20
I gaze out the balcony door at the falling sun, Asha hovering at my back. “Viraji, it’s time to prepare for the feast.”
“I’m not going,” I say. Tarek brought General Gautam with him to Samiya. He is the reason Jaya was claimed. I will not dine with a monster.
Servants haul in the tub and steaming buckets of bathwater. I do not go inside. They fill the bath and file out of my chamber. I still do not budge.
Asha lingers, a silent shadow behind me. She waits for me to surrender to my weary bones and emotional fatigue. I do not. My stubbornness prevails, and she pads away.
The sky darkens to ash, and Vanhi burns with soft yellow lights. This could never be my home. I favor snowy winters over this harsh heat. I long for the distinctive spiked apexes of the Alpanas over these rolling dunes of dusty sameness. But I will never again return to Samiya. I have no reason to go back without Jaya there. I have been an orphan all my life, but I have never felt without a home, without a family, until now.
“You aren’t dressed for supper.”
I swivel at Mathura’s voice. She has broken the kindred’s rule, coming to the wives’ wing. “I’m not hungry.”
“Neither am I.” She walks to the doorway with a cane. “You put on quite a spectacle today.”
“A useless delay. Taline was executed nevertheless.”
“I meant in regard to the general’s new wife—and my son.”
Jaya is Gautam’s wife?
I turn my stricken face away from Mathura, but she is not finished. “If you care for my son, you will leave him alone.”
I go as still as a hare. Mathura must have seen Deven track me down in the spectators’ tent to warn me about Jaya. I would hate to know who else saw him.
“You needn’t worry,” I say. “Deven would never choose me over the empire.”
After skill demonstrations, he escorted me to my chamber and left without a word. I am certain Taline’s pained screams echo on through his memory, as they do mine.
Mathura walks to my side. “I thought my son would choose the empire above all else too, and then I saw him charge after you into the garden, risking his career, his reputation, his life. Why?” Her gaze searches my face for answers. “Then it occurred to me. To Deven you are the empire. You are the viraji. The people’s champion. His champion. He has confused his devotion to Tarachand with his obligation to protect you.”
My heart capsizes on a wave of crushing hurt. Deven’s loyalty to me is actually his obedience to the rajah. This realization warps every private moment we have had between us. He did not kiss me; I kissed him, and then he asked me to forget about it. Each time we touched before that, he was comforting me, building me up to fight in the tournament.
“What would you have me do?” I whisper. “I cannot request for him to be reassigned. I have no reason to dismiss him. And fabricating an excuse would damage his standing in the imperial guard.”
Mathura grips my hands in hers. “Protect him from himself. If Tarek finds out that Deven cares for you, he will not understand that Deven’s loyalty is to the throne. I lost one son. I cannot lose the other.”
My heartbeat dulls to slow, heavy thuds. My throat strains from holding back tears. “I will remind Deven that I am Tarek’s viraji.”
“That’s all I ask.” Mathura squeezes my fingers and lets them go.
I exhale the last of my strength and go rest at the foot of the bed. My throbbing head echoes down to my pitching stomach. I want to crawl under my blanket and stay there until my fevers return and burn me up.
Mathura follows me. “You should change for the feast. Tarek is waiting.”
“I cannot face him.”
“The feast is in your honor. Your absence would be a sign of weakness.” She passes me the evening sari that Asha hung on the bedpost. “Get changed. Your reputation is worth more than a fit of rebellion.”
“I don’t care what Tarek or his court thinks of me. I don’t want to be their champion.”
“But you are. If you cannot face them for yourself, do it for your friend. She and Gautam are invited.”
I clutch the cloth in my lap. “He was not supposed to claim Jaya. I swore to return for her.”
“None of us got what we wanted from the Claiming.” Mathura’s expression softens, and she sits by my side. “At one time, recipients chose their benefactors.”
My gaze snaps to hers. “What?”
“When I was little, becoming a recipient was a coveted honor. Very few girls were enlisted to be raised by the sisters. In those days, a Claiming was a reward for completing rigorous training, a symbol of womanhood and devotion to the gods.”
A reward. I have never thought of the Claiming as anything more than an inescapable obligation.
“The recipients were highly desired as wives. At the time, the rank tournaments were not in practice, and the recipient could reject a benefactor’s request.” Mathura’s tone darkens. “Then Tarek came to our temple. He wanted Yasmin at first sight. She refused him, but Tarek did not care for tradition, and he claimed Yasmin against her will.
“Word spread about what he had done, and the other benefactors felt their monetary endowments entitled them to any recipient they desired. The temple priestesses declined to change the rite, so some benefactors withdrew their requests, but most withdrew their funding. Fearing the closure of the temples, the sisters complied. The greediest benefactors began to claim recipients for courtesans and servants. Temple enlistment plummeted, so the brethren sent orphan girls to be wards.” Mathura looks down at the blank backs of her hands. “By the time I came of age two years later, I had no choice.”
