6
KALINDA
Opal waits while I strap my daggers to my thighs. She arrived moments ago, wearing the loose dark-green uniform of a Janardanian palace guard, and summoned me to meet with the sultan.
“Any word from Rohan?” I ask.
“Not yet, but he and the others are probably a day or so behind.”
They could be here by tonight. If I can win over the people’s affection for the prince today, we could leave tomorrow.
“Before we go, put this on.” Opal offers me a veil. I recoil like it is a lit match. Married women wear veils. I am not married. “Brother Shaan said you mustn’t be seen in public without the lower half of your face covered.” She attempts to put the veil on me, but I tug it from her hand and crush the flimsy cloth in my fist.
“My husband is dead.”
I toss the veil, and it flutters to the floor beside my unmade bed. The sheets are crumpled, like my nerves. My nightmares of Tarek were worse last night, heightened by this strange place and the deception that brought me here.
The rest of our party waits in the corridor. Prince Ashwin offers me a shy smile.
“You look lovely, Kalinda,” he says.
Having every inch of me clean is a luxury I have missed. I woke to the noises of servants filling a bath for me and leaving. I bathed in the mint-scented water for nearly an hour and then spent longer than usual combing my hair. I wear no eye kohl or lip stain, as I never bothered to learn how to apply them. Any attempt would be heavy-handed and make me look garish.
Brother Shaan bows. “Kindred, please behave in the meeting today. The sultan doesn’t often allow women into the war room.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say stiffly.
Opal leads the way. The palace is opulent, with plant life at every corner, and swathed in tapestries of the land-goddess Ki. We leave the corridor to a covered walkway. A tall bamboo fence lines one side, so high I can only see the treetops peeking overhead.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
“That’s the tiger paddock,” Opal replies. “They’re the sultan’s pets.”
Tigers are pets? I have come a long way from home.
We are lead to an entry, past two tall potted plants on either side of a door. I step into the chamber with Brother Shaan and Prince Ashwin, and my inner flame snuffs out.
I back out of the doorway and grip Opal’s arm. “I lost my powers. What’s going on?”
“Protection.” She waves at the potted plants. “White baneberry and snakeroot.”
The plants she speaks of are noxious to bhutas, given to mortals from the land-goddess Ki as a defense against us. They block bhuta powers, leaving us exposed. White baneberry and snakeroot have been used as safeguards from bhutas for centuries. I assumed the greenery was for decoration, but the palace is covered with poison. I must have experienced its effects last night while I walked the corridors.
“The sultan doesn’t allow bhuta powers in the war room,” Opal whispers, glancing at Prince Ashwin, waiting for me inside. “Sultan Kuval doesn’t know what you are. The prince might, but I don’t know for certain. You should go. The sultan has limited patience.”
Looking inside, I see a stout white-mustached man sitting on a pedestal across the sunken room. More pots of white baneberry and snakeroot line all four walls. A knee-high, rectangular table occupies the middle of the oblong chamber, with richly colored cloth floor mats laid about. Military officers are seated and ready to begin the meeting.
Prince Ashwin eyes me with concern, attune to my discomfort. I am tempted to go back to my chamber, but I have come all this way to support him. Moreover, I have faced a room full of ranis, all experienced sister warriors. These men cannot be scarier than them.
I step to the prince’s side in the war room, and my powers shrink to a useless ember.
A middle-aged military officer with a gaunt face greets us. “Kindred Kalinda, I’m Vizier Gyan, the sultan’s head military adviser. We’ve heard much about you.” His gray-streaked hair is tied back, and he carries two machetes, one on each hip. His poor attempt at a welcoming smile broadens his austere appearance. He, with the other Janardanian men, wears a loose-fitting skirt instead of trousers, folded so there is a slight crease separating his legs. The vizier sizes me up in turn but with scrutiny that surpasses polite interest.
Prince Ashwin leads me to the steely-eyed man on the throne. “Sultan Kuval, this is Kindred Kalinda.”
The sultan lowers his double chin as if to inspect me better. “They call you the indomitable Kalinda, the reincarnation of Enlil’s hundredth rani.” His tone borders on ironic.
I wince at the comparison to the fire-god’s triumphant intended queen. Tarachandians started a myth that I was Enlil’s final wife in another life, and Rajah Tarek fed their fantasy, expanding my reputation beyond the believable. I temper the urge to correct the sultan.
“Thank you for having me, Your Majesty.”
“I heard you refused the prince’s invitation to join the trial tournament.” His gruffness carries a note of satisfaction.
“I’m undecided.”
“We anxiously await your answer,” Sultan Kuval replies, returning to his ornery tone. “Please be seated.”
Prince Ashwin and I kneel at the table, and Brother Shaan sits across from us.
Vizier Gyan addresses the council. “Before we begin with other matters, we have questions for Kindred Kalinda about the recent events in Vanhi. Kindred, you were in the Turquoise Palace when it was occupied by rebels, were you not?”
