Forest of Demons by Debbie Cassidy

the barrier. The mood between them had changed. Heavier, filled with implications she didn’t care to consider. She was going to the capital in a few days; this . . . this wasn’t what she needed.
    They moved away from the wheel, standing next to each other awkwardly. She had allowed him to hold her hand. She’d given him a message, and now she had to alter that message.
    “I’m going to the capital in a few days. Ma and Papa are coming too. I . . . I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”
    Ravi’s head whipped around to look down on her, his eyes narrowed. “When was this decided?”
    Priya took a step back. “Last night, why?”
    Ravi shook his head, his eyes flicking from side to side. “Nothing.”
    “Ravi . . . I’m sorry. I . . . I shouldn’t have let you hold my hand.”
    He glanced up with a frown. “Why?”
    “Because . . . because it gives the wrong impression.”
    “I care little for impressions. I wished to hold your hand and you obviously didn’t mind at the time, so let’s leave it at that. Come, let’s get some food and browse.”
    The temperature seemed to have dropped from warm to bitter in a matter of seconds.
    He’d already set off toward a food stall. Wrapping her arms around herself she trailed after him, feeling oddly guilty about her honesty.
    Ravi bought her a plate of delicious hot sweets, but she’d barely taken a bite when she was interrupted by a portly, very harassed-looking munsiff.
    “Priya, thank goodness I found you!” He clutched at his chest, struggling to catch his breath. “I’ve been searching everywhere. You must come to an old man’s aid.”
    Priya lowered her plate. “Of course, how can I help?”
    “I have it on good authority that you have a pleasing singing voice; the singer we hired from Dakha failed to show up, and we’re desperate. The festival won’t be complete without song. Can you help us?”
    Good authority? Ma! Gods, the woman couldn’t help herself. The munsiff was staring at her expectantly, and then it hit her. He wanted her to sing, here, now . . . in public! Priya almost choked on her panic. All these people watching . . . listening. She shook her head, backing up until she was pressed to Ravi’s chest. “I c-can’t. I’m sorry.”
    Ravi braced her shoulders with his hands. “I’m sure you’ll find a solution, Munsiffji.”
    The munsiff didn’t even look in Ravi’s direction, instead keeping his pleading gaze fixed on Priya. “Please, Priya! Without song the festival will be incomplete, and our crops for the coming year will be doomed.”
    Ravi squeezed her shoulders in what she interpreted to be reassurance. She hesitated a moment longer, but then the image of Ma’s face, glowing with pride, swam into her mind. If Priya sang tonight, then Ma would live off this moment for the rest of her days. She owed it to Ma. She couldn’t promise to give her grandchildren, but she could give her this.
    “All right, I’ll do it.”
     
    Standing on the small stage erected from old wooden crates, she almost lost her nerve. Her eyes searched the crowd, and she found Ravi. He stood to the side, partially cloaked in shadow, his eyes blazing with assurance.
    The munsiff addressed the villagers, but she barely heard his inflated introduction. And then she was alone on the stage, and it was time to sing.
    She began in praise to the gods, thanking them for their bounty and their benevolence, but the song soon changed, as it always did with her. She wove a tale where gods and mortals interacted, about a quest and a warrior and doomed love.
    She sang from her heart and the words rose into the air in perfect harmony before falling on the gathered villagers like velvet soft petals.
    Her eyes traveled over the enraptured audience to the shadows beyond the fire sconces. She faltered, almost losing her thread, almost dropping the melody.
    The shadows were moving.
    She glanced in Ravi’s direction. His face was tight, body already in