9
KALINDA
Freezing weather has come early to the Alpana Mountains. We fly in a steep climb over the powdery hills, the higher peaks obscured by soupy clouds. Snowflakes pinwheel around us. The white flecks land on Ashwin’s dark eyebrows and pale cheeks. We huddle together on the passenger plank, our teeth chattering out of sync with our shivering.
Pons guides us up, up, up, into thinner air. Indah burrows under a wool blanket, her eyes shut; she’s awake but barely tolerating our ascent. Our two-day flight has felt endless. I have never known a wintry depth this dreary. I cannot distinguish where the poisonous cold inside me ends and the bracing weather starts. Each pull of air drives icy spikes into my chest. A growing numbness dulls my focus and drags my eyelids closed.
“She must stay awake,” Indah calls to Ashwin over the wind. “Warm her!”
Ashwin wraps his arm around me, and I curl into his side. His body heat combats my chills and helps me withstand the pressing cold.
He lays his cheek against mine, and his voice rouses my senses. “You smell like moonlight.”
I lift my chin, and our noses bump. His soul-fire glows deep in his eyes, a well of captivating warmth.
Pull away. Don’t be enticed—
His lips graze my cheek. Heat blazes through me, starting as a spark and igniting to a blessed burn. The ice inside me melts, dripping away. I’m so close to feeling whole again . . . I press against him more snugly and slide my hands around his bare back, the bitter winds a distant force. His lips grasp at mine and bore past the last of my restraint. My return kiss writhes with need as Ashwin’s soul-fire blinds all else.
The wing flyer banks sharply, wrenching us apart, and I see the beacon atop the temple’s north tower. Home. The last time I saw this light, Deven led me into the forest to show me what I thought would be my final glimpse of Samiya.
The reminder of Deven sobers me. I pull away from Ashwin, sick to my stomach. I do not know how to stop wanting or needing him. Even now, while shivering once again, I crave a reprieve. But I have to fight the cold, if only to outlast the war.
Our wing flyer soars over the stone temple that clings to the great cliff. The courtyard is empty and the meditation pond frozen over, but the sparring circle has been cleared away of snow and ice for training. My last skill trial here was the first time I spilled blood. More memories of my childhood bombard me: the outer gate that locked us temple wards in and the rest of the world out; the meditation pond that I soaked my feet in on a warm summer’s day; the chip in the temple wall I fired stones at with my slingshot.
We descend to the courtyard and land in the sparring ring. I breathe in the trees and clouds, the crisp air filling me up. I have missed the wholesome scent of the mountains. Indah jumps down from the wing flyer and staggers for the corner of the courtyard. Halfway there, she bends over and retches. Our landing must have unsettled her stomach. I climb off after Ashwin and Pons and make a move to follow her.
Pons waves me back. “I’ll check on her.” He goes to Indah’s side and holds her hair up. An ache digs into my breastbone. No matter what Admiral Rimba has against them being together, they deserve whatever happiness they wish.
A petite, hunched old woman occupies the open temple doorway. An oil lamp illuminates Priestess Mita’s wizened face and gray hair. I can feel the weight of her glower from here. She does not know why we have come; she simply has never liked me. She favored Jaya. I should have known my returning as a rani still would not win her over. Ashwin starts for the priestess, and after a weary sigh, I go too.
“Rajah Tarek?” Priestess Mita whispers.
Ashwin flinches, as he does every time someone mistakes him for his father.
“This is Prince Ashwin,” I correct.
Priestess Mita dips into a bow. “Pardon my error, Your Majesty. Where is Rajah Tarek?”
“He was killed,” Ashwin answers levelly. He bore no affection for his father in life and is not hypocritical in his death. His aloofness is in part to shield me, for I ended Tarek’s reign. Ashwin is one of the few people I entrusted with the truth of his father’s demise.
“My condolences.” Priestess Mita ends on an awkward pause while examining my trousers. “We’re honored you’ve come home, Kindred Kalinda. Who are your companions?”
I glance across the courtyard. Indah has finished retching, and Pons is walking her slowly over to us. “Indah and Pons are visiting from the Southern Isles.”
The priestess straightens from her hunch. “Foreigners?”
“Friends,” Ashwin amends. “They’re welcome in the empire.”