She raises her cool gaze. “You are not the only one dismayed by the life you have been claimed for, but you have been given more than most. Yes, you must fight for your throne, but should you win, your children will be heirs to the empire. You will be permitted to raise them and keep them. You will not suffer the heartache I have for my sons.”
I lower my gaze, feeling properly chastised, but my problem still remains. “But how can I hide my loathing for Tarek?”
“You lay up your fury for when you need it most. Hatred is sustenance for survival. Use it right, and your loathing will sustain you through the tournament, all the way to your triumph.” Mathura pats my knee. “This is how I survive. This is how you will survive.” She stands with the dignity of a sister warrior. “I will meet you at the feast.”
Long, low tables fill the throne room, lit by hundreds of fat candles. Tarek is seated at the head of a table set above the rest on the dais, surrounded by his favored four. He beckons me forward. I would rather dine with hogs, but I go to him. Benefactors, courtesans, and ranis cram around lower tables bowed with platters of rich dishes. I do not see Jaya or Gautam.
“Here’s my champion!” Tarek welcomes me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
I cringe at the stench of apong on his breath, but I sit cross-legged on the floor cushion beside him. Mathura smiles a distant welcome and puffs on her pipe, her cane propped against the table. Beside her, Eshana beams with a friendliness that nearly curtails my unease for joining their elite group. Anjali lounges on her elbow, eating bits of pineapple, and Lakia sidles up to Tarek’s other side possessively, unsubtle as always about her incapacity to share him.
Tarek selects a hunk of charred flatbread from a basket and lays it on my plate. “Eat, love. We’re celebrating you. This tournament, this feast—”
“This wine,” Anjali says, saluting me with her cup.
“Yes, everything is in the viraji’s honor.” Tarek tops off his chalice and drinks to me. I manage a small smile.
Lithophone players perform on the other side of the dais. A dancer moves between the tables with precise, balanced stances. Her hand gestures match the beat, and she stamps her feet in a fancy rhythmic pattern. Tarek taps his fingers in time and eyes the dancer like a hawk spying a mouse in a field.
Jaya is still nowhere to be seen.
Laughter carries up from the attendees. Fareeshah grins, her mouth full of food. Should I also relish this feast as my last meal? I stare at my untouched plate, the food growing cold.
After another course that I do not partake of, servants carry baskets stacked with wooden lots from table to table. My challengers pick a lot and compare fate’s hand with their neighbors. When all of the wooden lots are dispersed, my opponents will be sectioned into pairs for the duels.
A servant brings a basket to Anjali. She digs her hand inside and plucks out a stick. Smiling wide, she picks her teeth with the pointy end.
Tarek’s chuckles boom in my ear. “Come,” he says, inviting Anjali to his side. She squeezes in between us, and I gladly scoot over for her. “You duel tomorrow, my sweet?”
She pets the nape of his neck. “Afraid for me?”
“You? Never.” He kisses her forehead, blessing her with good fortune.
I am partly disgusted, partly intrigued. The rajah cares for Anjali, yet he supports her fighting to the death. And, remarkably, despite his not claiming her as his rani, Anjali adores him. Tarek plays more mind games than Lakia. His charm, his bravado, his affection. Are all of these women willing to die for one of his kisses? Or are they playing their part in order to survive? The rajah has set himself up like a god, but I do not fear his power more than the gods’. I cannot be the only one.
I tolerate the rest of the feast as I would a long day in the oppressive desert sun. Eshana tops off Tarek’s chalice, and Lakia and Anjali compete for his lap. I slip away. Only Mathura acknowledges my departure and then returns to smoking her pipe. Manas and Yatin wait for me in the corridor, but still not Deven.
Natesa comes out in the hall to meet me. “Kalinda, have you seen Jaya? I heard she was claimed by the general.”
I would never tell her where Jaya is after what Natesa did to her, but I stop myself from saying so.
The kohl around Natesa’s eyes is smeared, as though she has been crying. She holds her arms securely across her chest. “I just want to know if Jaya is all right. I know you don’t think I care, but I do.”
I am so startled by Natesa’s sincerity that I answer in kind. “I don’t know where Jaya is. I saw her with the general at skill demonstrations, but not since.”
Natesa frowns, her dark eyes troubled. I hardly recognize this fretful young woman. “Are you all right?” I say.
Natesa glances over her shoulder at two benefactors watching her from a table in the hall. “I’m fine.” She raises a surly lip. “Go back to your private wing, where you are left alone.”
My heart speeds up. “Natesa, I—”
“If I see Jaya, I will tell her you’re looking for her.”
Natesa returns to the waiting benefactors. They receive her with hungry hands and oily smiles. Natesa’s eyes glaze over when the men touch her, reminding me of how Jaya was acting beside Gautam. I swallow through a rough, dry throat and start off to my chamber, my guards tailing me. I try to leave Natesa’s concern for Jaya behind, but it lays a slimy coating all over my insides. I am worried for both of them.
