30
A foul stench wakes me. I lift my head to look around and then drop my cheek back to the sandy floor. The dungeons stink as dreadfully as I recall.
I do not sit up when a guard brings a breakfast tray into my cell, nor do I stir when he leaves, locking the iron door behind him. I lie on my side, waiting for Tarek to come and force me to attend the tournament.
He does not come, but the rats do. They scurry close, sniff my feet, and twitch their whiskers. I do not move for them either. Eventually, they grow bold and help themselves to my untouched food. I let them have it.
Sand works its way under my clothes, a gritty itch that I lack the will to scratch. I stare at my hands. My worthless hands. All I can do in this poisonous prison is think. I have more than enough hours to reflect on what went wrong, but I do not need them. I know why I am here. The gods are punishing me. I strayed from their path, and they crushed my rebellious dreams.
“You look droopy today, love.”
Tarek drags a chair to the bars and sits facing me. He is dressed for the tournament in his finest jewel-adorned tunic and turban, the rubies cold crimson in the dim light. Either he knows that I am a bhuta and I have no power here, or he does not suspect what I am. I doubt that it would matter if he did know. He would probably find a way to restrict me by tying a collar of noxious herbs around my neck.
“The guards said you won’t eat. You really should. You will need your strength for your match tomorrow.” I stare at the floor, and he adds, “The third finalist is Natesa. Your opponents have opted to fight with blades. You may choose differently if you wish.”
I am unsurprised to hear that Natesa was victorious, but his offering of a choice is absurd. Regardless of the weapon I choose, every one of the finalists is a better fighter. Any one of them could defeat me. I stew in my resentment. Let Tarek force me into the arena. Let him pit me against the three strongest challengers. Let them cut me down to the ground we stand on. I would rather go on to my next life than give him the satisfaction of watching me spill innocent blood.
“I won’t fight.”
He settles back in his chair, relaxing into his mantle. I am not fooled by his ease. He is unpredictable when he has been drinking, and I can smell the apong on him from here. “You will fight,” he says, “or I will burn down your temple. Samiya will be nothing but a smoke pillar in the distance.”
A dark laugh bursts out of me. “You’ve taken away everything else, why not my home?”
“I offer you the empire. You will be my wife, my queen. What else could you wish for?”
“A family. A home.” My traitorous voice trembles on the last word I say. “Love.”
“We speak of the same things.”
Contempt drives me to my feet. “Your court is not a family. These women serve you only to survive. Your home is not my home. It is a prison of secrets and lies. And I will never love you, not in this life or the next.”
His eyes spark with temper. “If you’re holding on to hope that Captain Naik is alive, you waste your prayers. He’s dead, washed ashore downriver. The birds and fish fed off his face.”
My chin quivers at his cruelty. It cannot be true. Deven was alive when I sent him off with Brac. They escaped the river’s savage pull, and the Aquifier healed him. “You lie.”
Tarek tilts his head, a smile twisting his lips. “What need do I have to lie when the truth serves me better?”
I refuse to believe him, but darkness descends upon my mind, swallowing up my denial. Tears I vowed not to shed in front of Tarek slip through my grasp. I turn away. “Leave me.”
“The tournament starts at high noon tomorrow. I expect you to be submissive when I return. The sooner you bend your will to mine, the sooner we will be happy.”
I whirl to face him and glare. “The way you and Yasmin were happy?”
Tarek stands fast, tipping over his chair. “You know nothing of Yasmin.”
I step forward, braver with the bars between us. “I know she tried to run from you. I know she never loved you. She loved Kishan—”
“Never speak his name!” Tarek pounds his fists against the cell bars. His face reddens, and tears gloss his eyes. Even with my own tears tracking down my cheeks from his cruel words, I find no satisfaction in causing him a mirrored pain.
The color in Tarek’s cheeks fades. He straightens and tugs down the cuffs of his jacket. “I will punish you for that.”
Done with him, done with everything, I back into a corner and lower myself to a huddled crouch. Tarek goes, reserving his punishment for another time, for a time when he has not already won and I am not already broken.
My cell door creaks open, and a guard brings in my supper tray. “Viraji?”
“Go away.” I stay hunched in the corner with my head down. “I won’t eat. I don’t care what the rajah said.”
“The rajah didn’t send me.” The guard’s voice is familiar, with its gentle burr. “Natesa asked me to come. I brought a visitor.”
A different voice adds, “We have come to see how you’re faring.”
I look up and see Yatin in the cell doorway, Brother Shaan behind him.
