19
The gardens are set for skill demonstrations. The rajah’s court—benefactors, ranis, and courtesans—cluster under silk tents, hiding from the sun like lizards under a rock. From the terrace above, I watch the wide strip of greenery where my contenders are taking turns showing off. Perspiration makes my blouse cling to my back, and a hot wind blasts my exposed skin.
Parisa hands me a chalice of chilled spiced wine. “You need this more than I do.”
I accept the cup, the welcome cold biting into my fingers, but do not sample it. I must be clearheaded for my performance. I am slated to present last, wherein I will have thirty seconds to astonish this throng of drunken benefactors and validate my place as the rajah’s champion. Tension builds at the base of my skull. Our battle skills are a sign of devotion to Ki. They should not be diminished to entertainment. But refusing to perform would forfeit my opportunity to establish that I am not a weak contender.
Fareeshah pitches an ax across the field, and its sharp head decapitates a bush.
“Oh!” the audience peals.
“At this rate, Tarek will have no roses left,” Parisa mutters to Eshana. Their translucent veils flutter in the stale afternoon breeze.
The previous dozen or so courtesans started ripping apart the garden with their blades. The once-beautiful foliage is quickly being pruned to pieces.
From the corner of my eye, I see Natesa mingling with Anjali and Mathura in front of a servant waving an ostrich fan. With our segregated lives, I have not seen Natesa since the declaration ceremony. Her face seems paler and thinner, her eyes bigger. But if she is ailing, it did not show in her demonstration. She brandished her khanda like a seasoned blade fighter.
Fareeshah’s display earns her applause. I scuff my feet against the terra-cotta tiles, my confidence that I will impress the crowd crumbling to dust. I want to present my skill and be done with this spectacle.
“It’s a shame two courtesans are already out.” Eshana scoots closer to a servant swaying a feather fan. Another servant passes out ice chips from a golden bucket. She and Parisa take a chunk. “I overheard the healer say food poisoning.”
“Sabotage,” Parisa says. She runs ice across her brow. “Happens every tournament. Rarely does anyone get caught.”
Eshana pops a piece of ice into her mouth. “At least we know it isn’t Lakia. She wouldn’t stoop to toying with the courtesan duels, not with her own to worry about.”
“Who challenged her?” I ask.
“Four fools,” Eshana answers around the ice in her cheek. “They will be fortunate if Lakia tears their throats out in the middle of the night instead of in the arena.”
Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck. Sabotage tactics have begun. I feel for Yasmin’s dagger, hidden at my waist, grateful for the protection.
Anjali’s name is announced, and she strides forward to perform her thirty-second demonstration. I lift my chin to see her better over the benefactors at the front of the crowd. She is my youngest opponent, yet she carries herself with maturity.
Anjali picks up a stack of chakrams, ringed throwing blades with blunt rims on the inside, and aims at a feather-stuffed dummy across the lawn. An official tips the sand timer, and Anjali tosses the rounded chakrams in quick succession. The first one slices off the dummy’s foot. The next one severs the second ankle. Another two disks disconnect its hands at the wrist. Another stabs itself into the dummy’s abdomen. The final disk slices through the dummy’s neck, beheading it. Anjali bows to the cheering audience and blows kisses.
“She has talent,” I say.
“And ego,” adds Eshana with a dry smile.
“You will go up against her in the tournament, Kalinda,” Parisa says.
Eshana nods. “Anjali will be in the final three.”
My insides roll like windswept sand dunes. I try not to envision Anjali’s chakrams amputating my limbs.
Parisa sends me a heartening smile. “Don’t let it bother you. Tarek could have chosen any of his courtesans to wed him, but he didn’t want them as his rani. He wants you.”
If only that were the comfort she means it to be.
Eshana runs her fingers absentmindedly through her hair. “What skill are you showing, Kalinda?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Eshana exchanges a look of consternation with Parisa. “Whatever you do, it ought to be flashy. Lakia opted to perform before you.”
Parisa slips the last of her ice down her shirt. “Lakia loves dramatics.”
Lakia plays mind games. I will not let her intimidate me.
My gaze wanders to the raised platform at the center of the terrace, where Lakia sits on her throne beside Tarek. The rajah is watching me. His gaze slides down to my throat, and he smiles. I did not want to wear Yasmin’s necklace today, but Asha insisted. Considering Lakia’s deep scowl, I am glad I did. Mind games can go both directions.
“Kalinda?” Shyla comes through the crowd holding a bundled infant. “We came to wish you luck.” She leans toward us, and I look into her newborn’s sleeping face.
“She’s tiny,” Parisa says.
“What’s her name?” asks Eshana.
“Rehan, after my mother.” Shyla offers the child to me. “Would you like to hold her?”
“I shouldn’t.” I have never held a baby before; my fevers prevented me from working in the temple nurseries. Rehan is so little and fragile that I would not know what to do with her. “She’s beautiful. Tarek must be proud.”
“He doesn’t meet his children until they’re older.” Shyla glances up at her husband on the podium and lowers her voice. “He’s still distraught over losing his firstborn.”
