Tamsin made an attempt at preparing her for the ritual, but when it comes to facing the skeletons in one’s closet before a gang of hostile witches, no amount of preparation could ever help all that much.

  She watched the pallid reflection of the moon shudder atop the inky waters of the pool, pondering if perhaps it felt some impossible apathy towards her situation. Perhaps she was searching for any hint of empathy—no matter how slight—which the unfeeling, unflinching masked faces of the witches so callously denied.

  There she stood, as ready for the humiliation to wash over her as she would ever reasonably be. After all, a thousand-fold more dangerous than the explosives she fashioned for battle were the ones wrought of memory in which she left, fuses lit, deep in her heart. If she could only have been courageous enough to make an attempt at disarming them, no matter how risky, she may have avoided this.

  “When you are ready, you may offer yourself to the pool of reflection.” Spoke the one voice she wished to hear least in that moment, Kromac, witches parting so that he could stride to the far edge of the pool, his cold eyes measuring. Judging her. Lamenting her very presence in this sacred place.

  Diya glanced around at the coven congregated around the perimeter of the pond, desperately searching for the one face that might stop her from spiraling.

  Standing on her tip toes, Tamsin’s face appeared from the crowd. She pushed her way to the front and smirked at Diya. A warm, kind smile that reminded her what she was doing all this for.

  Echoing and shrill, a coo came from above and Diya looked, all gathered shifted their eyes to see Shikra perched atop a rusted iron bridge overlooking the garden.

  A slow-blooming smile formed on Diya’s face. My apologies, my old friend. Two faces. She thought.

  Securing a prosperous future for her people would have been a more than worthwhile motivation. But this was so much more than that. Tamsin had put her faith in Diya’s heterochromatic eyes; she had searched far and wide for her. Rescued her from a lifetime spent in a cell, or worse.

  If confronting the memories she had buried away was the monster that needed slaying to continue, she would put a shot right between its eyes.

  The faint shimmer of torchlight traced the pool’s edge, bending the shadows like reeds in a breeze.

  Diya drew a deep, steady breath and stepped down into the water. The dark pool was far colder than she expected, as if it were chilled by the humiliation and shattered dreams of those who had come before.

  Kromac offered her an ornate curved knife. Her eyes, one blue and one green, stared into his as she took the blade, offering not an inkling of fear or hesitation, only the sheer promise of her will. Settling in the middle of the pool, she let the knife slide along the soft inside of her hand.

  Blood leaked.

  Then dripped.

  Just as the crimson drop hit the pool, an alarming sensation akin to burning spun out from her sternum and she gasped.

  ***

  Warm morning light peered through an open hatch in the ceiling, bathing her father and his cluttered workbench in a halo of light. Diya rubbed her eyes and ran to him. She hugged him tightly, head barely reaching his chest.

  Putting down the complicated looking contraption he had been wrenching on; he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Not another all nighter?” Diya asked, shaking her head. “You know what the doctor said!”

  “Oh I know, little star.” He said, stretching his arms high over his head and yawning. “But I’ve just made another breakthrough. Even if I went to bed, there’s no way I could sleep knowing how close I am to solving this puzzle.”

  “Why can’t I stay awake all night too, papa? I want to help!”

  “You need your rest so you can go to school and fill your mind with wisdom. Knowledge is power and you are always helping, little star, you are my muse! The greatest thing I ever made.”

  “But school is boring, papa.” Diya’s big eyes shifted from the machine on the workbench up through the hatch towards the sky. “What did you call it…sun power?”

  “That’s right, Di. Sustainable energy. No more polluting our township for energy. Respecting our home, so that you and maybe even one day your children have a prosperous place to live.”

  “You can’t do your best if you’re falling asleep,” Diya said, skipping off towards the kitchen. “I’ll put on a pot of tea!”

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  Diya threw a kettle of water over the hearth, then climbed up onto the counter so she could reach the spices from the cupboard. One by one she measured out the spices and filled the sachet with them, tying a piece of twine tightly around the pleasant-smelling bundle when she was done.

  A jubilant sound filled their small house, her father whooping with joy. “It works!”

  ***

  “I’m sorry to say, but your father is a traitor, Ms. Akash.” Slurred an officer in a green dress, who had a way of speaking hurriedly that made the words seem to blur together.

  Diya shook her head. “No, that’s not true. He only wants to make things better.”

  “We know you love him, Diya. But love doesn’t mean ignoring criminal negligence.” Said a bearded man wearing a long coat. “You’re a good girl, you know right from wrong, do you not?”

  She looked around the small windowless room, wishing she could be anywhere else. The two officers sat across the table from her, hard stares threatening to burn a hole through her. There was no way to know how long she had been in the room, but it felt like forever.

  “What do you think Officer Jai, it pains me to think, but maybe the child was in on the whole scheme? An accomplice to Mr. Akash’s crimes. If that were the case, we would lock her up and throw away the key.”

