5
Healer Baka and Priestess Mita steer me toward the chapel, each with a hand on my shoulder. My legs are stiff with shock. All of the younger daughters wait cross-legged on floor cushions. The older ones, who just came from the Claiming, are barefoot and clad in identical ivory robes, creamy against their skin, eyes, and hair. When we first congregated in the inspection chamber, I admired our elegant uniformity. Now I barely register my surroundings.
Jaya motions me over to the cushion that she has reserved near her own. I split off from Healer Baka and Priestess Mita, and they lapse into urgent whispers. I do not linger to hear them, though I can fathom their disbelief. Bamboo Kali caught the rajah’s eye.
“Did you hear?” Jaya clutches her chest, her nose red from crying. “We were inspected by the rajah.”
I nod and kneel beside her, bile winding up my throat.
“Natesa said she felt his breath across her chest.” Jaya’s horrified gaze drifts inward. She sucks her lower lip. “I heard her tell Sarita she’s going to live in the palace. Do you think that’s true?”
“Maybe.” Two rows in front of us, Natesa sits high on her knees, beaming smugly. “Did he touch her?”
Jaya pulls out of her anxious daze. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Did he claim anyone else?”
“Not that I heard.” Jaya’s breaths shorten to quiet gasps. “I—I could not stop shaking.”
I wrap my arms around her, guilt digging a gulch in my stomach. I have to leave her. I have to leave here. I should warn her, but the confession grips my tongue, reluctant to let go.
A gong chimes, and all conversation dwindles to a close. Many faces shine with eagerness. Rumor of the rajah’s visit has spread like ripples across the meditation pond. I release Jaya but stay pressed against her side.
Priestess Mita commands our attention from the front of the chapel. “I am certain by now you have all determined the identity of our benefactor. Rajah Tarek was pleased with the variety of your beauty and battle skills.” She raises her fingers in a V. “He chose two daughters.”
Gasps fly around the room. They know of Natesa but not of me. The others speculate in hushed voices, and Jaya rests her hand on my knee. I meet her searching gaze and nod. Tears sprout at the corners of her eyes.
“Quiet in the chapel.” Priestess Mita waits for silence to resume. “Both daughters will leave for Vanhi to live in the Turquoise Palace. However, only one will wed the rajah. The second will be his courtesan.”
Jaya clutches my leg harder in question. I shake my head. I do not know which I will be.
My insides coil like a viper trapped in a basket. To be a queen—a rani—is a charmed life. The highest station any girl, orphan or not, could dream of. Certainly, the rajah would not choose me to wed him over Natesa, with her heart-shaped face and abundant curves.
“Natesa and Kalinda, please step forward,” says Priestess Mita.
Upon hearing my name added to Natesa’s, the daughters erupt in various forms of astonishment, but all reactions rapidly wane to envious mutters and spiteful glares. Even Prita and Falan, who have always been distant yet polite, eye me with jealousy.
I rise fluidly, head high. Whether I am to be a wife or a courtesan, there is no sense in showing my devastation. What is done is done. I will accept my fate with dignity and cry my eyes dry later.
Natesa slings me a look of surprise. I join her at the front of the chapel and stare out at the kneeling group, searching for Jaya’s comfort among the daggered glares. She stares bravely forward, tears dripping off her chin.
Priestess Mita faces Natesa and me. “Whatever your position may be, I ask that you represent the Samiya Temple and Sisterhood well. Serve the rajah with perfect obedience.”
Natesa’s lips twitch in triumph. I am her only competitor left, and she has arrived at the same conclusion. I am no man’s bride.
I clasp my hands in front of me, concealing my unsteady fingers in my robe. Candlelight flickers across the mural of Anu on one wall, and on the wall opposite, a mural of his wife, Ki. The painter positioned them to gaze across the chapel at each other. I would have liked to see the rajah before he claimed me, but I now stand on the edge of a cliff, about to plunge into a faceless unknown.
“The rajah’s word is final,” the priestess says. “We do not defy. We obey.”
“We obey,” the daughters echo.
I mouth the promise, my tongue still too deadened to allow me to speak.
