14
Today is not a day to miss my tonic dosage. I wake early, dawn’s flaxen light easing through my bedchamber, and draw a swig from one of my remaining vials. With my nose scrunched from the pungent taste, I notice a book on the other half of my bed that was not there when I fell asleep. I glance around my empty chamber and pick up the old text.
Bhuta Origins. Gooseflesh springs up my arms. I open the cover and flip through the pages, pausing on a drawing of Anu. Four mortals kneel before the sky-god as he offers them fragments of light he carved from the sun with his mighty khanda. I have seen countless images of Anu, but never this one. The caption reads:
Anu bestowed four mortals with shafts of his power. His visitation was later documented in the Zhaleh, a record of bhuta heritage. In his visit, Anu’s light elevated these mortals to half-gods, the highest form of mortal reincarnation.
Questions cram my mind. Half-gods? But Bhutas are offspring of the demon Kur, the ruler of the Void. I continue flipping through the pages, and the same several words and phrases stand out. Sky-god. Bhutas. Half-gods.
“Good morning, Viraji.”
I slam the book shut and look up. Asha carries in a breakfast tray and slides it onto my bedside table. I stash Bhuta Origins under the covers, my thoughts circling deeper into perplexity.
I eat my breakfast, a bowl of honey-drizzled yogurt, and Asha tidies my chamber. Her heavy black veil conceals all but her downcast eyes. None of the other servants wear such a veil, and I wonder what she is hiding.
She picks up my satchel from the bedpost, where I had slung it, and one of my vials falls out and shatters on the floor. She kneels to sop up the mess. “I’m so sorry!” she says.
“Leave it,” I say. I step down off my bed, dodging broken glass. Asha continues to work. “I said, ‘Leave it!’”
She covers her face in defense and backs out of my chamber in a bow. I expel a sigh and clean up. Asha did not mean to break my tonic vial, but she still shortened my remedy supply to about eight days. I only have one full vial and a bit left.
I dress, pleating my sari between my legs for training, and then put the strange book in my satchel along with the remaining vials. I dig the tonic formula out of my satchel pocket and skim the ingredients. Most are herbs that I recognize, but I pause on the final two: white baneberry and snakeroot. Frowning, I reread the list. Jaya used to grow white baneberry and snakeroot. They are both poisonous.
That does not make sense. Healer Baka had never told me what was in her remedy, but she would never feed me poison. She must have written the formula wrong.
Asha returns, her step wary. I tuck the tonic formula into the waistband of my trousers. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” I say.
Startled, her eyes swerve to mine. “You won’t punish me?”
“No. It was an accident.”
“Bless you, Viraji. Bless you.”
She shielded her face from me before, when I was angry, thinking that I would strike out at her. Is that what the other ranis do?
“How did you come to serve here, Asha?” I ask.
“I was claimed.”
“You were raised by the Sisterhood?” I consider her calm, dark eyes and picture her wearing a blue sari like other temple wards.
“The kindred accompanied the rajah to my temple and claimed several wards to serve the ranis. I have been here nearly two years.”
So it is possible to return for Jaya and claim her. My heart flutters, knowing that our plan could work, but I am ashamed of my impatience with Asha. She shares my upbringing. I could have just as easily been claimed as a servant. “I truly am sorry.”
Though I cannot see the rest of her face, her eyes warm. She picks up the breakfast tray, and I follow her out.
Manas waits in the quiet corridor. “Morning, Viraji.”
He looks ready to keel over. He must have been outside my door all night. “Where is Captain Naik?” I say.
“Off duty. You’re up early. Most of the ranis are late rousers.” He tries to subtly prod me back inside my chamber with his gaze. I could wait for Deven, but I start down the hall. Manas stays with me. “Where are you going?”
We pass a mirror glass on the wall, and I glimpse my reflection. The henna line down my nose has faded even more, but I am still marked as an intended bride.
“The Tigress Pavilion. I have training to do.”
An ax whirls across the courtyard and impales itself in a pillar with a solid thunk. I round the corner of the portico and see Lakia unbend from her throwing stance. We are the only two people here.
