Page 41 of The Surviving Sky
The sungineer shook his head. He had wanted a complete specimen, but did it matter? The spiralweed had been difficult to procure, and the cost had been too high. Ahilya closed her eyes, forcing the tears back. What had all of it been worth? They could do nothing withit—shehad already lost, andDhruv—allshe had brought back was one tiny leaf. They should never have left the city. She should never have gone to the jungle.
She opened her eyes to see Dhruv continue to roll the deathbox in his hands over and over again, horror and wonder in his face in equal measures.
“Keep it,” he said, thrusting it back to her. “I can’t store it in the lab. Kiana said that whoever is conducting the investigation into the alarm has full access to the lab. It’s too dangerous to hold it there. Keep it hidden until I ask for it.”
Ahilya nodded mutely. She reached back to the wall. A thin branch crept out and encircled the deathbox, storing it in her personal archives. Dhruv still had a chance, perhaps a small one, at least enough to stave off an ignominious transfer to some farflung city. But archeology was finished in Nakshar. The council would not forget Ahilya’s culpability in the failed expedition. Perhaps they were merely waiting for matters to return to normal before they informed her of her change in profession. She’d become a historian at best, forced to revere architect culture. All those months of planning, all those dangerous expeditions in the jungle, all the humiliation she hadendured—itwas ultimately for nothing. Everyone would know her for a failure. Perhaps that was what she deserved.
Dhruv replaced his spectacles. “Do you know who is investigating?”
It took her a moment to realize he was still talking about the flight alarm.
“No,” she said dully. “Why would I?”
“Ithought—maybe—”Dhruv cut himself off.
He thought Iravan would have told her.
Ahilya hadn’t seen Iravan, not since the temple. Had he come home? She herself had been home only briefly, the beautiful three-story apartment lonely and empty. It was identical to the apartment she and Iravan had owned many earthrages before, pulled from an archival design like the playground and the library. They had been happy in that house once. Why hadn’t he come to her? Had he been punished for a loosening of his material bonds? There was no other way the council could have interpreted her screams in the temple. Anger and grief flared in her mind again, making her chest tighten. They had corrupted him, and he hadallowedit. He had beenweak. How could he have forgotten himself so easily?
She and Dhruv sat in silence. Once or twice, Dhruv opened his mouth to speak, but then he glanced at her and began wiping his spectacles instead. She thought she should tell him about the yaksha, but she couldn’t make the words. Guilt weighed her shoulders down, in her failure as a mission commander, in her failure as a wife.
When the wall behind them split open in a loud creak of branches, both Ahilya and Dhruv turned.
Iravan sat on a wheelchair of pale white wood, his fist raised. He wore one of his spotless white kurtas again, but the shirt hung off him, a few sizes too big. His hair was grayer in the week since they’d returned from the jungle. He dropped his hand.
“I meant to knock,” Iravan said. “But I suppose the privacy controls to the ashram haven’t been restored yet.”
“They’ve been restored,” Dhruv said. “This alcove must be tuned to your permissions.”
Iravan skimmed himself inside and the wall closed behind him again.
With his entry into the alcove, the foliage began to change. Jasmine buds peeked out, the moss grew lusher, and phosphorescence twinkled through the walls in tiny sparkles of blue. Ahilya’s heart pounded in her chest. Iravan was nottrajecting—itwas nothing he wasdoing—butarchival designs of the city had memory. This alcove was the exact replica of the one they had spent so much time together in once, studying and exploring, teaching each other about their research, planting the seeds for their marriage. The alcove had been the path to their courtship. With him there, Nakshar remembered.
Dhruv stood up and offered Iravan an awkward smile. “I’m glad to see you’re up. Kiana said you were recovering at the sanctum.”
“For what it’s been worth,” Iravan said, smiling back. He looked at Ahilya and his smile faltered. “How are you?”
Ahilya stared at him, not replying. Closer, the shadows under Iravan’s eyes were deeper. His dark skin, normally so healthy, appeared ashy.He’s had a haircut, she thought arbitrarily. Iravan was impeccably groomed as always, but if anything, it made him look worse than ever, as though the clothes and hair were just more half-truths and deceptions from the council. She trembled, wanting to go to him, touch him, see if he was all right. Relief and anger warred with each other.
“Is that permanent?” Dhruv asked quietly, gesturing at the wheelchair.
“No,” Iravan said, tearing his gaze from her. “Maybe a week. The architects in the sanctum will decide. It’s made of healbranchso—”
“Why are you here?” Ahilya blurted out.
Iravan flinched like she had struck him, but his hurt was gone in a flash, replaced by cold dispassion. “Can we talk alone?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Sure,” Dhruv said at the same time.
“No,” she said again, grabbing Dhruv’s arm.
Her friend extricated himself gently, his expression uncomfortable. “Ahilya, I don’t mind.”
“I mind. Stay.”
The sungineer threw Iravan a helpless, apologetic look. The alcove continued to grow smaller, more intimate. The scent of jasmine filled her. Ahilya needed to think, to keep her mind clear, but in that instant, it was as though the alcove was conspiring to cloud her mind,Naksharwas conspiring to make her give in to Iravan. She didn’t trust herself with him alone. She didn’t know what she wanted, what she needed, and the wave of grief and anger within her reared its head again, making her tremble.
