He glowered at her but wove his fingers through hers. “You look exhausted. Have you eaten?”

“I love you.” No more hiding from that huge emotion, no more cowardice. “Do you know?”

“Yeah.” It came out as rough as his bristled cheek. “But it’s nice to hear it.”

“Shall we go for a walk in the streets of Delhi?” She wanted to show him her city, the vibrancy and the chaos and the stark contrast of new and old.

Canto’s eyes held no galaxies, his jaw a brutal line, but he nodded.

He was a tense, alert presence at her side as they exited through the main gates of Vara.

Which was why it didn’t surprise her in the least when he said, “Stop,” in a cold tone to a short and skinny man who’d darted toward her—from behind a tree outside the gates. He wore a satchel crosswise across his body.

The man skidded to a halt, his dark eyes shifting to Payal. “Miss Payal, I have information for you,” he said in the local dialect.

Canto had subtly angled his chair so he—and his hidden weapon—were in front of her.

Wait, Canto. Payal put a hand on his shoulder. I think I recognize him. The memory was a few years old, and she couldn’t quite place the man, but he wasn’t a stranger. “Why are you lurking outside? You could have contacted me in other ways.” As the Rao CEO, she wasn’t easily accessible, but neither was she insulated from the outside world.

He looked around, as if searching for watchers. “I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Canto, able to understand the dialect because she was permitting him to link to her in a way that was beyond telepathic, said, He’s Psy. Good shields, but nothing martial or extraordinary. No weapons that I can spot, though the satchel is suspect, and his body language isn’t threatening. More scared.

Payal processed that, said, “All right. Let’s speak.” And because she saw his jittery gaze and constant swallowing, she invited him through the gates of Vara. Once safe from outside eyes, she led him into the garden and said, “You can speak freely. My home has been cleared of those not loyal to me.”

Payal didn’t seek devotion from those who worked for her, but she did want to know that she could walk the halls of her home without worrying about a knife in the back. To Sunita, the member of staff who had been so very loyal to her, she’d offered a generous pension should the woman wish to retire, but Sunita was basking in her promotion to head of domestic staff and had no intention of retiring.

It was a promotion long overdue; skilled and hardworking Sunita had been overlooked too many times in favor of Pranath’s favorites.

“What is your name?” she asked the man who’d stopped her, the garden lights a soft glow against the falling night, and the leaves of the guava tree rustling in the gentle breeze.

“Nikhil Varma.” Perspiration dotted his dark skin, though it wasn’t a hot night by Delhi standards. “I’m a cleaner. Chemical and medical waste.”

Payal inclined her head. “A job with a degree of risk.” It was significantly higher paid than general cleaning, but it meant bulky protective gear and a chance of exposure if something went wrong.

“I work at a Rao subsidiary,” he said, and used the back of his hand to wipe off his brow.

“Is there a problem with the cleanup standards?” All of Rao was meant to be following the long-agreed-upon international environmental standards that protected the earth. Psy, changeling, or human, breaches of those laws were punished harshly and could tarnish the Rao name. Even Psy didn’t enjoy living in polluted surroundings.

“What?” His eyes widened. “No, no. I do my work. I do it well.”

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Which subsidiary do you work at?”

“Raja MedChem.”

“That isn’t one of my companies.” Payal had the name of every major and minor company listed in an internal mental database.

“That’s just it.” Nikhil darted a look toward Canto before shifting his attention back to Payal. “We heard in the lab that you’d sent out a change-of-ownership notice to the entire business, but nothing came to Raja MedChem. We waited and waited, but still nothing.”

He wiped his forehead again. “I’ve been the cleaner there for years. No one considers me a threat. They talk around me … and I heard them talking about just quietly taking over the lab. Changing the documents to make it look like they were always independent.”

I have to admire their ability to seize the day. Canto’s telepathic voice held a growl.

“I appreciate this information,” Payal said, a hot, urgent thought blooming in the back of her mind. Canto. A secret lab.

Fierce exultation in the bond that connected them.

Chapter 47

Our capacity for love may yet save us.

—From The Dying Light by Harissa Mercant (1947)

“I JUST … YOU helped her.” Nikhil’s face softened. “Visha.”

“Visha Ramachandran?”

A jerky nod. “I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel anything—we were meant to be Silent then, but it made me feel good to be around her. I used to work in the small Vara lab then. I heard what he did to her, what you did.” Quick blinking. “I heard that you looked after her.”

“She’s doing well,” Payal told him. “If you wish, I can pass on your details to her, for when she next visits Delhi.”

If hope could be said to have a face, it was this man’s. “Oh, yes, please.” He fumbled with the catch of his satchel. “I have more information.”

Payal.

I’m ready.

Nikhil didn’t notice their alertness, he was so involved with opening his satchel. “I knew we had to be doing something important—your father was our only point of contact in Rao. That meant high-level.”

He pushed his hand in, returned with a sheaf of papers. “I stole this,” he admitted. “Specs of the compounds we make at Raja. The top one is the priority.” Another dive into his bag, as Payal accepted the papers.

“Here, I stole two vials of the newly made batch. I hope you won’t fire me, but I couldn’t work out how else to show you what we did. I thought you’d know.” He held out his palm … on which lay vials that glowed a piercing green.