12
Asha rotates me to face the mirror glass. I gape at my reflection and touch the beadwork on my bodice. The fitted top amplifies my slight curves. The trousers hang low on my hips and then balloon out and tighten again at my ankles. My bare midriff is partially hidden by a shawl draping from my shoulder and sweeping across my chest. Heavy kohl lines my eyes, arcing out at the sides in crow wings. Gold powder speckles my eyelids and cheekbones. My hair is down and brushed to a shine. The dark line of henna Priestess Mita drew down my nose has faded, but it is still noticeable. I purse my lips, stained red with passion fruit.
Asha clasps her hands together, an accomplished gleam in her eye. “You’re a vision, Viraji.”
She is being generous. After hours of grooming, I nearly pass for pretty. But then I think of Deven’s words to me during our journey: You’re beautiful.
I wrap my arms around my torso. I have shed more than fabric. Nothing appears to remain of the temple ward from Samiya, but beneath this painted mask I am still that girl. I will not lose sight of her. I dig through my satchel for a reminder of who I am to carry with me, but there is a problem.
“I don’t have pockets. Where am I supposed to hide my slingshot?”
“Do you intend on needing it for supper?” Asha says.
A handsome man in finery fit for the gods enters my chamber and displays a wide smile. “My wives may be fierce, but they won’t spoil a fine meal.”
I hold myself tight. Rajah Tarek needs no introduction. I recognize his voice from skill trials.
Asha bows out of the room, and two imperial guards position themselves near the door. I look for Deven, but he is not here.
“Kalinda, isn’t it?” Rajah Tarek strolls to me and takes the slingshot from my hand, setting it aside. He is younger than I thought, not an old man, but middle-aged. His is a pampered appearance, a look of long days soaking in the bathhouse and rubbing oils into his skin. His dark hair is short, almost the same length as his beard. Well-trimmed and well-dressed, the rajah carries himself with the ease of someone certain of his place in the world. Or perhaps someone who owns the world.
I bow low. “Your Majesty.”
“I would wager those who know you well call you Kali.”
“Some do.”
“Then so will I.” His eyes shine with amusement. “You look surprised.”
“I thought you would be . . .”
“Older? Fatter? Grayer?” His lips tug up.
I have no reply. I cannot agree that, yes, I expected him to be unsightly. That if he were, he would better suit my impression of him during our brief encounter in the Claiming chamber.
Rajah Tarek traces a finger down my arm, setting off a fire of gooseflesh. “Kali, did the priestess tell you why I claimed you?”
“To be your wife.”
“Not just my wife—my final rani. The importance placed on my hundredth viraji meets, and perhaps exceeds, that placed on my kindred.” His fingers feather through my hair. “For that, I need a young woman I can mold into a legend, someone worthy of the role.”
I confront him with a glare. I will never be who I once was, but if the gods have indeed brought me here, then they know that I will not bend to him. Not now. Not ever.
The rajah grins. “There’s the woman I claimed. I could feel your fiery glare through the blindfold.”
I repress a shudder. He is incredibly handsome, but his calculating eyes chill me. He is a charmed cobra that could snap out of its trance and turn on me any second.
“Tell me about your sickness.”
His abrupt command catches me off guard. My first instinct is to lie, but since Healer Baka notified him of my illness, I tell the truth. “I have a tendency toward fevers.”
“Any other weaknesses?” The rajah releases my hair to stroke my chin. “Pride perhaps?” His grip tightens on my jaw. “Or is it disobedience?”
I jerk free, and he chuckles. “I don’t like to be told what to do either.” His hand lashes out and clamps down on my chin before I can move away. Holding me captive, he leans in. “General Gautam spoke to me about your impertinence. I won’t hear any more tales of your defiance. You are my champion. You will conduct yourself properly. Do we have an understanding?”
His threat vibrates to my knees. “Yes.”
Rajah Tarek lets me go only to reach for me again. I cringe. “Shh.” His knuckles skim my cheek. His hot breath stinks of spicy apong. “I do not wish to hurt you.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead so tenderly that he could be looking at someone else. Someone he knows well and cares for.
“You will defend your throne for me. Won’t you, love?”
I nod, unable to speak. I will fight to win, but not for him.
“Captain Naik,” Rajah Tarek calls.
Deven rounds into the room, his gaze appropriately blank. He has changed his uniform into dark fitted trousers and a plum jacket with gold embroidery and a stand-up collar. The attire of an imperial guard.
The rajah kisses the back of my hand, his dry lips lingering against my skin. He looks at me and speaks to Deven. “I needn’t remind you of the importance of Kali’s safety. Nothing in the world matters more to me than her. I would not entrust her care to many men. Take that to heart.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I will see you soon, love,” Rajah Tarek says to me. He kisses my cheek and goes, his two guards marching out behind him.
I slump onto my bed and shove my shaking hands beneath my thighs.
Deven’s controlled voice carries to me. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” The pain in my jaw has faded. I stare at my lap, confusion twisting my mind around. “He spoke to me as if . . . as if he knows me.”
“Perhaps he has been waiting for you all his life and he feels he does.”
Deven’s quiet answer tugs up my chin. His tender gaze extends across the room, and a warm ache gathers in my chest. Having met Rajah Tarek, I am no closer to understanding why he claimed me. He has bound me to him, but my heart is above whatever role he wishes me to play. As I look at Deven, that same heart whispers of a certainty.
The gods guided me here to Rajah Tarek, but that path also led me to Deven.
He glances at the door. “The ranis will dine soon.”
I follow him into the corridor and see two more imperial guards. A smile splits my face. “Manas. Yatin. What are you doing here?”
“The captain promoted us.” Manas stands with his chest thrust out and his shoulders back.
“We hope you don’t mind,” says Yatin.
“Not at all.” I tug his stiff collar, and he smiles shyly. “I hope you don’t mind the uniform.”
Manas yanks at his own high neckline. “The jacket will take some getting used to, but look at us. We’re imperial guards.”
“You earned it,” says Deven. “Let’s escort the viraji to her supper.”
He guides the way. Every corridor in the palace is a copy of the last, with the same gold-leafed trim and flowing jewel-toned draperies. I have yet to see any turquoise, for which the palace was named.
We turn into an outdoor corridor lined with latticework doors opposite arches that open to the garden and the sunny sky. Early evening light streams through the openings, glowing against the palace’s alabaster walls. We stop at an inner doorway draped with red silk.
“The Tigress Pavilion,” Deven says. “The wives spend most of their time here.”
I waver at the threshold. “Are you coming?”
“Imperial guards aren’t permitted inside. If you need us, we will be stationed at this exit.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. All of the ranis could be like Parisa and Eshana, more concerned with their nails than backbiting, or they could be as horrible as their reputation, vain and vicious. None of the warrior wives will be my competitors in the tournament, but that does not mean that they will be friendly. But I will not know until I face them, so I step through the door.