33
A string of applause accompanies our return procession to the palace. I wave from Tarek’s and my howdah at the people cheering my name. Though I have claimed the throne and won the rank of kindred, a feat no other viraji has accomplished, I quickly tire of the praise. I am numb to the complimentary racket by the time Tarek escorts me to my chamber door.
“Tomorrow at sunset you will be mine forevermore,” he says, running his fingers through my hair.
Sourness coats my mouth. I am haunted by Lakia’s revelation about who I am. I want to discount her story of a disappearing baby as the rant of a jealous woman, but her conviction that I am Yasmin and Tarek’s daughter seemed to be the crux of her hatred. She died believing it to be true.
But Yasmin was not a bhuta, and neither is Tarek. So if Yasmin is my mother, then my father must have passed on his bhuta powers to me.
Still, I could be Tarek’s daughter if he is a bhuta and has been concealing his powers. I have been hiding mine from him, and he could be doing the same.
A storm of nausea swirls in my belly. Until I know who my parents are, there is a chance Lakia is right. I could be Tarek’s flesh and blood.
“I—I must lie down,” I say. I bid Tarek farewell and hurry into my room.
Bile burns in my throat. I run past Asha to the washbasin and empty my stomach until all that is left are dry heaves. Asha cleans my face and helps me to my bed.
A healer bandages my forearm and binds my middle with downy cloth. “Two of your ribs are broken. I will advise the rajah to leave the bandage on.”
Mortification warms my face. The healer means for me to wear this bandage on my wedding night. The idea of being with Tarek in such an intimate way was already disgusting to me, but now that he could be my father, I want to retch and retch until the thought is in me no more.
The healer packs up and goes. Asha dresses me in a robe like the one I wore to the Claiming.
“You are to go to the chapel for your bridal markings,” she says.
I can find my own way, but Manas and another guard follow close at my heels. I ignore Manas, hardly able to endure his presence or the reminder of his betrayal.
He clears his throat at the chapel door. “Congratulations, Viraji,” he says.
I slam him into the wall, pain lashing down my side. “Traitor,” I say. “Do not speak to me.”
“Deven was the traitor.”
“Deven was good.” I shove Manas tighter into the wall. His eyes shine with tears. “Deven was better than you or I will ever be.”
Exhaustion drains my temper, and my hands fall, letting him go. The second guard lowers his sword, which I did not see him draw. The palace residents must be aware of my failed escape, but Tarek would like to pretend that it did not happen, like Deven never existed.
Three sisters I do not know wait for me in the chapel. Per their directions, I disrobe and lie facedown on the blanketed altar. They come forward with clay pots and thin-tipped brushes. I lie still, smelling the pungent tang of henna. They tickle swirling patterns of celestial glories on my arms and across my back. The sisters work through the night, their gentle hands and softly hummed prayers lulling me into a daze.
In my wakeful moments, Lakia’s claims about my parentage dominate my thoughts. I try not to dwell on it, but the possibility that I am preparing to wed my father consumes me with horror. I need to know if Tarek is my father. And if he is . . . I swallow another upsurge of nausea. I will deal with that if it comes.
At daybreak, my hands, feet, arms, and legs are covered with intricate designs of the sun, moon, and stars. The sisters also painted the number one onto the back of my hands. Now that I defeated Lakia, her rank of first wife belongs to me. They rub away the dried henna, revealing the dyed skin beneath, and re-dress me in my robe. I sit down on the altar, cradling my sore side, and send them to fetch Brother Shaan under the guise of wanting a blessing.
While I await his arrival, I try not to let my sight stray to the place where Jaya died, but my attention settles there, and I see that her blood has been scrubbed clean. She would warn me not to let my mind wander to dark places, but I cannot shake her death from my head.
Brother Shaan comes in and shuts the door.
I meet his gaze. “Lakia told me I’m Yasmin and Tarek’s daughter. If that’s true, I can’t figure out how I came to be a temple ward. But I think you know.”
“Healer Baka said you would piece it together.” He crosses the chapel to the altar. “She requested that I tell you, but I swore never to speak of it.”
“Tell me what Healer Baka has to do with this. I deserve the truth.”
Brother Shaan sits beside me on the altar and expels a profound sigh. “I suppose you do.” He clasps his weathered hands in front of him. “You are not Tarek’s daughter.”
