Chapter Text
We can’t cover up another murder, Devi thought. Sara’s threat wasn’t just that—it was a promise. One that didn’t bother her as much as it should, Devi found as she relaxed in her arms. Warm and comforting, a relief after the lonely emptiness caused by her time in Tamas-Vitala. An unrelenting chill settled in her bones, and she hoped it was just the memories that made the feeling linger. Hoped to dispel some of that gloom with Sara’s arms around her and the sunlight filtering in through the large window beside them.
But Saraswati pulled away from their hug and stood. To leave her alone again, cold and empty. No amount of warmth from the sun could replace her tender embrace. Without her, the pale couch would blend into the muted beiges and off-whites of the rest of the room and drown Devi in their tedium.
Deviya grabbed her hand before she could fully think, stopping her from walking away. “Please, Sara. Don’t leave me. Not yet.” Not ever was what she selfishly wished for.
Her eyes widened as she nodded and sat back down. “I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
Saying nothing, Saraswati wrapped her arms gently around her as her warmth surrounded Devi once more.
They sat quietly; Sara’s silent support needed now more than ever. Was there anything for her to even say when the loneliness still lingered as it did? She couldn’t shake it off, even in Sara’s company. It weighed her down, a crushing, almost insufferable pressure.
Sara ran her hands in soothing motions down Devi’s back and up her arms like she felt the inexplicable chill, too. Simply content to sit there and hold her, making Devi believe there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
Devi turned to her, and Sara’s smile brightened. “I missed you.”
“To say I missed you too feels like an understatement.” The corners of her eyes crinkled, replacing most of her sadness with affection.
“How are you doing?”
“I told you before,” Sara said—dismissive, caged. Hiding something.
“Was that really how you were feeling?” Devi didn’t believe it. The answers sounded so canned as though she’d rehearsed or repeated them enough times that she pretended to believe them herself. It didn’t sit right with her. All Devi cared about was knowing what was really going on with her. All she cared about was Sara.
Saraswati sighed laboriously as if Devi seeing through her charade was an incredible inconvenience—it probably was. “Shouldn’t we be focusing on you? Why does it matter how I am?”
“Because I care about how you’re doing. Not knowing affects how I am.”
“It shouldn’t.” Sara frowned.
“What’s been eating at you?” she didn’t need to be a mind reader to know Saraswati wasn’t herself. “Sara, please. Talk to me.”
“I don’t like it here.”
She rested her hand on Sara’s forearm, hoping to give encouragement; Devi didn't have to say there was obviously more than that.
“I don’t trust anyone. Not de Clare. Not his staff. Not, not... anyone.” Left unnamed but hanging heavy in the air, not even their friends. “There’s so much uncertainty, and it—it’s driving me mad. I don’t know what any of this means, and I’m scared, Devi. I like having answers, and everywhere I look, there are even less.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say; she was as lost as anyone, or even more so. Devi intertwined their fingers, feeling two rings. She wore both of their rings. As Devi ran her thumb over the rings, she felt a fragile happiness and a pang of sorrow.
Sara thought it important enough to keep Devi’s ring close. Like she held a piece of Devi with her when she couldn’t be sure if Devi’d ever wake up. How the heaviness must weigh on her heart, compounded by the weeks of uncertainty.
When Sara started to take off the falcon ring, Devi stopped her. “Could I have yours?”
Her eyes sparkled with joy, a youthful hope that Devi didn’t know Sara still possessed. “Aren’t you worried someone will notice?”
“What are they going to do about it?” the one defiant act she could be allowed. She was sure the only man that might notice would be Arhat, and he wouldn’t dare do much more than make some faces and a comment or two. The servants wouldn’t glean the significance or, more likely, weren’t interested enough to care. In a world where she continued to have no control, Devi wanted something to hold on to.
Saraswati removed her ring and placed it on Deviya’s finger, gently squeezing the metal until it fit. Raised pinkish skin on her palm caught Devi’s attention, a gash still healing. Her scar from the ritual.