Everyone waits in silence. Quiet does not usually unsettle me. I can sketch in peace for hours, but the anticipation here is unnerving.
“To join his household as a courtesan, Rajah Tarek chose Natesa.” Priestess Mita swivels to me. “And to become his wife, he chose Kalinda.”
I gape at her rare approving smile, my heart falling . . .
Falling . . .
Falling . . .
I hit no bottom, no end, no release.
I have been claimed to be a rani. A queen.
Stunned silence pervades the chapel. My face must mirror everyone else’s disbelief and astonishment. Priestess Mita calls forward Sister Hetal, who brings a pot of henna. The priestess dips her pointer finger in the dye and strokes it from between my eyebrows, down my nose. Though I cannot see it, there is a short line down the center of my face—a sign to all that I am to be wed.
The priestess waits for Sister Hetal to return to the back of the chapel and then says, “I have more momentous news. His Majesty visited the other Sisterhood temples prior to traveling to Samiya. He was searching for a very special recipient, and Kalinda is his choice. She is to be the rajah’s one hundredth rani.”
Murmurs from the sisters rupture the quiet. I, with the other daughters, silently consider what this means. In the Parijana faith, mortal men are permitted only as many wives as Anu, who had one hundred. Otherwise, the sky-god becomes jealous and curses the man and his lineage. But to wed the same number of women as Anu is proof of eminence. No other living sovereign has cared for one hundred wives. No other ruler has the resources. Marrying me will establish Rajah Tarek as the dominant monarch on the continent.
The thought of so many unknown faces dazes me. I am to be the rajah’s one hundredth rani. He has ninety-nine wives. Ninety-nine! I understand that a man’s number of wives is a sign of his wealth and power, but how powerful should a man be?
“Can anyone recite the story of Enlil’s Hundredth Rani?” the priestess says. She scans for a volunteer, but no one raises their hand. “Jaya, would you please?”
Jaya stands slowly, her eyes swollen from crying. I clamp my teeth shut. I detest Priestess Mita for turning this into a preaching moment. But before I can think ahead to what reason she may have, Jaya starts.
“The fire-god, Enlil, took many mortal wives and courtesans, all of whom were blessed with astounding loveliness, enough so that the sky-god began to covet his son’s good fortune. So when Enlil announced that he would wed his one hundredth wife, Anu was wrought with his son’s greediness and would not allow Enlil more wives than he had. Anu told Enlil he could have only one hundred wives and courtesans, mortal or otherwise, and he was to drown those he did not keep. Enlil was distraught. He cared for his wives and courtesans, and could not pare them down to so few. In his grief, he asked his father how he should choose which of his women to retain. Anu responded by saying, ‘Let them decide.’”
Warmth seeps from my face. No, no, no.
Jaya goes on, each word quieter than the last. “Enlil’s wives would not rescind their rank. They loved their husband and honored him, but the courtesans loved Enlil as well, and they did not think that it was just that they should die. So the courtesans challenged Enlil’s future wife and battled for her rank as the last rani. Enlil’s future wife was the loveliest of them all and had a merciful heart to match, but she was also a fierce contender. She defeated every challenger and held her position until she was the last warrior standing. She wed the fire-god and was his favored wife forevermore.”
“Well done, Jaya. You may kneel.” The priestess beams at me.
I have waited all my life for her to see me as someone of worth. Now that she does, her praise repels me.
“Kalinda has been claimed, but now she must claim her place in the palace. She has the great honor of defending her throne by participating in the age-old rite of rank fighting.”
Her words are talons ripping into my chest. My hands betray my fear, quaking against my sides. I never thought that this would happen, or I would have remembered my lessons about the rank tournaments. Each time the rajah takes a wife, the law of the gods states that his current wives and courtesans may host a tournament in which they duel to defend or improve their position or vie for the coveted first-wife spot. These brutal battles go on for days and often end in death. This is why Rajah Tarek wanted to see us duel. This is why he chose me, despite my looks. I am the last wife he will ever claim, and he wants a warrior to defend her rank as his final rani.