  “I don’t know Officer Lakshmi, I can see in her eyes, she’s a good girl, she wants to help. I understand how hard this all must be, child.” The bearded officer Jai, reached into his bag and pulled out a mango and handed it to Diya. “He’s done a terrible thing, and people have suffered. You can help stop it.”

  Officer Lakshmi straightened her green dress and leaned in. “You’ll be protecting others, like your mother would have wanted. Everything will be alright if you just cooperate with our investigation.”

  At the mention of her mother, Diya’s resolve softened. “He didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

  “Intent and consequence are not the same, child. He told you not to tell anyone what he was working on, right?”

  Diya was tired and sad and she just wanted to go home so she nodded along.

  ***

  The blackblood lamps glowed green and the rain buffeted the iron roofing made a tinny percussive sound.

  They had dragged out the old temple benches, lined them up like this was some kind of performance, and in a way, it was. Everyone wanted to see the traitor. Everyone wanted to see justice done, as long as it wasn’t them standing in the circle.

  Diya stood on a corner of the stage, too close to the bonfire behind the platform. She could feel it warming the back of her head, could smell the pitch and wet stone. The smoke made her eyes sting, but she didn’t dare wipe them. Her hands were trembling, and she tried to hide it by pressing them flat against her skirt.

  Her father stood in the middle, guards flanking him, bound at wrists and ankles, his face was bruised like he had received quite the beating. He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t pleading. Just staring at her like she was something precious he was about to lose.

  “Child,” said Rishi of The Council, voice smooth as oil, “tell us what you saw.”

  The words fell heavy.

  Diya tried to swallow, only her mouth was dry as a desert. The crowd leaned forward. She could hear someone cough, someone else whisper a prayer.

  She looked at her father. His eyes, gods, his eyes. No fury there. Just a kind of quiet heartbreak, the kind that made her wish he would shout instead. He tried to smile, and that was the worst of it. A father’s smile, meant to steady her, though his own world was coming apart.

  “Go on,” said Rishi again.

  Diya’s voice came out smaller than she meant it to. “I saw him give the machine to the Kudrat priest.”

  A ripple went through the crowd, like a breeze over tall grass.

  “The day before,” she added. “the catastrophe.” She didn’t mean for it to sound so damning, but it did.

  “And you are certain,” said Rishi, savoring the words, “that it was your father who manufactured this weapon?”

  The question hung there, a guillotine waiting to fall.

  Diya wanted to run. Wanted to scream that she didn’t know what she saw, not really, that maybe it was all a misunderstanding. But her throat locked up, and the world held its breath. “Yes,” she whispered.

  The word sent a shockwave through the town square.

  Someone gasped. Someone spat. The member of The Council smiled like a butcher with meat ready for his cleaver.

  Her father closed his eyes. Didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. Just breathed out slow, like he’d been expecting this all along.

  “Then by testimony and silence,” said Rishi, “guilt is confirmed. Mr. Akash must answer for all of the lives lost from his despicable weapon detonating at the blackblood refinery. I decree that no such technology shall ever be used again in Ghanesha.”

  And that was that.

  The guards moved in, chains clanking. Her father let them take him, each step measured, careful. When he passed her, he leaned just close enough for her to hear him over the murmurs.

  “It’s all right, little star,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Look away now.”

  She blinked up at him, not understanding, not really.

  The sound of rain hammering stone and iron filled the place as they brought him to the gallows.

  Citizens pushed and shoved into the place, no one wanted to miss the part where a man stopped breathing. A tragedy had occurred, and someone needed to pay. The rope creaked. The boards groaned.

  Diya stood, shivering in her thin cloak. She tried not to cry, tried not to watch. But the tears came anyway, hot and angry and she couldn’t help but stare up.

  He looked at her one last time. Still no anger. Just that same damned smile.

  When the lever dropped, the sound was quick. Too quick for how long it would echo in her head.

  The crowd began to drift away, talking about breakfast, the weather, anything else. Rishi brushed his hands like a man finished with a day’s work.

  Diya stayed until the sun broke through the clouds, burning the mist into gold. Only then did she whisper, “I’m sorry, papa.”

  The words didn’t make her feel any better. Nothing ever would.

  Years later, she’d learn that he never sold or gave the device to the Kudrat priests, rather it was stolen after he presented it to The Council.

  By then, it was too late. The dead don’t need apologies.

  ***

  Diya’s eyes shot open, and she screamed, tears pouring down her face. She was standing in the pool once again and the coven of witches gathered to watch her offered a collective gasp as they stood jaws agape.

  It took her a moment to snap back to reality, but when she did, it was obvious what had demanded their attention. It was her reflection on the surface of the murky waters—or what lingered there instead—it was Diya, but she was enveloped in branches, eyes glowing bright, with a crown of fire above her head.

  As she cried, every member of the coven fell to a knee around her. All except the towering chief, Kromac, who simply stormed off into the shadows of the ruins.