We leave off that they are bhutas. Priestess Mita still believes Tarek’s warped fallacy that bhutas are soulless demons of the Void. She does not know I am a bhuta, or a Burner, the rarest and most feared of my kind.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Priestess Mita recognizes her rudeness at leaving us out in the cold. “If you would please, I’ll escort your party inside. We reserve the lower floor of the temple for honored benefactors. Our wards live separately on the upper floor. You understand that we must protect our daughters’ innocence.”
I seal off a flare of anger. Protect them for what? To stand naked and blindfolded in the Claiming chamber before a strange man—an honored benefactor—and let him look them over like prized sheep?
Seeing my grinding jaw, Ashwin takes my hand. “We understand,” he says. But does he? “Thank you, Priestess.”
She sniffs, dismissing my show of temper, and leads us down the stairway alongside the cliff to the lower entrance. Indah and Pons catch up as the priestess ushers us inside. I scarcely viewed the benefactors’ chambers the day I was claimed, but they are not as lavish as I recall. At the time, the gold-leaf furniture, silk draperies, and brass lamps were extravagance beyond my imagination. My own quarters were cramped and plain, the colors drab as the stone walls encasing them. Now that I have experienced true affluence and luxury, I notice the patched holes in the draperies, the flaking leafing on the dinged furniture, and the faded bedspread and stringy tassels. These accommodations are far below the prince’s privilege.
Ashwin smiles at the priestess. “This will do nicely.”
“Do you have a room for us?” Pons asks. Indah leans against him. I was wrong about her being queasy from the flight. She must have fallen ill.
Priestess Mita scowls at them. “Though we’ve never allowed outsiders to stay here, we’ll make an exception for the prince’s companions.”
I step forward to defend my friends, but Pons answers. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”
The priestess snubs him with nary a glance. “Kindred, your companions must remain out of sight from our temple wards.” She means Pons and Indah. She cannot keep me locked down here. “As should you, Your Majesty. You’ll find everything you need in your chamber. One of our sisters will bring your meals. When would you like the recipients of age shown to you?”
“Shown?” Ashwin questions.
“He hasn’t come for a Claiming,” I snap. On the temple floor above us, girls of all ages, from infants to eighteen-year-olds, train to become whatever their benefactor claims them for. The girls of age are shown to the benefactor so he may select those he desires.
Priestess Mita’s confused gaze bounces to me. “Then why have you come?”
“The prince wanted to survey our temples,” I say. “I offered to accompany him.”
“But you didn’t bring our supplies.”
“No,” I start hesitantly. “We weren’t aware you’re expecting a delivery.”
“We haven’t received goods or necessities in over three moons. Surely the brethren must know of our shortage. I’ve sent them several letters.”
The Brotherhood temples send a supply caravan every other new moon. They must have stopped once the rebels infiltrated the imperial city. With the empire in disarray, the Sisterhood temples have been forgotten. The Samiya temple is the farthest away from Vanhi and the most secluded. They must be running dangerously low on reserves. Except for a garden that is now snowed over, the sisters and wards are dependent upon the generosity of benefactors, who provide food and clothing in exchange for the privilege to come and claim wards.
“We were unaware of your circumstance,” Ashwin says. “I’ll remedy your shortage of supplies in haste.”
I cannot puzzle out how he intends to fulfill his pledge, but his swift assurance appeases Priestess Mita.
“Will you please show us to our chamber?” Pons asks the priestess. Indah has not spoken since we landed. She sways some on her feet, her pallor worsening by the second.
“Right this way.” Priestess Mita bustles to the door that leads to the corridor.
Pons lags back. “Can we trust her, Kalinda?”
“She may be rude, but she won’t harm you.” I rub Indah’s arm. “Go rest.”
They follow the priestess out, and a thought strikes me. I need another room as well. This chamber has only one bed. Priestess Mita must assume Ashwin retained me as his kindred. Sleeping in the same chamber with him would be disastrous. I need only catch a chill during the night and seek out his comfort . . .
My throat heats to an itch. “I’ll ask Priestess Mita for quarters of my own.”
“No need for that.” Ashwin runs his finger over the mantle and comes away with a clump of dust. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He lowers to his haunches and stocks the hearth with kindling. “Did my father board in this room when he last visited?” His simple question carries a strained undertone.