But I cannot win. The priestess must know that. Everyone must. My performance at skill trials was a fluke. I triumphed over Sarita, yet surely the rajah must have seen that I am not the strongest fighter. My strength came from my love for Jaya. His courtesans have trained for years for the tournament. Some of them are novices like me, but they will be weeded out. The strongest will win and wed Rajah Tarek, and it will not be me.
“The rajah has chosen Kalinda to represent his throne as his champion,” says Priestess Mita. “In her honor, his wives and courtesans will host a rank tournament, their largest ever, as this will be his courtesans’ last chance to secure a spot as rani. Let us honor his champion!”
Priestess Mita brings her hands together in prayer and bows before me. The sisters at the back of the chapel emulate their leader, and all of the kneeling daughters bend forward, resting their foreheads against the floor. Natesa does not move.
“Show respect for your future queen,” orders the priestess.
Natesa’s nostrils flare, and her fingers turn clawlike. I have no doubt that she wants to toss me off the mountain, but she presses her palms together at her chest and dips her chin.
“I appreciate your obedience, daughters,” says the priestess, releasing them from their deference. She wraps an arm around me and steers me down the chapel aisle to the rear door.
This is happening too fast. I cannot leave now. Yet some part of me registers that I am leaving.
We reach Jaya, and I tear away from the priestess’s hold. I drop to my knees before my best friend and crush her against me. “I would bring you with me if I could.”
“Come back and claim me as your servant. Promise me you will win the tournament, Kali. Promise me you will return for me.”
Her forward thinking overwhelms me. On occasion, a benefactor’s wife accompanies him for a Claiming, and together they choose a servant, usually a ward with weak fighting skills. But even if I could come back and claim Jaya, would I?
“No,” I say. “You have to swear fealty to the Sisterhood, or you could be claimed by the next benefactor who comes here.”
“But if I join the Sisterhood, we will never see each other again.”
My stomach lurches. Saying farewell to Jaya forever is unbearable, but asking her to wait for me is a tremendous risk. Too much can go wrong. “You cannot—”
“I will not be claimed. No one will want me now that my face is scarred.”
I clasp her shoulders hard. “I thought no one would want me either!”
Jaya’s wet eyes press upon me. “You can win, Kali. You never give up. Promise me you will win. Promise me you will come back for me.”
I want to argue, but she has made up her mind. She will not join the Sisterhood. She will wait for me and face more Claimings. I have to win. I have to return for Jaya.
I kiss her cheek above her stitches and whisper, “I will come for you.”
Jaya grabs my hands and squeezes. I grip back hard, our fingertips turning red.
Priestess Mita tugs us apart. In a teary fog, I say, “I love you; I love you” to Jaya until I can no longer see her.
The priestess leads me from the chapel and down to the lower level. She opens the same door I listened at this morning. I expect to come face-to-face with Rajah Tarek, but Captain Naik turns upon our arrival.
The captain’s presence pulls me up short. I clutch my skirt and step behind the priestess.
“I was told there would be two,” he says.
“The other will be along shortly.” Priestess Mita tugs me out in front of her. “Kalinda, this is Captain Naik. Captain, this is Kalinda, the rajah’s intended.”
Captain Naik sums me up with a frown. I dry my tear-streaked cheeks with the back of my hand and wait for him to tell the priestess that we have met, but he sets off for another door.
Priestess Mita pulls me along after him, and I stumble to keep pace with her. We cross the chamber filled with gold-etched furniture. The rajah stayed here. Where is he?
The door opens to an exterior stairway that carries us to the front courtyard. Snow clouds hang low and heavy along the midsection of the mountain. Though it feels like a lifetime since skill trials this morning, it is hardly midday.
A line of horses waits with five more soldiers packing saddlebags laden with swords. I am struck by how quiet they are, and how big. One soldier, with arms thicker than my hips, hooks a team of white horses to the golden carriage. All of the soldiers wear saffron-colored knee-length tunic jackets, along with trousers loose around the thigh and gathered at the ankles, and securely wound turbans. The captain’s uniform varies slightly, with gold embroidery around the cuffs and a stand-up collar. Still not seeing the rajah or the general, I fidget with my skirt.
“Where is Rajah Tarek?” I ask.
The captain addresses me while fastening his saddlebag. “His Majesty has returned to Vanhi ahead of us to prepare for the rank tournament.”
