19
KALINDA
Indah holds my door open. I shove down my agitation at finding her inside my chamber and step past her. After a quick inspection, nothing appears out of order. Pons is stationed near the balcony, in full view of the room and the gardens. Longing sweeps over me. That’s where Deven would stand if he were here.
“Kalinda, your guests asked to wait for you to return,” Natesa says, her high voice nervous.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Indah adds, settling on my raised lounge. “Your servant offered us tea.”
Stick to truths. She can sense liars.
“I’m happy to entertain a visit, but I’m in sore need of a bath.” I hold out my dirty skirt as proof.
“This will only take a moment.” Indah pats the seat beside her. I join her, expecting this will be brief. Natesa hovers near the teapot and pretends not to eavesdrop.
“So you’re a Burner,” Indah remarks, an observation without condemnation. “I should have guessed. Your eyes flash when you’re irritated.” She laughs. “Yes, like that. My mother’s eyes do the same thing.”
“Your mother is a Burner? Didn’t you say she’s an Aquifier?”
“My father is an Aquifier; I said my mother birthed me in healing waters. She’s the datu’s Burner Virtue Guard. She’ll be pleased to hear of your powers. Burners are scarce, even in Lestari. My mother has not said so, but she wished I, her only child, would inherit her abilities.” Indah’s tone carries no resentment, merely acceptance. “I admire your restraint, Kindred. If you hadn’t revealed yourself, I wouldn’t have guessed your secret. Even Pons heard nothing. Your Galer guards are skilled at misplacing sounds.”
“Pons?” I ask, glancing at her guard in the balcony doorway.
“Pons is a Galer. He was born in a village south of here. His parents brought him to Iresh when he was a child.” He must be Indah’s collector of secrets. “I hope you don’t mind that, after I left the throne room this morning, I researched your heritage. I was fascinated to hear your mother was Rajah Tarek’s first-ever wife, Yasmin, and your father was the former bhuta ambassador Kishan Zacharias.”
I shield my dissatisfaction. “Who told you that?”
“Your servant. She’s quite sociable.”
I cut a censorious glance at Natesa, who stares a little too attentively at the teapot. “Natesa isn’t my servant; she’s my friend.”
“My apologies. Your friend told us how Rajah Tarek claimed you. An incredible story with a tragic ending.” Indah taps her fingers against the back of the lounge. “Some might think it’s strange Rajah Tarek was murdered and yet you escaped.”
“The warlord invaded the palace, and I was fortunate to get away. That’s what happened.”
“I believe that is part of what happened.” Indah’s lips curl upward knowingly, her golden eyes shimmering.
She’s enjoying this. Pons may be her informant, but she relishes the challenge of unburying secrets. I dread her next question will be about the Zhaleh, so I present a fatigued smile. “I should wash up now.”
Indah rises fluidly, in one motion. “Thank you for the tea.”
Pons goes to her and escorts the entrancing Aquifier out the door.
“No woman should be that beautiful.” Natesa checks her reflection in the mirror glass. “The gods should spread their beauty around to the rest of us.”
I sink back into the cushion. “How long were they here?”
“A couple minutes. Indah walked around but didn’t touch anything.” Natesa fixes the kohl at the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I talked about your heritage. She acted like she already knew.”
“I understand. Indah can be persuasive.” Though I cannot say what she is after. Has she come to Iresh to participate in the trial tournament or to find the Zhaleh?
Natesa dabs lip stain onto her lower lip. “I was concerned when you didn’t come back last night. I was ready to ask Opal to find you when Indah showed up and told me you’d returned.”
I tamp down my surprise at Natesa’s worry for me. “Sorry. I should have sent you a message as soon as I arrived at the palace.”
“It’s all right.” She brushes more rouge onto her cheeks. “Indah said something interesting while she was here. Did you know women are considered equal to men in Lestari? They can even wear trousers. Can you imagine?”
More freedom would appeal to Natesa. Her dream is to become an innkeeper, but women cannot own commerce establishments in Tarachand. “Perhaps when we’re through here, you can go to Lestari.”
“Only if Yatin comes with me.” Natesa glances out the open balcony, hoping for a glimpse of her husky soldier. “I think he’ll want to.”
