13
KALINDA
Someone kicks my chair, bringing me upright. Indah stands before me, cradling a steaming teacup. “You sleep in the strangest places,” she says.
“What time is it?”
“Midmorning.” She shuffles in front of my chair and leans against the open casement. Sunlight falls in behind her. The snow clouds have passed, and the air is warmer. Icicles drip from the window. The tower beacon pushes warmth at my back, adding heat to the warming temperatures. I relit the flame last night after Tarek left. My memory of his visit is fuzzy in the light of day, pulling apart my confidence in what I saw.
Is it possible for souls to travel from the Void by shadows? Is there truth to Inanna’s Descent?
“Ashwin sent me to find you,” Indah says. “What are you doing up here? Have you been here all night?”
“I came to watch for Hastin.” I slip my hands under the wool blanket. My inner chill is relentless.
“You don’t have to do that. Pons is listening for his arrival.”
“I know. I just . . .” Seeing Tarek reminded me of how Hastin manipulated me into trusting him. The longer I wait, the more Deven’s warning weighs on me. But my apprehension may be for naught. Whether Hastin comes or not, we must leave Samiya tomorrow morning to meet with the Lestarian Navy.
“Healer Baka sent this for you. She told me I could find you here.” Indah passes me the teacup. I sip the hot drink, savoring its sweetness. She opens her cloak to the autumn air. Her cheeks have more color than yesterday.
“What were you doing in the infirmary?”
“I needed a remedy for my stomach. Healer Baka was very helpful. While she brewed anise tea for me, we discussed the temple’s supply shortage. I wrote Datu Bulan and told him the sisters and daughters will perish if he does not send rations. The carrier dove left an hour ago. I anticipate he’ll agree, but should he decline, we could petition the Paljorians.”
The Paljor territory converges with Tarachand on the north side of Wolf’s Peak. The tribe is closer than the Southern Isles, but reaching out to them is only a fallback. “Thank you. We’ll wait and see—”
A thwack thwack of bamboo striking bamboo sounds below. I join Indah at the casement and look out. Pons moved the wing flyer from the courtyard, outside the gate near the road. Melting snow leaves puddles that dry in the afternoon sun. In the distance, a sheet of ice still shimmers on the lake, slower to melt, but the warmer autumn day has cleared away the frost from the temple courtyard. Wards wearing sky-blue saris train with staffs in the sparring ring. Their instructor, Sister Hetal, shouts commands.
“Their staffs are twice as tall as they are,” Indah says.
“They’re probably eight or nine.” The age when the sisters start training the wards for battle. They believe Ki wishes for them to mold the wards into warriors, an honor and rite of passage.
Indah turns into the sun. She exudes the beauty of her homeland—pearly teeth, gilded eyes like the island sunset, and brown skin with undertones of sandy beaches. “Thank Enki the snow is melting.”
“Isn’t snow just frozen water?”
“Yes, but manipulating ice and snow aren’t techniques practiced in the Southern Isles, for apparent reasons.” Indah’s attention slides to the stationary wing flyer. “I’ll be glad to go home where it’s warm.”
Her eagerness to return to Lestari conflicts with her dislike of heights. “How did someone who doesn’t like to fly fall in love with a Galer?”
Indah’s gaze follows the girls sparring below while she answers. “Pons and I met during our Virtue Guard training. His father was a trader of rare treasures and often bartered with Datu Bulan. While he was traveling, he would leave Pons at the palace. His father died during one of his trips, and Bulan took him in.”
“Why does your father disapprove of you and Pons?”
Frustration packs Indah’s every word. “Pons is a Janardanian. My family lines trace back to the first families in the Southern Isles. My father wants me to wed a Lestarian and preserve our bloodline.” She speaks the last in a gravelly voice, mimicking the admiral.
Parents. The one explanation I cannot relate to. However, I understand the obligation to uphold tradition. Never was I given a choice of which benefactor would claim me or for what purpose. I assumed women outside the temple had more freedom. Marriage proposals are often sorted out between families. But now I see that custom is also flawed.
Still, Indah was permitted to meet a man and fall in love. I was never given that option.
We lapse into a contemplative silence. As the wards take turns in the sparring ring, I grow fidgety.