The big soldier scans me with soft eyes. “Natesa was concerned when you didn’t attend the tournament today.”
I wipe my soggy nose and rest my chin on my knees. “Tell her . . . tell her I’m . . .” Alone. Afraid. “Here.”
Yatin offers a sympathetic smile and sets down my supper tray. He leaves the cell, relocks the door, and then goes down the corridor, out of sight.
Brother Shaan rights the chair that Tarek knocked over not long ago and sits. “I have taken care of your friend’s burial. Jaya has her own grave.”
Thinking of Jaya buried in a grave shreds the last of my resilience. I slope farther into the wall, my budding tears blooming to full-size teardrops. Gratitude for Brother Shaan’s kindness mixes with my grief. Most wives are buried with their husbands, but Jaya would not wish to be laid to rest with Gautam. She would want her freedom.
“I’m sorry for your losses,” his gentle voice continues. I want to cover my ears to avoid hearing what other loss I have accrued, but I am not fast enough. “Deven was a good man, one of the scarce few in Vanhi.”
A whimper escapes my lips. Part of me still held on to the hope that Tarek was lying. But it seems he needed not lie in this, that the truth truly did serve him better.
My heart retreats from the pain of losing Deven. I hug my knees closer to my chest and replay our final moments together. I did not know I was sending him to a watery grave. I did not know I would never see him again. Hot tears trickle down my face and drip off my chin into the sand, staining it dark.
“I am sorry, Viraji,” Brother Shaan offers quietly.
I am too. He has no idea how much. I am sorry I did not save Jaya. I am sorry I did not make it down the river with Deven. I am sorry I will never see either of them again.
“Do you think starving yourself will punish the rajah?” says Brother Shaan.
“No,” I grit out. I hate that all my pain traces back to him. I hate him even more than I did last night. I hate him as much as I love Jaya and Deven. Eternally and unconditionally. “Not eating will make my point.”
“Which is?”
“Tarek does not command me.”
“I see.” Brother Shaan looks around the dungeons, as though there is something else to see besides filthy walls, sandy floors, and a broken girl. “How do you suppose you will win your match if you take poor care of yourself?”
“I have no intention of winning,” I say with a scalding gaze. Then I refocus my abhorrence from Tarek onto Hastin. The bhuta warlord left Deven to die. I blame him too.
“What do you suppose the tournament is about?” Brother Shaan asks in a reflective tone.
“Winning the throne.”
“Is it? I think it is about changing the way things have always been done.”
I shake my head. “We cannot change it.”
Brother Shaan crosses his arms in front of him. “In the story of Enlil’s Hundredth Rani, the decision of who lived and died was left to the fire-god’s wives and courtesans. The tournament took place because they disagreed on who would forfeit their place with Enlil.”
“Of course they disagreed. None of them wanted to die.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they had a chance to make peace and they chose war.”
I arch a brow. “You think Anu would have spared their lives if they had refused to fight each other?”
“We will never know. None of them fought for anything other than their own lives. If they had banded together, as sisters, I believe Anu would have taken mercy on them and they would have lived. Ki believed the virtue of sisterhood to be the solution. She organized the Sisterhood, built temples, and instituted a whole line of women to teach the following generations. These ideals have been forgotten, but they are not lost.” He pushes his hands against his knees to help his old legs stand. “Just think how Enlil’s courtesans would have changed the world had they chosen peace.”
Brother Shaan starts to leave. I rise and meet him at the bars. “Do you really think the tournaments can be changed?”
“Anything can be changed by those who have the courage to blaze their own path.”
“But which path do the gods want us to follow? Ours or theirs?” I grip the bars, impatient for an answer.
Brother Shaan’s gaze bores into mine. “You assume your path and the gods’ path lead you in separate directions. But they are one and the same.”
One path. I thought that my destiny was determined long ago and that I could not alter it. But what if my life never was out of my control? What if it is not?
Brother Shaan smiles, understanding infinitely more than I do about the mysteries of the gods. He bows. “Viraji.”
I stay pressed to the cell bars, listening to his retreating footfalls. Brother Shaan implied that the gods want what I want. I wish to bring back Jaya and Deven. I wish to hold Jaya’s hand and stroke Deven’s cheek.
But bringing back the dead is beyond even Anu’s power.
Misery weighs me down. If I cannot have Jaya and Deven, then what? I do not mull over my second choice for long. I want what I have wished for every day of my life—peace. But a simple, quiet life will be hard-won. The rajah will not give me up. My challengers will not fall easily. I have as much chance of surviving the tournament as Jaya and Deven have of rising from the dead.
