Page 35 of The Surviving Sky
In the wake of her departure, Naila hurried forward nervously. “Please, councilors, I have something tosay—”
“Leave, Junior Architect,” Airav said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“But I can explain what happened at thewatchpost—”
“And you will. But this is a council matter for now.” Airav made a gesture, and the Junior Architect shot Iravan an anxious glance and hurried away, following Ahilya out the same wall. The trajecting light died out from the architects. Leaves curled closed behind the two women.
With them gone, something in the room changed.
A heavy silence descended over the temple.
All the councilors turned to look at Iravan as one. He collapsed in his chair, and his hands trembled as he lifted them to his head. The marks from the headlamp throbbed under his fingers. Someone had removed the broken sungineering equipment from him. All his rudra beads were gone too, his bracelets and necklaces, his citizen ring, everything that had marked him as the bearer of responsibility. Even an ordinary citizen wore more than he did right now. The only jewelry they’d left him was the bone-white healbranch bracelet he’d received on graduating to Maze Architect, and that perhaps because they couldn’t remove it.
Behind closed eyes, the images attacked him again. He felt the magnaroot piercing his skin, the yearning of death when his Two Visions had merged. Ahilya’s anger, the council’s reaction. It would ruin him, he needed her, oh fuck, what had hedone—
A hand squeezed his shoulder. Iravan gasped, nauseous, and opened his eyes.
Chaiyya’s round face peered at him in concern. Plump and mild, the Senior Architect had always been motherly. She had been the one to formally induct him into Nakshar’s council five years before. She leaned in, asking him the same question she had asked then.
“Iravan,” she said gently. “Are things well with your marriage?”
Iravan was anticipating the question, but it still made him wince.
“E-everything is fine. But the lastearthrage—itwas so long. It’s been difficult for Ahilya. For the both of us. And now, for this to havehappened…”He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
He felt more than heard the others walk up and join Chaiyya around him.
When he glanced up, he faced all five of them. Seats grew under them in a circle.
Bharavi was the only one left standing. “This can wait,” she said. “Look at him. Hasn’t he been through enough?”
The others said nothing, merely stared at her. For a long second, Bharavi stared back, defiant.
Then she reluctantly lowered herself onto her fragrant rosewood chair, behind the others, directly opposite Iravan. He watched them, naked without his rudra beads.
Chaiyya rested a hand on her bulging stomach. “To be clear, are you accepting responsibility for all that has happened?”
The images came to him again, the boy’s panicked tumble as Iravan let go, how Iravan had been so dispassionate, how easy the decision had been. In that moment of choice, he had been fully aware of his actions. There was no escaping it. He had done it. He had killed Oam. The horror threatened to consume him. Iravan couldn’t breathe.
He opened his mouth to acknowledge his guilt, glancing at Bharavi, but her eyes burned like hot coals. A small gray ice rose sprouted between her fingers, barely visible, resting on her rosewoodchair—
And Iravan hesitated.
Chaiyya raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.
The ice rose. It meant something.
Iravan inhaled deeply, his breath ragged in his chest. Arbitrary thoughts chased each other. Why hadn’t Chaiyya chosen a more comfortable chair? The way she wassitting—squirming—AndAirav, so unsmiling. How often had he laughed with Iravan after their council meetings? For Airav to show no concern right now, for all of them to be soaloof—
Iravan’s shoulders straightened as it hit him.
He stared at them, and they stared back, hisfriends—no,not his friends, councilors. Those rosewood chairs weren’t ordinary chairs. They were high-backed council seats. This was not an informal gathering. This was a councilassembly—impromptu,formal, significant. Iravan’s heart began to race. The rudra beads felt heavy in their absence.
“Iravan?” Chaiyya pressed.
Bharavi still played with the ice rose. What was it? What did she mean?
The image came to him in a flash. A private ward in the sanctum, its floor entirely laced with those gray flowers. Manav’s ward, where Bharavi often worked. Iravan had visited it once.