“Indah, will you please fetch Ashwin and Pons? I have something for us to do.”
She pushes away from the casement, keen to join me. She must be bored of waiting for Hastin too. “Ashwin may not come,” she says. “He borrowed every book he could find on the Void from the library and was up all night reading. Last I checked, he hadn’t found anything of use.”
After what I learned from Tarek—if I did not in fact imagine his visit—I doubt the location to the gate will be cited in a text. “Tell him it’s important. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” I hurry off, leaving her to satisfy my request.
Outside, a pair of girls duels in the sparring circle. The rest of them wait their turn by the weapons rack. An eighteen-year-old ward I knew from my time here, Sarita, gives them instructions while Sister Hetal observes.
“Strike her knee and then—” Sarita cuts off. “Kindred Kalinda.”
All the young wards whirl around and bow.
Sister Hetal scurries to the front of the group. “Kindred, Priestess Mita didn’t inform me you need to use the courtyard.”
“I don’t. I came to watch the wards practice.”
The girls whisper to each other, and Sarita scrutinizes my trousers. My former competitor in the sparring ring has not changed at all. Her shape is still soft yet firm, fit yet feminine. She and Natesa were good friends. From Sarita’s glare, she has not forgotten the last time we sparred. I gave her a bloody lip.
Pons, Ashwin, and Indah come up the side stairway from the lower level. The girls’ high voices pinch off at the sight of the Lestarian warrior with the partly shaved head, bare legs, and hairy chest. They are equally astonished by Ashwin’s good looks, and most of them blush.
“Girls, protect your innocence.” Sister Hetal covers the nearest girl’s sight, and the others shut their eyes. Sarita hides her face but peeks out at Ashwin from between her fingers. “Kindred Kalinda, the wards mustn’t see the men. Priestess Mita—”
“Would not presume to send away her prince.” I tug him forward, and Pons and Indah follow arm in arm.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” Ashwin says under his breath. I was, though at the moment I cannot remember why. His touch is like a sunrise on a frosty morning. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re introducing these girls to their ruler,” I answer and then raise my voice. “Prince Ashwin has come to view your sparring practice.” Sister Hetal blathers on about propriety and innocence. I direct my next statement at Sarita, who has lowered her hands to gawk at Ashwin. “Would you like to demonstrate your skills first or should we draw lots?”
No one moves. The younger girls still have their sight shielded, though many steal glimpses of the men behind Sister Hetal’s back.
“Kalinda, perhaps we should go,” Ashwin says, shifting uncomfortably.
“These girls have been locked away long enough. There’s a point when innocence becomes ignorance.”
“I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Sister Hetal blusters. “Priestess Mita must hear of this.”
She rushes off, and most of the wards lower their hands. Pons bows to them. His kind, wise eyes exude a surprising depth of vulnerability. He does not want them to fear him.
Ashwin chews his lower lip, still torn. “They’re so young. I don’t want to startle them.”
The girls hang on his every word, his strange tenor transfixing them. None of them flee or hide. They are sister warriors in the making.
Remembering how awkward it felt to stand before a group of men as a lone woman, I push a smile of encouragement at Ashwin. “They have never seen a man before, but they’re astute enough to recognize your handsomeness.”
Ashwin’s gaze slowly widens. “You’ve never told me I’m handsome.”
“No?” My voice mellows. “I should have.”
Sarita bows, a curt bend at her waist. “There’s no need to draw lots. I’ll demonstrate my skills for you, Your Majesty.”
The last of the girls uncover their eyes and blink at Ashwin in wonder.
I select a staff from the weapon’s rack and hand it to Sarita. “Go ahead. I’ll be your sparring partner.”
She laughs a little, not in derision but amusement. “You’re still skinnier than a bamboo pole.”
“I’m also a two-time tournament champion.” She would probably flee if I told her I am also a Burner, but I do not want these girls to fear men or bhutas.
“This will be entertaining,” Indah says, tugging Pons to the meditation pond. Some of the wards shuffle after them. They congregate near Indah, but do not shy away when Pons asks them questions about their training. More girls move closer to my friends, mesmerized by Indah’s topaz eyes and Pons’s gentleness. They even request to see his blowgun, and he shows them.