My disappointment equals my relief. Rajah Tarek must have left immediately following the Claiming. Perhaps it is best that we travel separately. This way I have time to adjust to my twisted fate before I must face it.
Captain Naik continues. “The carriage and horse team are an engagement present for you. The rajah sends his apologies that he was not here when you received it.”
My mind clears of all except the captain’s words. The grand carriage and horse team are mine?
“Captain Naik.” The priestess raises her voice to be heard over the wind. “The second daughter may not immediately appreciate her calling. Natesa may need . . . additional supervision.”
The captain swaps a dry look with a fellow soldier. “We will keep an eye on her,” Captain Naik says as he mounts his horse. His sudden height startles me back a step. I stare up at him, recognition dawning. He is the lead rider, the man that I sketched. I lean slowly toward him, studying every facet of his face so that I can draw it later. He peers down at me with a peculiar look. “Do you wish to see inside your carriage?”
I straighten and drop my gaze. “I—I—”
Natesa and Healer Baka exit the temple behind us, bracing against the sweeping winds. Natesa goes straight to the carriage with her small bag and runs her fingers over the shiny door handle. “Is the carriage for me?”
“The carriage is a gift from the rajah to his intended,” says Captain Naik.
Natesa thrusts out her chin. “Oh, Kalinda won’t mind if—”
“Ask her if you may accompany her,” the captain says, “or you will ride to Vanhi on the top of the carriage.”
I do believe that Captain Naik means his threat. He strikes me as someone who does not go back on his word.
Natesa glares at me. “May I ride with you?”
Every time she has called me Bamboo Girl thunders in my ears, but I will not be high-handed to anyone, not even someone who deserves it. “Yes,” I say.
Natesa huffs and climbs inside. I turn into the wind to blow my hair out of my face. Healer Baka comes over and hands me a satchel weighed down with tonic vials, charcoal sticks, my sketchbooks, a slingshot, and firing stones.
My eyes blur with tears. “Thank you.”
Healer Baka draws me into her arms and speaks into my ear. “Have a care who you tell about your fevers. Not everyone will understand. The tonic formula is inside your bag. Hide it and take your daily dosage in private.”
Her sudden urge to be secretive confuses me. I am prone to fevers. What is there to understand? And even if I do not tell anyone, Natesa could wag her tongue. I want Healer Baka to clarify, but she silences me with a significant look and holds me tighter. “You can win the tournament, Kali. I know you can.”
“I will try.” My throat runs dry on the breath of my hopeless promise. I cannot win. Entering the arena will be a death sentence. But I want her and Jaya to know that I did my best.
A blast of wind nearly swipes us sideways. Healer Baka releases me and returns to the shelter of the entry. Captain Naik rides his horse to the back of the party and relays instructions to his men. The soldiers squint at the moody skies, impatient to get ahead of the snowfall.
The priestess does not reach out to me as Healer Baka did. “I know we have not always agreed,” she says, “but I am honored to have had you as my daughter. Be safe on your journey, and keep your distance from the men. You belong to the rajah now. Any disloyalty to your future husband will merit the gods’ punishment.” Priestess Mita brushes away the henna flaking off my nose, where she marked me as a betrothed woman. “Remember your duty, and represent Samiya well.”
“I will,” I promise.
The captain calls to his men. “Mount up!”
I join Natesa in the carriage. She is seated on the far side, against the second window, leaving me the seat nearest the door. The procession sets off down the hillside. My eyes stream tears. Priestess Mita and Healer Baka quickly drop out of sight, and soon only the temple’s familiar stone towers are visible. Lamplight emblazons the observatory in the north tower. I hold on to that beacon until distance swallows it up and my home vanishes.
“Finally.” Natesa spreads out her lap blanket. “I’ve been waiting to escape that prison since I arrived.”
I glance at her sharply. After Natesa’s parents died, she was fortunate to be taken in by the Sisterhood. I want to slap her mouth for her ingratitude, but I will save my reprimand for later. We have to endure these close quarters for a fortnight, down the Alpana Mountains and across the Bhavya Desert.
In those fourteen days, Natesa will say or do something more offensive. That is a guarantee.