“Oh, Sara. Why did you try to downplay this?” a pit formed in her stomach. At this rate, Devi wondered if it would stay there permanently—this sense of dread and loss of control. She took Sara’s hand, turning her palm to inspect it further. How Sara spoke of the scar didn’t prepare Devi for how it would look. It was far too new and too big. Too fresh in the healing process, and Sara just tried to wave it away.
“Devi, I’m fine.” Blushing, she tried to dismiss Devi’s concern, but the small smile at the attention betrayed her efforts.
Carefully, Devi traced her finger over the scar and watched for any reactions. It hadn’t quite reached the strange smoothness old scars held. Sara didn’t move, didn’t wince; her skin didn’t seem to still be plagued by a sensitivity to touch. The smallest of comforts. Devi held her hand reverently, Sara gave her such a precious gift—saved her life. There would never be enough to thank her.
She kissed Saraswati’s healing skin, holding her gaze as she did. As it always was, staring into Sara’s bright gray eyes held an intensity Devi had come to expect. What she wasn’t prepared for was all the unspoken emotions she sensed, bubbling up between them as they both refused to look away. Sara did all of this for her. Chose to. And here Devi sat, kissing the proof of her sacrifice and devotion.
Devi blinked back tears; it was too much. She wasn’t ready to go into everything this could mean, everything that happened, and it didn’t seem Sara was either. “How have you been spending your time?”
“Visiting you when I can.”
It hurt to hear, but Devi hoped she hid it well—she didn’t want Sara to become a shell of a person bound to her side. After all she did, it wouldn’t be right. How sad and lonely. Devi wouldn’t be able to stand herself if she was the reason Sara’s liveliness drained from her. Or if she lost the joy in her interests. “Have you been painting at all?”
Sara looked away, giving a noncommittal, evasive, barely heard answer.
“Just say the word, and I’ll make sure that Christian’s staff will get you whatever you need.” Maybe Sara didn’t have the right supplies and was too proud to ask or frustrated with their inhospitality.
“I have everything I need, but thank you.” She frowned as she patted Devi’s hand, pulling away quickly.
“I’d love to see what you’ve been working on.” Devi hoped she had been painting. She took Sara’s willingness to share her work for granted—considered it a luxury instead of the gift it was. Her reluctance to give Devi a straight answer was odd. Sara usually spoke about her art with such a passion and vibrance.
“I’ll think about it.” She looked away.
“Sara...”
“I gave a few outfits for you to borrow,” Sara cut her off. A clear change in topic and shift in mood came as a teasing note entered her voice. “Is there a reason you chose the purple one?”
“There is.” Devi played into it, leaning in and taking a sharp breath at the creeping dull ache in her side. “Would you like to know it?”
Sara matched her. “I would.”
“I look good in purple.” She shrugged, trying to act casual.
Saraswati laughed, a sound Devi desperately missed. “And that’s all?”
“Is there another reason you could think of?” she batted her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence.
Instead of taking the bait, Sara just raised an eyebrow at her.
She knew her too well, knew that one look would get Devi to confess all sorts of things. “I think I chose it for the same reason you sent it as an option. Purple is an important color, is it not?” she glanced at the lioness ring on her finger for emphasis.
“Powerful, too.” Sara smirked, incredibly pleased with herself. She sat a little straighter like Devi’s words revitalized her—inflated her ego, perhaps. When Saraswati seemed more herself, Devi didn’t mind the admission that it took to get there.
She wanted to keep talking with Sara, but the discomfort in her side was getting too much to ignore. Devi closed her eyes as she steadied her breathing and adjusted on the couch. Surely, that was all she needed to get comfortable again. She would have to get accustomed to this weak and tired body.
But nothing slipped past Sara; her warm hands immediately acted, checking her. “Devi, what’s wrong?”
