That is not a nice question. But he wanted you. I try to understand, only. He killed your husband. And you are still very beautiful. How did it go?”

Amrita was silent a moment. “There is a hidden room in the palace,” she said presently. “A hidden room with a hidden passage. My lord Chakresh Sukhyhim, who was my husband, knew the risks of bringing a young bride to this place. He hid me, and hid me well, choosing to face the assassins himself. Alas, his men were unable to protect him. Afterward…” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I was widowed and with child. That is displeasing to Tarik Khaga, and he no longer wanted me.”

“Oh,” I said.

We gazed at one another.

“Are you really a dakini?” the Rani Amrita inquired.

I smiled. “Close your eyes, my lady.”

She obeyed.

I looked at her because it pleased me to do so, because she was beautiful, and I liked beauty. I tried to guess her age. Twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight. Maybe younger, even. She had wed young, I thought.

I breathed the twilight deep into my lungs, took it deep into myself. I blew it out around her, around us both, as soft as a kiss.

“Open your eyes.”

“Oh!” Her eyelashes fluttered alert, her face filled with wonder. “You can do this?”

I nodded. “It is a gift of my people, meant for hiding. Here, no one else can see us.” I sighed. “If I knew the path, I could go to Kurugiri unseen. I suppose I’ll have to try,” I added reluctantly. The prospect filled me with dread, but I couldn’t see any other way.

The Rani frowned. “It would please me if you would stay for a time, Moirin. Many have sought the path to Kurugiri, and many have died trying. None have found it. You have been very sick; and the gods must have sent you to me for a reason. Wait, and grow stronger. Let us go to the temples and make offerings. Perhaps your purpose here will become clear.” She searched my face, her dark eyes touched with silvery luster in the twilight. “Will you do this for me?”

I wanted to, oh so very much.

Bracing myself for the inevitable flare of alarm from my diadh-anam, I opened my mouth to refuse with regret.

My diadh-anam was silent.

“Yes,” I said gratefully. “Yes, my lady. I will stay.”