Body heavy, I return to the corner and curl up in a ball. The rats revisit me, circling my meal tray. They chatter to each other, plotting how they will sneak up to my food without my noticing. Jaya was always strategizing ahead, anticipating others’ decisions. If she were here, she would say that I am an inexperienced fighter but I have a cause worth fighting for. She would say that my weapons may not have blades but I can wield five virtues mightier than any sword. Deven would tell me that my fate may be to die in the arena but I can fall with honor. I am not ready to die. If I were to allow Tarek to defeat me, Jaya and Deven would have perished for nothing.
This is my fate—to fight, to stand up to tradition, to finish what Yasmin could not.
I crawl to my waiting supper tray, scattering the rats, and eat.
Tarek comes for me the next morning. I lick the yogurt from my finger, and he looks in on me with surprise. “You’ve come to your senses,” he says.
The guard unlocks the door, and I exit the cell. Tarek kisses my cheek with more reserve than usual. He does not trust my obedience yet, but he will, because he wants to trust it.
“The time has come to prepare you for the arena. Will you behave yourself?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Desire sparks in his eyes. He pulls me close and kisses me. My cheeks heat from the force of not fighting him off.
“That color becomes you, love,” he says of my blush. “I hope to see it more often.”
Tarek escorts me to the wives’ wing and waits in my chamber while Asha readies me for the tournament. I have a new role to play today, my toughest performance yet. I am to act the part of a warrior.
Behind the dressing screen, Asha wraps a band of ivory fabric around my breasts, sealing them to my ribs, and then holds up loose trousers for me to step into. They hang from my hips to my ankles, the cloth baggy between. The straps of sturdy flat sandals wind up my shins, and leather cuffs strengthen my wrists. Asha smudges dramatic makeup onto my face. My lips are bloodred, my eyes dark and wide, my cheeks rouged. She then braids strips of ivory into my hair, the same shade as my uniform. I will be dusty the second I step into the arena, but the white will look striking for the procession.
I eye myself in the mirror glass for flaws, but Asha has done her job well. If I did not know myself, I would believe that I was the rajah’s champion. I tuck that knowledge away to draw on later.
“May the gods be with you,” Asha whispers.
I step out from behind the dressing screen for Tarek’s final inspection. He nods approvingly with a hint of adoration and then leads me out the main entry. The imperial court and soldiers prepare for the final journey to the amphitheater. Beyond the gates, the people chant for their champion. After today, I hope to be worthy of that title.
Many eyes follow us as we cross the courtyard to the line of waiting elephants. Others must have heard of my failed attempt to flee the palace, but if they disagree with Tarek’s decision to keep an unfaithful viraji, no one dares speak loud enough for us to hear.
Mathura stands off to the side with the favored four, and I meet her gaze. She looks older, as though a lifetime has landed on her all at once. I expect her to be angry with me, but her loving eyes bear the same silent message as Deven’s final words. You can do anything you set your heart on. His echoed confidence shines from her. Nothing I say can replace her son, but maybe she understands that I tried to save him. Maybe she is as sick of death as I am. Maybe she knows that I fight for us all.
Before I climb up the stairway to the howdah, Tarek pauses. “I have a surprise for you.”
Guards bring forward the old shepherd who helped me on my journey to Vanhi, along with his wife. The elderly couple bows. “Viraji,” they say, smiling.
I embrace both of them. They smell of the Alpanas, of budding spring grass and chilly, starry nights. But why did Tarek bring them here? Worry for their safety hides behind my glassy smile. “I’m glad you came.”
“The moment we met you, we knew you were a rani,” the old man says with his strange rolling r’s. “We wish you the blessing of the gods.”
I thank them repeatedly. I need their prayers more than they could possibly know.
Tarek speaks to a guard. “Find them seats in the amphitheater, and see that they are comfortable.”
The older couple bows in appreciation and shambles away arm in arm. Tarek helps me climb into the howdah.
“How did you find them?” I ask.
“They asked for you at the gates. I thought you would be pleased to see them.”
Tarek does nothing out of kindness. He means to prove that I can have a family, home, and love with him. I do not wish to owe him even the smallest sliver of gratitude, but I must convince him that I am the compliant young woman he wishes me to be.
I kiss him on the cheek and whisper my thanks.
He beams and opens a flask of spirits. Our elephant plods through the overcrowded roads, and I encourage Tarek to take the bottle often. I want Tarek to drink today. I need him good and tipsy if I am to succeed.