I grab another staff and square off with Sarita in the ring. Her entire focus is on me and not the men. She has recovered faster from meeting the opposite gender than I did. I was thunderstruck by Deven for days.
Sarita raises her staff to ready position. “Until first blood?” she asks, reciting the rules of the last time we sparred.
“Until first down,” I correct. I have shed enough blood inside battle rings. Priestess Mita will return any moment, so I call the start and waste no time swinging.
Sarita blocks, and our bamboo poles connect. The clanging vibration shoots up my arms. She glances at Ashwin for approval. I slide closer and knock her in the side of the head with the end of my staff. She bends away and comes around, striking me in the hip. The impact throws me back a step.
“What’s become of Natesa?” Sarita tries for neutrality, but I hear her concern for her friend.
“Natesa lives. She conceded the final rank tournament match to me.”
Sarita swipes at my nose. I duck, but she gets me on the way back up, hitting me in the shoulder. “Natesa would never concede to you.”
“She did.” I pace away so Sarita can better view my earnestness. “We’re friends now.”
“They are,” Ashwin confirms, standing at the rim of the ring.
Sarita adjusts her grip on her staff while considering this news. I check on Pons and Indah from my side vision. The little ones still crowd around them. One of the girls sits in Indah’s lap, and another plays with Pons’s tied-back hair.
“Where is she?” Sarita asks, jabbing.
I block her, locking our staffs together. “She’s in love with a soldier. I think they’ll wed someday.”
Sarita drops her guard, her voice halting. “Natesa isn’t a palace courtesan anymore?”
“No. She’s been freed.”
Sarita lowers her staff even more. Her incredulous stare goes right through me.
“Enough!” Priestess Mita bellows across the courtyard. She and Sister Hetal march for the sparring ring.
I lower my voice to Sarita. “Much has happened since I left. You don’t have to stay here locked away, waiting for a benefactor to claim you. This is your life. Claim it.”
Priestess Mita stomps up to me and yanks away my staff. She tosses it aside, and it lands with a clang, alarming the wards with Indah and Pons. “Daughters, leave us.”
Sister Hetal herds the girls together and shoos them inside. After some prodding from the priestess, Sarita drags her feet after them.
Once the entry door is shut and all the girls are inside, Priestess Mita snarls, “You desecrate this sanctuary, Kalinda. Healer Baka told me you’ve invited the bhuta warlord here. How could you endanger these children? You’re their rani, endowed with the power to protect them! You shame the Sisterhood and the land-goddess with your selfishness.”
Ashwin steps to my side to defend me, but I wave him off. “You denied me the right to choose my fate,” I say.
“The Claiming is Anu’s will!”
“What about my will? What about Jaya’s? The gods gave us the five virtues so we could choose to emulate them. They would never force us.”
Color rises in her cheeks. “You ungrateful child. You’re rani because of the Claiming! That rite gave you everything, and it will bless these daughters too.”
My heartbeat roars in my ears. “I swear on my mother’s grave that none of these girls will be claimed by any man. I’m doing away with the Claiming.”
Ashwin’s posture snaps straight.
“You wouldn’t.” Priestess Mita sizes up my unflinching glare and reels on Ashwin. “Your Majesty, what would become of these girls? They’re orphans! They have no parents, no families to care for them. I cannot turn them out into the world of men unprotected.”
Ashwin frowns, contemplating her protest.
“The Sisterhood temples save hundreds of orphans,” the priestess continues. “With the war, even more children will need homes and assistance. These temples will be more essential than ever.”
Ashwin smooths his hair back, choosing silence. His reluctance to pick a side only serves to strengthen my determination.
“This will be stopped,” I say.
He raises his palm to quiet me. “I hear you, Kalinda, but doing away with the Claiming can wait.” I fasten my teeth together to keep from screeching. Ashwin closes his eyes as though gathering patience. “We’ll discuss this another time.”
“Meet with Hastin on your own, then.” I set off for the main entrance. My vision blurs from my tears, my chest pumping on each taut breath. I have been fighting for a future I thought Ashwin and I both wanted, a free empire for all. But he and Priestess Mita wish to press forward in tradition.
Swiping at my wet cheeks, I push inside the temple in search of the exact moment my freedom was ripped from me.