His question, and the subsequent dozen or so probing stares, catches me off guard. I clasp my unsteady hands in my lap, seeking some semblance of composure. “I was.”
“How did Rajah Tarek die?”
A phantom finger strokes down my cheek, and a deep voice whispers my love in my ear.
I jerk my chin sideways. The sultan’s watchful presence hovers at the brink of my vision. “I—I don’t know. I fled when the rebels attacked.”
Vizier Gyan takes hasty notes in front of him with a quill pen. “How did you escape?”
“The captain of the guard led me through a secret passageway below the palace.”
Their silence fires a flush over my skin. They do not know that I bargained with Hastin and slayed Tarek. Prince Ashwin shifts in his seat beside me. How much does he know?
“On the night of the attack, did you see the bhuta warlord?” Vizier Gyan asks.
I falter on a reply. All I can think of is the truth: Hastin tried to kill me in the underground cavern, but I used my powers and fled.
Brother Shaan speaks up. “We must contest this line of questioning. We didn’t bring the kindred here so you could interrogate her.”
“Our apologies,” replies Vizier Gyan. His flat offer of remorse is meant to appease Brother Shaan’s protest on my behalf. The vizier does not extend his apology to me. “The kindred is the only member of Rajah Tarek’s imperial court who escaped the insurgency. We must establish how and why she was spared.”
They suspect I might be a traitor.
But I am.
I scatter the thought before guilt lands on my expression. “I’ll answer.” I level the vizier with a cool stare. “I didn’t see Hastin in the palace on the night of the attack.”
Vizier Gyan leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Did you see Rajah Tarek’s body?”
Brother Shaan lifts his hand to gain the council’s attention. “The kindred lost her husband on her wedding night. Upon fleeing the warlord, she searched for Prince Ashwin and came here to join him. Her devotion to the empire is undeniable.”
No one contests him, though the council’s blatant disapproval of my fleeing Vanhi remains evident in their frowns.
“One last question.” Vizier Gyan returns his meddling stare to me. “Where is the Zhaleh?”
Finally, a question I have rehearsed an answer for.
“I don’t know,” I say, reciting the reply I practiced with Deven in case the rebels caught me. “Tarek had it for years. The book must still be in Vanhi.”
“Very well,” the sultan clips out. “Vizier Gyan, proceed with the other matters.”
The vizier aims his disgruntled glowering face at me, instead of at the sultan, for cutting his interrogation short and then tugs down his long sleeves in preparation of the shift in topics. An emblem is sewn onto the lapel of his uniform jacket, the land symbol. Is he a Trembler?
Prince Ashwin’s even voice sounds beside me. “What news do you have, Vizier?”
“I have the latest report on the encampments,” he replies, shuffling the parchment papers before him. “Conditions are holding, but we are receiving more refugees every day. We’re working to improve their access to clean water and expand the dining tents.”
“When can Prince Ashwin and I visit the camps?” I ask.
“Your presence will slow our improvement,” replies the vizier. “It’s best you stay away for now.”
I startle at his brusqueness. “You mean we cannot see our people?”
“Your people are safe,” interjects Sultan Kuval. He folds his hands across his ample belly, his movement too controlled for his testiness. “I’m feeding them, housing them, and protecting them. I will continue to leave my borders open and care for them for the duration of the tournament. You may visit them then.”
After the tournament? I came to Janardan to shift the people’s devotion from me to the prince. How can I do that if I am not allowed to see them? I open my mouth to object, but Brother Shaan shakes his head at me. I clamp my mouth shut and wait for the prince to protest on my behalf. He fiddles with the gold cuff around his wrist and says nothing.
The rest of the meeting is more of the same, Vizier Gyan telling Prince Ashwin what to do and the prince acquiescing. My anger raises by the moment, but I hold my tongue until we are dismissed; then I grab the prince by the arm and drag him out of the war room. Brother Shaan follows close behind, Opal a few steps after him.
“What’s the matter with you?” I hiss in the prince’s ear. “You need to stand up for our people.”
“I cannot offend the Janardanians,” he answers, his expression perplexed. “We need their aid.”
“The sultan wishes only to help himself,” I say louder, not caring who hears me. My powers reignite as soon as I am away from the potted poisons. I pull back from Prince Ashwin before my temper inadvertently singes him. “He’s taking advantage of you.”
“We have to make concessions,” he replies, his surety weakening.
I slow my pace and stare at him. The prince’s imperial rule swallows him up, like he is wearing a uniform that is too large. I cannot understand how I mistook him for Tarek.
“Good gods.” I step away, understanding why Brother Shaan lied to bring me here.
The fate of the Tarachand Empire has been left to a naive, sheltered boy.