The worry in her voice was the only thing that led Devi to admit her pain. She wouldn’t cause Sara any more stress than she already had. It was already a whole lifetime’s worth.
Sweet, sweet and caring Sara. The words barely left Devi’s lips before she was knocking pillows off the couch, creating space for Devi to lie down. And then slowly, but firmly, pulled Devi’s head into her lap.
“Sara, it isn’t...” she trailed off as Sara shushed her. Her appreciation for the care and extra attention heavily outweighed her want to protest. To put on a brave face in front of Saraswati was silly. Not only would she be able to see past it in an instant, but she was also the person who brought Devi the greatest comfort. And didn’t they deserve some comfort?
“That’s my girl,” Sara cooed, dragging her nails through Devi’s hair and offering soft, encouraging whispers as Devi sunk deeper into relaxing.
She held Sara’s knee, an anchor grounding her to the moment. Her careful hands and gentle words.
“I’m going to wrinkle your sari.” Devi halfheartedly motioned to herself, knowing Sara would get what she meant. As Sara played with her hair, she had curled herself into a smaller and smaller ball. Her muscles were tight and unaccustomed to movement.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sara started smoothing the sari out. “We’ll lay it out after. You don’t have to do anything today.”
“I haven’t done anything in weeks,” she might have complained. Just a little.
And Sara wasn’t having any of that. “You only woke up today. You can’t expect everything to just be fine.”
“But...” Sensible wasn’t how she felt.
“Nothing, Devi.”
“Exactly. I’ve done nothing.” Deviya tried to roll onto her back, so she could look up at Sara; she needed some help, but they managed. “I left you all alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.” Her face softened as she distracted herself by fussing over Devi’s hair and clothes.
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“I talked to you.”
“When I was unconscious?” that hardly counted, and Sara knew it.
She sighed. “It’s just all so overwhelming. Everything is so different here. The food. The clothes.” Sara wrinkled her nose. “The people.”
“What has it been like?”
“Dull. Colorless. Much like your guest room. Dreary and boring. No one here knows how to smile. Even if I’ve had little reason to until you woke up, at least I knew how.” Saraswati waved her hands as she spoke. Her voice dripped with disdain as if she was finally letting all her frustration out. “They do nothing but sit around in their uncomfortable clothes, whispering and looking down on everyone that isn’t like them. Whether it’s where we’re from or how much money people have, if you don’t fit their idea, you’re left out. Or worse. Mocked, ridiculed or hurt because of it.”
“It sounds lonely.”
Sara smiled down at her, brushing her hair out of her face. “It was.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Everything.” She reached out for Sara’s face, but Sara took her hand.
Tutting like Devi was a child to be cared for, Sara grabbed a pillow. “Here, lift your head.”
“I’d be more comfortable without one.” Devi didn’t have to tell her it was because her head was lying in Sara’s lap, touching her thighs. Or that the connection was the only thing keeping her sane.
“If you say so.”
“I do.” It felt like Devi was constantly thanking her. Sara had done so much—gave up so much—and had such a miserable time in England so far.
She didn’t seem convinced but didn’t argue.
Taking her scarred hand, Devi pressed another kiss to the healing skin before she held it to her chest. “Thank you, Sara, truly. You saved my life.”
“It wasn’t just me...” Saraswati tried to downplay and brush it away. Almost like she didn’t believe she deserved the gratitude.
There were others—Ram, Ratan, Raj. But Sara’s sacrifice, her pain, was essential to the ritual succeeding. Brushing away all her pain, all she sacrificed. Without Sara, she wouldn’t be here. Devi saw the anguish in her eyes, the haunting expression. Felt it herself when she thought about her time since the attack, her own death.
“You were so brave.”
“I...” she trailed off. The smile seemed more like her as she debated whether she should keep talking.
Devi laced their fingers together, still clutching her hand to her chest. She could wait forever if she had to. If time was all she had to give, she would, wishing she could do more to thank her properly. Words would never be enough.