Parisa and Eshana nod in unison. I can understand how losing a child would have wounded Tarek, but for him to not want to meet his newborn is unfathomable. I cannot resist running my finger over his daughter’s fuzzy dark hair.
“We should return to the nursery.” Shyla smiles. “Good luck, Kalinda.”
“Thank you.” I stroke Rehan’s soft head once more, and they disappear into the audience.
Parisa’s eyes go wide. “Hurry this way.” She ducks her head and links arms with Eshana and me, dragging us in the opposite direction from the place where she was looking. “General Gautam is over there. Last time we spoke, he tried to touch me.”
I twist my head to see the general, but we lose him in the crowd.
“Gautam is terrible,” says Eshana. “I would loathe to be his—Kalinda, your guard is looking for you.”
Deven starts to cross the covered terrace. He is supposed to wait outside the tents with the other guards. I try to repel him with an off-putting glower, but he keeps coming. What has come over him? The rajah could see him. I glance up at Tarek to see if he is still keeping an eye on me, and the gong sounds for quiet. All look to the rajah, rising from his throne.
“A treasure was returned to me this morning.” Tarek motions before us, and the crowd swivels to face the clearing. Two soldiers drag out a filthy woman and shove her to her knees on the grass. Whispers spread across the tent like a sudden wind. “My dear wife Taline has been found. Unfortunately, the guard she ran away with did not survive his capture.”
His contrived regret hardens my jaw.
Deven reaches me and speaks low in my ear. “We have to talk.”
“Not now.” He could not have chosen a worse time. We are surrounded by people, the rajah is watching me, and the reappearance of the runaway rani tells me something horrible is about to happen.
Lakia strolls out of the warm-up tent in the clearing, carrying an urumi.
“My kindred has requested that she carry out Taline’s penalty as a demonstration of her skill,” Tarek continues.
Great Anu, they are going to discipline the woman here.
“How many lashes, my kindred?” Tarek calls over the audience.
Lakia circles the woman, blades trailing in the grass like silver asps. “One for each day she was missing.”
“Husband, please forgive me,” Taline cries. “I will be loyal. I will obey.”
Tarek speaks over her, his hard eyes glinting. “How many days was she gone, Kindred?”
“Thirty-five.”
Bile scalds my windpipe. The urumi will tear Taline apart long before she is lashed that many times. This is brutality beyond retribution. Rajah Tarek wants to make an example out of her, but she is not his enemy; she is his wife. Taline deserves more respect than to be used as an exhibit. The rajah should end her mercifully, with a clean kill.
“Deven, we have to stop this,” I whisper.
He curls his fingers around my elbow, holding me in place. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Lakia halts behind the sobbing woman. “Shall we count with the gong?” She lifts the urumi, and the servant manning the gong raises the mallet.
I yank myself from Deven’s grasp and shove through the bystanders to the terrace balcony. “Is this the best you can do?” I say.
Lakia looks up at me, the urumi outstretched.
“Taline’s a large target,” I say, “and the urumi has so many blades. This won’t be much of a show of your skill.”
Lakia lowers the urumi. “I would like to see how you fare against the urumi, Viraji.”
“Do you propose a better demonstration, my champion?” Tarek calls from his throne.
I turn to him, fingers quivering against my sides. “I do, Your Majesty. A skill competition between the kindred and myself.”
Benefactors mumble and nod in appreciation. The ranis and courtesans whisper their surprise. Deven shakes his head to end this. I ball my trembling fingers into fists. I will not allow Lakia to treat this rani like a stuffed dummy.
Rajah Tarek considers me with a probing stare. He must realize that I am delaying Taline’s death and preserving what dignity she has left. But this is a diversion. Once I finish competing with Lakia, skill demonstrations will be over, and I will plead with the rajah on Taline’s behalf for a merciful, private death befitting her station.
“By all means.” Tarek sweeps his arm to push me along. “Present your challenge.”
I signal Asha over from the warm-up tent, where she waits. She lugs a crate of clinking glass orbs into the garden, a group of serving women behind her. I recognize them as the ones who bring my tub and bathwater.
“Glass orbs?” Lakia sneers. “You challenge me with decorations?”
Nervous chuckles sound from the crowd.
“They’re small and light.” I descend the steps to the lower garden. “A much more difficult target than a shackled prisoner.” Taline cries softly on the ground. Gods, she looks about my age. I stand between her and Lakia, my heart drumming so hard that I fear it will fracture a rib. “Not up to the task?”
Lakia pets the urumi handle. “Tell me the terms.”
“At the signal of the gong, the servants will throw the glass orbs and we will have thirty seconds to shatter as many as we can. Two guards will keep count of our felled targets. Whoever breaks the most wins.” I motion to Asha to open the crate and pass out the glass orbs to the throwers. The servants fill their arms with them. Asha came prepared with more than enough.
Lakia’s gaze dashes to the captivated crowd and then narrows on me. “Done, but I choose the guards.”
I hide a relieved exhalation. Her pride is dependable; I will commend her for that.