“Of course he will. He cares for you.”
She stares unseeingly at the sky. “My first night at the palace, Rajah Tarek summoned me to his chambers. Before he touched me, he said courtesans aren’t made for love but for loving.”
Revulsion scalds my mouth. Does Tarek’s damaging reach have no end? I assumed Natesa’s pride was impenetrable. She was orphaned at a young age and worked hard to rise above her loss. For her to believe she is unworthy of love bothers me a great deal.
“I told Yatin what Tarek said,” Natesa goes on, her attention locked in her memory. “Yatin said if anyone treated his sisters that way, he would gut them. I have never seen him more upset. He hurt on my behalf.” Her focus returns, hooked to the horizon. “Knowing he’s out there, imprisoned . . . I cannot stop worrying.”
Her anxiety rakes at my own. Deven is so close, yet our last moments together have pushed him far away. Perhaps the gods will return his good fortune now that we are apart. Some good has to come from how terribly I miss him.
I plaster on a smile for Natesa. “Yatin and Deven will look after one another.”
“And we’ll do the same for each other,” she says, extending her hand to me.
Jaya and I used to hold hands and squeeze them to say I love you. Natesa deserves to find happiness, but reaching for her would be a betrayal to Jaya. I am not ready to let Jaya go. I follow Natesa’s gaze outside and pretend not to see her outstretched fingers.
Two heartbeats later, she walks away.
After sleeping through the rest of the day, I wake in the night with an insatiable urge to draw. I light a candle and open the colorful inks. An hour later, I finish painting the peacock. The bird that is native to Vanhi was the most vibrant thing I could think of to draw. I would carry on, but my out-of-practice hands ache. It has been too long since I have created something beautiful.
I set aside the wet parchment to dry and bend forward to blow out the candle. The mesmerizing colors cause me to pause. Brac said my soul’s reflection can be seen within nature-fire. What could mine be? A tigress? A mother bear? A falcon? I lower my gaze eye level to the root of the flame, its golden tip flickering.
As I concentrate on the heart of the fire, something swirls in the burning blue center and then ascends upward. A scaly face with gleaming eyes, a long snout, and two wiry whiskers manifests in the flame’s yellow offshoots.
The dragon snaps at me with pointy fangs.
I reel back, and the face disappears.
It takes me a moment to comprehend what I saw. My soul’s reflection is a dragon?
But dragons are evil . . . My soul-fire sings to . . . a demon?
The hour is late. My imagination must be exploiting my exhaustion. I rub my weary eyes, scrubbing the fiery dragon from my vision, lean over the candle, and blow out the flame.
Mountain air, thick and crisp as chewing ice, hangs like an icicle in my chest. Jaya wraps her arms around me, her cheek pressed to my upper arm. “I’m glad we’re home,” she says.
The Alpanas rise above us, cutting into the sky with snaggily teeth. I clasp my hands over Jaya’s. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
We look out over the boxy garden where Deven rakes weeds from around the barley plants. A straw hat shades his dark eyes and bearded jawline. He sees us watching and waves.
“You can still have this,” Jaya says.
“It won’t be the same without you.” I take in her pretty round face, tiny chin, and wide nose. Her shining smile could scatter rain clouds.
“You could release the Voider and ask him to bring me back.”
I still my wistfulness and answer sadly, “I cannot do that, Jaya. The Voider would destroy everything. I’d be bringing you back to a fallen world.”
“The Voider doesn’t want to rend the sky from the land. Those are lies.”
“How do you know what it wants?” I ask, gazing at her more closely.
She leans toward me, and I recoil from the sudden craze in her eyes. Her voice grows deep and raspy. “Because I am the Voider.”
Jaya’s face and body melt away into a coiled dragon cobra at my feet. Before I can flee, the viper strikes my shin. I sink down, holding my bitten leg, and shout for Deven. He comes running, but as he approaches, his shape changes.
When he reaches me, Tarek kneels at my side. “Shh, love.” He pulls me into his lap and pets my hair. The viper’s poison is paralyzing, trapping me in Tarek’s arms. “We will always have each other.”