“He did.” I met Deven in the corridor outside this chamber. How different my life would be if he had been a benefactor and claimed me instead. Or had I never been claimed at all.
“Kalinda, would you please?” Ashwin motions to the kindling piled in the hearth.
I go to his side and press my finger to the firewood, coaxing in heat. My powers shine but are still tinged green. Just as the kindling ignites, sapphire sparks fly from my fingers. I quell my powers and sneak a glance at Ashwin. He was preoccupied with the wood pile and did not see. I imagine the blue sparks I saw moments ago evolving into cold sapphire flames and shiver.
Ashwin throws a log onto the growing blaze. “Does the temple have a library?”
“Yes, on the upper floor.”
“I may find a text about the gate to the Void.”
Ashwin has an aptitude for research. If the gate’s location is written in one of the library books, he will find it. “Wait until tonight when everyone’s asleep. How will you solve the temple’s supply shortage?”
“I don’t know yet.” Crouched near the fire, he prods the logs with the fire iron. “Can you find out how dire it is?”
“Yes. I’m going upstairs now.”
Ashwin pushes a tired hand through his hair, which is still damp from the melted snow. “Will you tell the priestess the real reason why we’ve come? She should be made aware about our meeting with Hastin.”
I owe Priestess Mita no such explanation. She lost my esteem as a sister in the faith when she allowed the rajah’s monstrous general to claim Jaya. The priestess should have protected her. She should have protected us both. Instead she still preaches that men are our betters, our gods. My time in the world of men has taught me that any man worthy of my admiration would never force me to worship him.
Moreover, Priestess Mita will be livid to discover the bhuta warlord is meeting us. Her concern will be for the wards; she is not entirely hard-hearted. But informing her of our plans will feel akin to asking permission, which, as her rani, I am no longer inclined to do.
Ashwin watches moodiness come over me—my stiffening features and pressed lips—and rises. “I can speak to her if that would be easier.”
He detects the furious storm brewing inside me, but he cannot identify the origin. I cannot settle upon the right words to explain my upbringing. How it feels to be raised for the sole use of another, to exist to fulfill another’s whims and desires and taught to never think of my own wants or needs. I never had to enlighten Deven. He saw firsthand the damaging effects of his mother’s service as a courtesan. But Ashwin was too sheltered in his youth to grasp the destructive, selfish nature of the supremacy his birthright entitles him to wield. With a flick of his finger, he may claim any girl in this temple or in the whole of the empire.
Still.
Even after I have ended Rajah Tarek’s tyranny.
Even though I am a two-time tournament champion and the kindred.
Even with Ashwin striving to improve upon his father’s legacy.
The unjust division of rights still reigns.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, picking up a lamp. I go into the corridor and start for the stairway. My injured knee aches, and I could use a long nap, but I cannot wait to see the only person left at the temple who I consider my friend.
I take the long route to the infirmary to bypass Jaya’s and my former bedchamber. I cannot bear to view our place of happiness or confront those memories. By now, two different wards are dwelling in our haven, replacing us as though our friendship never was. But the ghost of Jaya entwines with the sandalwood incense burning in the halls. She is everywhere: in the walls, in the floors, in my heart. Running from her is pointless, so I allow the loss of stolen wishes to fester. My longing for her is deeper than any other ache or pain I carry.
The door to the infirmary stands open. I enter and survey the vacant cots. The strong aroma of medicinal chamomile unburies a landslide of memories. Most of my childhood was spent in this chamber, endless days lying in a sickbed with raging fevers.
Healer Baka jots in her patient log at her desk. Her spectacles have slid down her nose, perched on the end. When she lifts her quill to dab on more ink, my shadow pulls her attention upward. She inclines back in her chair on a whispered prayer. “Thank Anu.”
Old, held-in anger charges out of me. “Did you ask Anu to send you a Burner?” Healer Baka concealed the truth of my bhuta heritage to protect me from Tarek’s hatred for my kind. Though her justifications were well founded, I have yet to recover from her deception.
“Brother Shaan wrote me to say you’re full into your powers.” Her voice brims with pride. “Let me have a look at you.” She comes and turns me into the light.
“I haven’t changed much. I’m still thin as bamboo.”
“Haven’t changed? You’re a rani!” She skims her palm up my cheek, her eyes shining. “You’ve become the woman the gods intended.”