At my doorway, I turn my teary eyes away from my guards. “Please tell Asha not to disturb me tonight.”
“Viraji,” Yatin says in his gentle burr, “do you need anything?”
“Actually, yes. General Gautam claimed a new wife. I would like to meet with her. Please pass my inquiry along to her servants.”
I step inside my chamber and shut my door. The mountain of satin pillows entices me to my bed. I lie down, and the basket of challenges hovers at the fringe of my vision. I pinch my eyes closed. Perhaps if I pretend hard enough, I can imagine that I am home with Jaya in our chamber, readying for bed. But something shifts at my feet. I sit up onto my elbows and see a round lump beneath the bedcovers.
Keeping my gaze on the bulge, I slide off the bed. The lump extends out into a long, thick rope. I draw Yasmin’s dagger and force a steadying breath. Whatever is under my bedcovers was put there to stop me from setting foot in the arena. I throw back the blanket, sending pillows flying in a shower of silk.
A black snake coils up at the bottom of my bed, agitated at me for stripping away its cozy den. I greet the thin, venomous asp with the point of my dagger and inch away. The snake hisses. I hold still, heeding its warning. My dagger is too short to be useful. Another movement could incite the deadly snake to strike, but I have to try. I slowly step back. The asp opens its mouth and hisses louder, its translucent curved fangs ready to hook into my flesh.
“Don’t move,” I hear.
The Burner steps in from the open balcony and approaches the other side of the bed. The snake stays preoccupied with me, its dark eyes staring me down. The Burner sneaks up behind it and swings down with an ax, chopping the asp’s head off. Its tail twitches until death.
The Burner slides his ax into a leather sheath strapped to his back. I keep my dagger—although I have seen what he can do with his hands—and draw back. I consider shouting for my guards, but the truth is I have been expecting his visit.
He lifts the severed pieces of snake off my bed and tosses them into the hearth. He throws kindling on top of the asp’s corpse. “Someone wants you dead,” he says.
“A lot of someones.” I nod at the basket of challenges. “You’ll have to get in line.”
“We don’t want to kill you, Viraji. We want to help you.”
“We?” I ask.
He grins secretively. He is less menacing when he smiles, even attractive, but appearances are unreliable depictions of character. Rajah Tarek is handsome too.
“I found the book you left me,” I say.
“The warlord wanted you to have it.” He presses his fingertip to the kindling, and fire erupts. Flames chew the wood and consume the snake carcass. The Burner brushes off his hands and straightens. He is less bulky without the dark cape, ropy—like a starved wolf. From his pocket, he withdraws the tonic formula and my last remedy vial.
“You went through my satchel!”
“You should find a better hiding place.”
He tosses the formula into the fire. I lunge after it, falling to my hands before the hearth and dropping my dagger. The fire devours the paper in seconds. The Burner kicks the dagger, and the blade spins out of my reach under the bed. He holds my tonic between two fingers.
“This contains two types of poison. Haven’t you wondered why it hasn’t killed you? You took it this morning, and yet here you are.”
I push to my feet. “You’ve been watching me.”
He waves aside my accusation. “The point is you’re alive. Your powers burn off the tonic before it poisons you. That’s why you must take it every day or your temperature flares.”
“I don’t have powers. I have fevers.” Even to me, my argument sounds weak.
“You don’t take poison every morning because you’re frightened of fevers. You’re afraid of what you could be—of what you could do—without it.”
My face falls, hearing my fears voiced so succinctly.
The Burner’s gaze softens. “I understand what it’s like to hide, but you cannot suppress who you are forever. You will build immunity to the poisons, and your powers will turn on you.” An image of the bent comb fills my mind, and my mouth goes painfully dry. “We can help you, and we can help your friend escape the general.”
“You know about Jaya?” I whisper.
He smiles and comes closer. “We will discuss the terms of our bargain once you agree to stop hiding.” He leans into my side, his breath hot in my ear. My pulse ratchets higher. “So few of us are left. The first time I saw you, I thought you were a mirage, but here you are, fire burning in your veins.”
My chest swells with longing. The Burner is like me. All my life dangerous fevers have separated me from others. Never before have I met anyone with my same condition.
He sets my last tonic vial on the bedside table. “You don’t have much time. You must raze before you run out of tonic.”
I pick up the vial before he changes his mind and throws it into the hearth too. Razing, whatever it is, may be my only protection from my fevers. But why would the Burner and warlord help me?
“The tournament starts tomorrow,” I say, hedging.
“There is still time for you and your friend.” The Burner strides to the balcony and looks back, his honey eyes luminous in the moonlight. “I will return tomorrow night for your answer. For the sake of you and your friend, consider our offer.”
He leaps over the balcony. I rush to the railing and look down at the shadowed garden. The Burner is gone; he has vanished, like a quenched fire without a trace of smoke.