The soldiers cart Taline to the perimeter of the clearing. Lakia assigns two guards to keep count and then faces the wide clearing with the urumi. I stand down the way from her and take my slingshot out of my pocket.
Mocking laughter spills out behind me. I stand tall, gaze forward. I will display the skill that best represents me. I am certain that is what the land-goddess would advise me to do.
“Is that your weapon of choice, my champion?” Tarek’s amusement is wearing thin.
“It is.” I seek his patience with a slender smile. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Tarek wags a finger. “Continue.”
“Your pathetic attempt to humiliate me will fail,” Lakia says under her breath.
I see Taline tremble from the corner of my eye. The kindred has no idea of my intent.
I fill my fist with firing stones from my pouch. Asha and the other servants stand off to my right and left, ready to fling the colorful glass orbs across the clearing. I load my slingshot with the first firing stone and draw back. Ki, let my aim be true.
The gong rings, and the sand timer turns.
Servants hurl the glass orbs into the air. Lakia lashes out. The urumi’s dozens of blades shatter three orbs from the sky before they soar free. I shoot a twinkling orb arcing away. The ball bursts, and glass rains down like frozen tears.
I reload with the stones amassed in my palm and train my sight on another orb, farther out. I release, shattering another target. The servants shield their faces upon throwing orb after orb, Lakia striking down the ones close to her. I release, reload, and shoot. Inhale and load. Exhale and fire. Vibrant shards and fine dust litter the grass with glittering pieces. Seconds drain away in the crack of the urumi, explosion of glass, and snap of my slingshot.
The gong rings, signaling the end of our time.
Lakia scans the area around her. “How many?”
Her guard counts her broken targets. “The kindred brought down eighteen!”
“How many for the viraji?” Tarek asks, sitting forward on his throne. My range was farther with the slingshot. Whereas Lakia had to break the orbs before they spun away, I shot them down farther out.
The audience stays quiet for the second guard to answer. “The viraji felled twenty-one!”
Tarek releases a roar of triumph over the audience’s applause. “Bring the viraji here!”
Deven is at my side in an instant. I avoid his tight-lipped frown and go with him, passing through the clapping benefactors. The women utter proclamations of “With a slingshot!” and “More than the kindred!” Deven escorts me to the platform stairs and returns to his place outside the tent.
Tarek embraces me atop the podium and swings me around to face the people. “My champion!”
His boasting shakes a weak smile out of me. Across the way, Taline crouches in a defensive position, but her chin is lifted high. As I look out over the spectators, waiting for Tarek to stop bragging so that I can speak to him about the fate of his wife, I spot the general. Gautam’s arm is tucked around a young woman wearing a veil over the lower half of her face. Her hair is ebony; her big eyes are vacant. Her figure is tiny beside him, and her skin is icy pale. My heart dives to my feet.
Jaya.
My world spins to an abrupt halt. Jaya and General Gautam sift to the back of the tent and out of sight. I break from Tarek’s hold and hop down off the podium, knees jarring. I reel around, but I cannot see Jaya anywhere.
Eshana rushes over. “Kalinda! You were tremendous.”
I grab Eshana by the shoulders. “Have you seen General Gautam?”
“I—I saw him over there not long—”
I plunge into the crowd. The general’s dark-blue uniform should be easy to pick out, but he is nowhere to be seen. I pause and search in a circle, clutching the sides of my head. They must have gone into the gardens.
I run down the closest path, following the endless trails away from the tents. My distracted weaving leads me to more empty paths. I stop, my lungs heaving on mounting tears.
“Kali!” Deven jogs up behind me.
I slam my fists against his torso. “You told me the general did not claim her!”
“His men lied.” Deven holds his hands up in a plea for peace. “I tried to warn you about Jaya as soon as I saw her.”
“Why?” I hit him again. “Why would Gautam hide her from me?”
“To repay you for standing up to him. He saw you and Jaya at skill trials. He knew you were close.”
“He claimed Jaya!” I cup my hands over my mouth. “Oh, Deven. I let her wait for me. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know the general would stay in Samiya. I didn’t know he . . .” My voice crackles. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes to distance myself from the image of Jaya pinned against the general’s side, but she is all I see. She looked so . . . so empty. “I promised I would return for her. I promised.”
“I’m sorry,” says Deven. I lower my hands and look into his watery eyes. “I am so sorry,” he says, his face ashen.
A scream breaks out from the clearing. I stand taller to see over the shrubbery and glimpse the silver tips of the urumi’s blades flickering as they drop. Another bloodcurdling scream digs nails into my spine. Lakia has begun Taline’s execution. I cannot appeal to Tarek now. I am too late for Jaya, too late for Taline. I bang my fists against my temples and release a guttural groan.
“Taline was going to be punished, regardless of what you did, Kali,” Deven says.
I flinch at a third lash and a pained sob, quieter than the last.
Hot tears burn my eyes. “I suppose she deserves it, then. She deserves to be humiliated and ripped apart for daring to do what she wishes, for daring to love someone of her choosing.”
Deven recoils, my words too close. Off in the clearing, Lakia strikes the wayward wife again. This time, there is no scream.