I tug her hand away. “Jaya—” My voice shreds to a rasp, and before I can stop them, tears pour down my cheeks. “Jaya’s dead.”
Healer Baka enfolds me in her arms. No one else knew Jaya as well as I did, except for Baka. When Jaya died, I had no one to mourn her with, no one who fathomed my bereavement. “She’s well, Kali. Jaya was good and pure. She’ll have a new life in her new form, and her loving spirit will continue to bless others. You may miss her, but do not mourn her. You will meet her again.”
I hold Baka tighter, clinging to her sentiments. “You truly think so?”
“Time is relative in the Beyond. Jaya will be born again, and you will reunite with her in another life.” My crying lessens to quiet hiccups. Healer Baka goes to close the door most of the way for privacy. Passersby would find it suspicious to find the infirmary sealed off. “Brother Shaan hasn’t written since your wedding. I began to worry.”
“A lot has changed since I left.” I set aside my grief to deliver the news. “Brother Shaan passed away.”
Healer Baka draws into herself. She and Shaan had a long-distance friendship that began in Vanhi years ago. They trusted each other implicitly. “I’ve missed more than I realized,” she says.
“Why don’t I tell you everything over a hot drink?” I am cold, and Healer Baka keeps the most delicious herbal tea mixes.
While she prepares the tea, I relay all that has happened. Unloading the burden of my loss for Jaya opens a floodgate of confessions: falling in love with Deven, murdering Tarek, my expansion of Burner powers, and Ashwin unleashing the Voider. The only part I omit is Healer Mego’s prognosis of my condition. Baka listens, interrupting only once for clarification about the Voider returning in the physical form of Tarek. Long after we sip the last of our tea, I finish my summary and await her reaction.
“I’m . . . I’m at a loss,” she says. “You and Natesa are friends?”
“Out of everything I told you, that surprises you most?”
“You forget that I helped raise you. I’ve seen stray cats get along better than you two.”
I chirp a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t without effort.”
“Kali, I’m so glad to see you again, but . . . you shouldn’t have returned.” My chin ticks sideways at her reprimand. “Your health is poor. I can tell you’re hurting more than you let on.”
“I’m fine,” I say, fiddling with my teacup.
Her expression does not change. “Even if that were true, you shouldn’t have agreed to meet Hastin here. He’s too dangerous.”
“He picked Samiya for our meeting place. I wouldn’t have considered accommodating him, but the demon rajah is marching on Vanhi as we speak.”
Healer Baka pulls back slightly. “Your intentions for coming here aside, you’ve brought more mouths to feed. We’re living off our fall harvest.”
“The prince is aware and has promised to arrange for aid.” I leave out that he has no idea how he will do so, and Healer Baka notices. She pushes her spectacles up her nose in a quick jerk, still troubled. “I won’t let anything happen,” I say, a guarantee that even to me sounds more convincing.
She holds my solemn gaze. “I have to tell Priestess Mita. For the good of our daughters, she needs to know.”
I lock my jaw. “The priestess sent me to die in Rajah Tarek’s rank tournament.”
“You lived.”
“But Jaya didn’t!”
Healer Baka lays her hand over mine. “Priestess Mita’s strongest virtue is obedience. She submitted completely to the rajah, perhaps to a fault. But you know as well as I do that she couldn’t have stood up to him.”
I uncross my legs and rub my sore knee. I can no sooner rid myself of its ache than I can set aside my resentment for the priestess or my longing for a future with Jaya.
“Let me give you something for your leg.” Healer Baka rummages through her herb cabinet and takes out a jar. “I’ll mix a salve for the pain.”
“An Aquifier has been healing me. She’s very gifted.”
Healer Baka lowers her chin and peers over her spectacles at me. “Not all gifted healers are Aquifiers.” She hands me parchment and a piece of charcoal and then waves at the cot in the corner, the one that was once mine. Jaya used to sit beside me and watch me sketch for hours. “This won’t take long. Have a seat and draw while you wait.”
I should return to the lower floor, but I do not trust myself alone with Ashwin. And I have not sketched in so very long. This opportunity to create is too precious to squander.
I settle into the lumpy straw mattress while Healer Baka crushes herbs at her workbench. The fragrance of brewed tea and chamomile strokes my nose. Although Jaya’s place remains empty beside me, I press the charcoal stick to the parchment and draw as though she is watching.