9
DEVEN
The sunlight under the door weakens to pale silver. Footsteps approach, and the door swings open. I squint at the dusky sky; weak as it is, my eyes still sting in the twilight.
“You may come out now, Captain,” says Vizier Gyan.
I push away from leaning against the wall. Days of traveling without much food weaken my knees, and I weave a step as I exit the hut. Vizier Gyan waits with guards. One of them holds out a whip, the other a sword. I force my face to granite.
Vizier Gyan links his hands behind him. “I’ve spoken with the soldiers. They informed me of your prior accusations. Do you admit to conspiring with the bhuta warlord Hastin and betraying Rajah Tarek?”
Be humble. I draw in a shallow breath. “Yes, sir.”
Vizier Gyan’s staid expression does not change. “I reported my findings to Prince Ashwin. He has no room in his army for traitors. Fortunately for you, he is more lenient than his father. He said if you confessed he would spare your life and deliver a less severe sentence.”
“Does the kindred know I’m here? What did she say?”
The vizier pauses at my unanticipated inquiry. “She’s in accord with the prince. Neither will excuse treachery.”
Kali sided with Prince Ashwin? Something must have happened between them. He could be exercising his first rights to her and forcing her to comply with his wishes.
“I want to see the kindred,” I say.
“You have no rights here, Captain.”
“I understand, but when they arrive, if you would please let me speak—”
“Neither the prince nor the kindred will attend your punishment. They have more immediate affairs that require their attention.”
Kali isn’t coming. I stiffen my jaw, locking down my frustration. Prince Ashwin is keeping her away from me. Why has he not come? He should be here to order my sentencing, not hiding behind the vizier. “What affairs?” I chop out.
“Sultan Kuval is hosting a trial tournament,” explains Vizier Gyan. “Each of the four sovereigns will select a contender to compete for a chance to wed Prince Ashwin. He wishes for Kindred Kalinda to represent Tarachand against the opposition.”
Another godsforsaken tournament.
“Did she agree?” I ask.
“As far as I’m aware, she’s competing.”
My stomach collapses in dismay. I do not want to believe him, but, regretfully, this makes sense. Kali loves our people, and blames herself for their recent suffering. She will compete in another tournament to protect them from a foreign queen and more hardship.
The vizier swivels around, and his guards drag me behind him to the quad. My fellow soldiers line the open area, facing a post staked in the center. Manas’s glare burns into me as I pass. His acrimony is nothing new—he turned me in for treason back in Vanhi—but his lack of concern for me demolishes any remaining memories I have of our friendship.
I am led to face the post. The guards tie me to it, strapping my hands above my head. Another guard uses his machete to rip the back of my shirt open and finishes by tugging it off. Clammy air rushes over my skin.
Vizier Gyan calls to the men—my men. “Prince Ashwin won’t tolerate traitors. Nor will Sultan Kuval provide refuge to dishonorable guards. Captain Deven Naik has confessed to treason; hence the prince has granted him mercy. He will not lose his life but will receive thirty lashes.”
I rest my forehead against the pole, my insides cramping. Thirty lashes will rip me apart. I have seen men fall to pieces after ten.
The vizier approaches in my side vision with the whip. I widen my stance and bend my knees to avoid fainting. Bracing my forehead against the pole, I hold myself for the first strike. Vizier Gyan counts down.
“On my mark. Three, two, one . . .”
Pain slashes across my back. My shoulders bunch in recourse, sharpness ricocheting down my legs. I brought this upon myself.
Before I can recover, the snap of the whip comes again.
“Two.”
Another hit, deeper and more painful than the last.
“Three.”
My vision grays at the fringes. I have to anchor my mind to something or I will float away. Where is Kali?
“Four.”
I cry out, an unbidden groan, and then grip my teeth together. I will not dishonor myself with another sound.
“Five.”
Gods, grant me strength. I wish I could rescind my guilty plea. I wish I could scrub clean every mistake I have made.
Eight more hits, and my knees slacken. Agony pushes past my resolve to endure. My weight sinks against the pole. I cannot lift my head. More strikes, and the vizier’s counting fades to a distant call for justice.
More pain. More darkness.
My knees thunk to the ground. Forgive me, Anu. Forgive me. I do not cry out, but my heart weeps for absolution. I am a soldier. I swore my life in service to the Tarachand throne.
The damned whip strikes again.
I am a traitor. I fell in love with the rajah’s queen. I betrayed my calling, and the gods will have their wrath.
I remain on my knees, refusing to coil into a ball. I honored my duty to protect Kali. I gave my life to her. She is my rani. She is my ruler.
Another vicious hit. Blood seeps across my back and down my chest.
Kali is the Tarachand throne. And I . . . I will always be a disgraced guard. If she knows I am being punished, if she did side with the prince, I cannot fault her. Our dream was a fool’s wish. From the start, she belonged to the empire, first as a temple ward and now as the kindred. She must think of the good of Tarachand above all else.
Above herself. Above me.
I curl into my knees, my strength shredding away. The vizier counts on dutifully. Each lash scores into my soul . . . until, finally, I am broken.