“Another early riser.” Annoyance clips her tone. She stalks to the ax and yanks it from the target. “No one else has been up this early with me since . . .” Her eyes taper to incisive slits.
“I’ll come back—”
Lakia shoves the ax at me, and I catch it on reflex. “The rajah’s new courtesan has a mouth on her. She has been here just one night, yet she has convinced some of the courtesans who were not already clamoring for your rank to step forward as challengers. She said you spent your childhood in a sickbed and cannot fight.” Her gaze rolls down me. “She also said you are shaped like bamboo, and your personality is just as flat.”
Natesa. I grip down on the ax. “I can fight.”
Lakia wrenches the ax from my hands. “Then pick your weapon.”
“And spar with you?” My insides shake. Lakia has killed more opponents in the arena than any other rani.
She twirls the ax at her side. “Did you come here to train or not?”
I do not see how sparring with Lakia will end well for me, but if I refuse, the rumors about me will worsen. I do not need a reputation as a poor fighter and a coward. I select a staff from the weapons rack.
Lakia sets aside her ax with a smirk. “To be fair.” She gestures me forward. In her obscenely short training sari, more scars are visible on her legs. I swing at her head, and she sidesteps me. “You aren’t as pretty as I thought you would be.”
“You are.” I hold up the staff, preparing to block.
She paces sideways. “Do you know how long I have waited for Tarek to choose his final wife? I have been forced to watch him wed ninety-nine other women. Ninety-nine.” Her fist attacks too swiftly for me to evade. I back away, jaw on fire.
“Don’t you mean ninety-eight? You were claimed with your older sister, weren’t you?”
Lakia kicks me in the middle. I stumble back against the wall. She slams her fist into my gut, precisely where she kicked me. I clutch my pained abdomen, groaning through my teeth.
“Do not speak of her.” Lakia yanks the staff from my grip and presses it across my neck. “You aren’t the only one who has to fight for rank. The first-wife position is the most coveted. Any of the wives may challenge me.” I push against her, but with the wall behind me, she has the leverage. “After you,” she says, “there will be no more tournaments. No more challengers. No more wives. No more proving my devotion.”
She drives the staff down on my jugular, sealing off my breath. My lungs reach into the rest of my body for air.
Yatin is outside. He replaced Manas when we reached the pavilion, but my mouth gasps soundlessly for his help.
Lakia leans forward, her weight still bearing down on my gullet. A veil of blackness falls over my vision. “You’re the hundredth viraji Tarek traveled far and wide for?” she says. “Pathetic.”
She lets me go. I slide to the ground, wheezing.
Lakia drops the staff, and it clatters near my head. “Tarek is my husband. Win your tournament—if you can—but when it is over, I will be his kindred forevermore.”
Through my splotchy sight, I see her strut away. I sag against the floor and cough.
“Kalinda? Kalinda?”
I look up to see Shyla bending over me. I try to answer her, but my voice box aches. She toddles off in a hurry, and I pull myself up to half sitting. Hoarse chunks of air burst in and out of me.
“Kali!” Deven races across the patio. Yatin lumbers behind him with waddling Shyla. Deven stoops over me. “What happened?”
Coughing slows my reply. “Lakia.”
“Let’s get you to a healer.” Deven lifts me to my feet, and Shyla grips her round belly, puffing out her cheeks with labored breaths. Deven motions to Yatin. “Better bring her too.”
The infirmary, located in the central palace, smells familiar—of ground ginger. An elderly woman brews me a cup of ginger tea and advises me to sip it slowly.
Yatin has gone to help Shyla to her bedchamber, and the healer sent a midwife after them. According to her, Shyla should deliver her baby by day’s end.
Deven stands guard at the end of my cot. He is unshaven, his eyes red rimmed. He must have been up all night searching for the Burner. How is he still on his feet?
The healer returns with a second cup of hot tea and hands it to him. “You need this as much as the viraji.”
He does not take it. “I’m on duty.”