I scream and sit upright, a flame bursting from my hand. Natesa jumps back from leaning over me. My heatwave barely misses her and hits the tapestry of the jungle across from my bed. The thick cloth ignites and burns outward in a circle. Natesa rushes over and beats the fire out with a broom. I press a hand over my sprinting heart and search for Tarek and the cobra. Both are gone.
Natesa throws open the balcony door to dispense of the smoke and then props against the broom, out of breath. Smoke hazes the distance between us. The tapestry has a huge hole scorched in the center. “You scared me into my next life,” she says.
“I’m sorry.” I bury my face in my clammy hands. The burning viper bite on my leg and Tarek’s arms around me is still sharp in my mind. “What time is it?”
“Dawn. I came to wake you. Your first trial starts soon.”
I cannot face my competitors shaken. These nightmares must stop. I throw back the bedcovers, tug on my robe, and hurry out the door. I reach Brother Shaan’s chamber and knock. No one answers, so I go down the hall to Prince Ashwin’s door. Rohan is there, standing guard.
“Kindred, what’s wrong?”
“Have you seen Brother Shaan?”
“Not yet today.”
I knock for Ashwin and wait. My knee jogs impatiently. I need to speak to Brother Shaan before my dream fades.
Ashwin answers bare chested, his hair ruffled. “Kalinda.”
My face heats from his unabashed stare roving over me in my thin robe. I duck my chin to hide my blush. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I need to speak with Brother Shaan. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s supposed to come by shortly to report on the camps. You’re welcome to come in and wait for him.” Ashwin opens the door wider, revealing more of his bare golden chest. I slip past him inside and leave Rohan in the corridor.
“Sorry for the clutter.” Ashwin tidies up books lying across the table and chairs, clearing a spot for me. “Mint tea?” he asks, gesturing to a steaming cup.
“No, thank you.” I scan the texts stacked everywhere, looking anywhere but at his shirtless torso. “Have you read all of these?”
“Most of them when I was younger. I was lonely without them around—I had shelves full of books in my room at the temple—so I borrowed these from the sultan’s library.”
I scan the heaps of books, marveling at how well educated he must be. “You must have read a lot growing up.”
Ashwin’s tone turns reflective. “Tarek said I read too much. He thought it was a waste of time. But during his last few visits, he requested I read to him. He said it made him happy to listen to me share something I enjoy. He was happy because I was happy.” Ashwin rubs the sad tilt of his lips. “Sometimes I still read aloud to remind myself he wasn’t a total monster.”
I understand why Ashwin romanticizes people. He saw a glimmer of goodness in his selfish father, which taught him not to discount anyone’s potential for decency.
I show him the ink on my fingers from painting last night. “I retreat into my artwork when I need a moment’s peace.”
“You used my gift,” he says, his demeanor brightening.
“I don’t believe I thanked you.”
“You’re welcome.” He waves at a chair, and we sit beside each other at the table. “Tinley and Citra asked me to ban you from the tournament. I won’t, of course.”
Their request comes as no surprise, yet their derision hurts. I fold my arms across my chest, and Ashwin notices the scar on my forearm.
“From your rank tournament?” he says, sipping his tea.
“The duel with your mother,” I explain. Ashwin frowns at the mention of Lakia, and my gaze jumps to his bare shoulder and the tops of scars. “How did you get yours?”
“Rajah Tarek found out I’d been sneaking out of my room to the temple’s roof. He was concerned the villagers would discover who I was, so he whipped me to deter me from doing it again.” Ashwin rests his elbows on the table, waves of remorse rising off him like the steam from his teacup. He twists the gold cuff on his wrist. “My caretaker, Brother Dhiren, was punished for not protecting me. Tarek had him executed.”
I rest my hand on Ashwin’s shoulder, absorbing his guilt as strong as my own. He reaches up and clasps my fingers. This near him, I am aware of his toned arms and flat stomach, his skin warm against mine. He smells of linen and mint, of sleep and fresh tea. His dark hair waves freely around his face, brushing the back of my hand. Ashwin is appealing in a way his father never was. Tarek was vile, but Ashwin . . .
I pull away. “I should go.”
He reaches for where my hand was seconds before. “You don’t want to speak to Brother Shaan? He’ll be back soon.”
My nightmare of Rajah Tarek is foggy now, replaced by the image of his handsome son. “Another time,” I say, and step out the door.