“Kindred,” Brother Shaan says softly, “may I have a word?” I nod, defeat falling through me. Without a strong rajah, the empire is lost. “Opal, please escort His Majesty back to his chambers and rejoin us.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Prince Ashwin asks, glancing from Brother Shaan to me with an unblinking gaze.
“No, Your Majesty,” Brother Shaan replies. “I need a word alone with the kindred. I’ll return shortly.”
The prince lowers his shoulders, disappointed that we have left him out. Brother Shaan loops his arm through mine, and we stroll off into the gardens. Brother Shaan waits to speak until Opal returns.
“You see now why we need you,” he says.
Frustration shortens my strides. “The sultan has Prince Ashwin by the gullet, and the prince is all too happy to hand him power.”
“Be patient. Ashwin is more capable than he appears.”
Opal trails a couple steps behind us. A slight breeze kicks up as she twirls her finger at her side.
“We may speak without danger of being heard,” says Brother Shaan.
Opal must be using the wind to divert the sound around us, giving us the privacy to talk without another Galer overhearing.
“Before coming here,” Brother Shaan says, “Prince Ashwin wrote a letter to each sovereign requesting military aid. He anticipated the sultan would be self-serving and try to profit off of our circumstances, and Kuval did exactly that. Within hours of our arrival, the sultan tried to persuade Ashwin to take Princess Citra as his rani. The prince would have been forced to accept, but the letters he sent to Paljor and Lestari prevented Kuval from strong-arming him. The trial tournament may not be ideal. Ashwin is giving up diplomatic power in exchange for aid. In the end, the empire will be vastly different than it is today, but the prince feels the distribution of power is best in the long run. He is doing all he can to establish allied relationships that have been neglected for years.”
I sink down on a bench beneath a neem tree that overlooks the green-brown river and the domed roofs of the city. Staring out at this foreign land, a part of me understands Ashwin’s uncertainty. The first days outside of the temple, I longed for home. I still crave the cold nights of Samiya and for Jaya in her cot beside mine. The world of men is endlessly challenging, and the prince has entered it as a ruler of a warring empire.
“Your prince needs you, Kalinda,” Brother Shaan says quietly. “Imperial blood runs through your veins, and you know what it is to earn your throne.”
Do I? I fought my throne every step of the way.
“Ashwin is doing a kindness, leaving this choice up to you,” Brother Shaan states, implying I should be grateful. “By law, he can compel you to compete.”
I lift my chin at the word “compel,” a more tactful way of saying the prince can force me against my will. “What law?”
“I assumed Deven told you.”
“He didn’t,” I snap, impatient for clarification. What does Deven have to do with this?
Brother Shaan gentles his tone. “The Binding of the Ranis is a law as old as the first rajah. The law states that should the rajah pass away, his wealth—including his wives and courtesans—passes on to his heir. Should the heir choose, he may accept his father’s ranis as his own wives and step into his reign.”
A loaded beat of silence hammers down on me. I was aware that Prince Ashwin would have to release me from my throne, but as a formality. I had no idea I had to overcome a law. Is this why Deven has been distant? Why he was indifferent about finding Ashwin? Why he asked me not to come here?
Disbelief and defiance shake my core. My voice emerges from the aftershock, quivering with outrage. “I—I belong to the prince?”
“You belong to your throne, and your throne belongs to the prince.”
“I see no distinction,” I snap. Brother Shaan’s optimism for my uncertain fate is beyond tedious.
“Under the law, Prince Ashwin has first rights to you. As the current political unrest is too dangerous for the prince to travel to a Sisterhood temple and claim a kindred of his own, this is his only option.”
“I’m a convenience.” I grip my teeth together to contain my fury.
“You’re the people’s kindred,” Brother Shaan replies, all patience and calmness. “If you don’t compete, what will it mean for them? This is more than a battle for marriage to the throne; it’s for the future of the empire. Prince Ashwin is doing all he can to save his homeland and his people.”
“I came here to help the people through assisting the prince,” I remind him. His implication that I am not doing enough to aid Prince Ashwin chafes.
“Yes,” Brother Shaan answers, “and the prince needs you to compete.”
I will do what I can for our people, but the last time I contended for my throne, I altered the empire, and not for the better. After my interrogation, the prince must realize I am not trusted by Sultan Kuval or his court. I will do more harm than good here.
But if Prince Ashwin does not see reason . . .
“Will he . . . will he force me?”
“I don’t know,” Brother Shaan answers. “The prince will do what he deems is right for the empire.”
Right for his empire or for himself? I fist my skirt, digging my fingertips into my thighs. This entrapment, this false benevolence, is all too familiar. It reminds me of Tarek.
Brother Shaan gazes up, seeking solace in Anu’s ever-present sky. “The other tournament competitors will arrive tomorrow. You have until then to decide.”
I have decided, but Prince Ashwin may still compel me against my will. Soon I will find out how alike the boy prince is to his father.