“So am I.” The healer squints at him, multiplying her wrinkles.
Deven accepts the tea, and, with more prodding from the healer, he sits beside me on the cot. He stretches out his legs, crossing his dirty boots. Tendrils of steam curl up from our cups, fogging our faces. The healer goes to her desk to write in her logbook.
“What happened?” he asks.
I rub my sore throat. “Lakia asked me to spar.”
A troubled frown lengthens his face. “You aren’t the first person her temper has sent to the infirmary. What happened between you?”
“She threatened me. In a sense.” I could not care less about Lakia’s rank. She could have the rajah to herself, and I would be happier for it.
“Keep your distance, Kali. Everyone in the palace sidesteps the kindred.”
I nod, and Deven nestles his delicate teacup in his big hands. “You didn’t tell me your mother is one of the rajah’s courtesans,” I say.
“I told you she’s a courtesan. Whose courtesan didn’t seem relevant.” He exhibits no frustration, merely resignation. “She won’t challenge you. Her tournament days are over.”
My fingers relax on my drink. Thank the gods I do not have to decide between his mother’s life and my own. “How often do you see your mother?” I say.
“Not often. I love my mother, but courtesans don’t raise their children. My brother and I were brought up by nursemaids. He was my only family for a long time.”
“You must have loved him very much,” I say, thinking of Jaya.
“Yes, I did.” He sets his tea aside and unbuttons the top of his jacket, releasing his neck from the strangling collar. “There is still no sign of the Burner,” he says. “He was not captured in the raid, but the rajah wants us to stay on the lookout. He believes the Burner may be near the palace.”
Near the palace or inside it? The Burner must be skilled at hiding; anyone who looks at him would remember his distinctive eyes.
He must not have been far from me since we met. He may have even been close enough to sneak into my chamber and leave something on my bed.
The notion turns my tongue to cotton. I want to tell Deven about Bhuta Origins, but it must wait. The healer could be listening.
Yatin appears in the doorway. “Captain, the viraji’s servant is looking for her. Her midday meal is being served in her chamber.”
Deven stands and buttons up his jacket. “I will take her.”
The healer rushes over, wagging a finger at Yatin. “The viraji needs to finish her tea, and Captain Naik needs to rest.”
“I will rest right after I escort the viraji to her chamber,” says Deven.
Though the old healer is half his size and more than three times his age, she does not back down. “Captain, I will confine you to the infirmary if you do not go directly to your quarters.”
“Go on,” I say to Deven. “Yatin will take me back to my room.”
Deven swallows and nods. He goes out into the corridor to relay orders to Yatin.
The healer holds up the teapot. “More, Viraji?”
“No, thank you.” The healer pours herself a cup, and I remember the tonic formula tucked at my waistband. “But if I may ask, what do you know about white baneberry and snakeroot?”
The healer carries her teacup over to me. “They are very rare and highly poisonous herbs. Some used to believe they could ward off bhuta powers. Brickmakers ground them into powder and added the powder to their building clay for protection. Certain areas of the palace are rumored to have been constructed with the poison-infused bricks.”
“Do they truly repel bhuta powers?”
“Cannot say. In all my years of medicine, I have never seen them used against bhutas.” The healer takes my empty cup. “You should be well enough to attend tonight’s ceremony.”
“Thank you. My throat feels better.”
My mind, however, is not relieved. Healer Baka had somehow gotten her hands on these rare herbs, but I doubt that I will find them on the palace grounds, so then why did she give me the formula? Without the ingredients, I have no chance of concocting more. Healer Baka knew I would need my tonic to sustain me through the tournament. I wish that I could pen her a letter, but I am not allowed contact with those outside the palace.
Based on what this healer said, Healer Baka must have known she was feeding me toxins. But how could I have ingested poison for over a year and yet still live?
Unless . . . unless my tonic does more than lower my fevers.
Yatin appears at the doorway. “Ready, Viraji?”
“Yes.” I fasten on a smile and push my thoughts of poisons away. I have tonight’s ceremony to prepare for.