A relieved breath whooshes out of me. “Whose daughter am I?”
“Yasmin and Kishan’s.”
The quiet echo of his answer drops through me. So Lakia was partly correct. I am Yasmin’s daughter, but Lakia’s jealousy blinded her to what everyone else could see; Yasmin loved Kishan, the bhuta leader she tried to escape with. Yasmin was carrying Kishan’s baby, not a boy or Tarek’s heir, as many supposed. A little girl and a Burner, like her father.
“Then tell me.” My small voice grows. “How did I come to be a temple ward?”
“Two people were present the night Yasmin died. Healer Baka, who was a midwife then, and me. Yasmin was sick during her pregnancy. Mortals do not fare well birthing bhuta children, and they often do so at the price of their own lives. When Yasmin heard of Kishan’s death, her fragile body could not take the news. We tried to slow her labor, but she was too distraught. She delivered a healthy baby girl. But the birth depleted Yasmin’s strength beyond repair. Soon after, in the midst of begging us to hide her daughter from the rajah, she passed away.”
Heartache bludgeons me. I have heard others speak of Yasmin, and I have seen her tomb, but I have not mourned her death until now. She was my mother, yet I will never meet her. Her last words were pleas for my safety, yet I will never hear her voice.
Brother Shaan’s elderly face bears every line of his grief. “Healer Baka had delivered a stillborn boy earlier that night, so we replaced Yasmin’s daughter with the deceased baby boy. I took the infant girl and hid her in the Vanhi Temple. When she was old enough to travel, I sent her to the farthest Sisterhood temple from here. And Healer Baka went along, to watch over her—over you.”
I am staggered by the number of secrets that he and Healer Baka kept. All this time, Healer Baka knew of my parentage. Brother Shaan knew as well. But it was Lakia who told me. She was more honest with me than those I trusted.
“Why didn’t Healer Baka tell me?”
“To protect you and honor Yasmin’s final request, we never spoke of your true identity to anyone. When I first learned you were coming here, I was distraught. Healer Baka and I worked so hard to keep you safe. But the gods directed you here for a purpose.” His voice drops to a coarse whisper. “Hastin means to seize the palace as soon as you recover the Zhaleh. He’s waiting outside the walls with twenty bhutas, ready to strike.”
My patience has been filed down to a stub. I need another day to recover from the tournament and reflect on what I have learned about my parents, but there is no stopping the wedding. I would be less averse to proceeding tonight if I trusted Hastin, but I do not trust him any more than I do Tarek, and I see no way to stop the bhuta warlord from attacking. All that I can do is fulfill my side of our bargain and pray that he does not escalate the war.
“Tell him to wait for my signal,” I say. “I will light the torches on the front gate, and then he may come. Not a second before. We will start the new future of Tarachand with peace.”
“I will tell him.” Brother Shaan studies the fresh henna markings on my hands and feet. “What will you do?”
“My part.” I strategized for this night in the dungeons. Still, regardless of my forethought, my fingers quake with worry.
“You are aware that the rajah’s chambers were built with the same bhuta-repellent poison as the dungeons?”
“I am aware.” I have not forgotten how I lost my abilities when I entered the atrium, but I will not face Tarek defenseless.
Brother Shaan pats my knee for support. “Remember, as soon as you see the Zhaleh, do not delay. The rajah mustn’t begin the ritual.” He glances to the chapel door, which Asha is opening. “Our time is spent,” he says. “I will see you soon at your wedding.”
The next day, after I have spent hours being groomed from crown to foot, Asha tucks an exquisite gold-embroidered red sari around my waist.
“I have never seen a lovelier sari,” I say, touching the stitching.
“The rajah requested that you wear it,” Asha says, pleating the embroidered side. “It was his first wife’s bridal sari.”
I watch my staid reflection in the mirror glass as she finishes pleating, pinning, and draping the sari around me. Before today, hearing that I was to wear Yasmin’s wedding sari would have spoiled the pretty clothes. Now I am grateful to have something that belonged to my mother, to be close to her in some small part.
I lost Yasmin’s daggers and my slingshot the night of my attempted escape. I wish that I had them, but even if I did, I would have nowhere to conceal them. The fitted pleats of her exquisite bridal sari allow no room for weapons.
As a final touch, Asha adds Yasmin’s necklace. I stare into the mirror glass at the living spirit of my mother, wondering how she would kill Tarek if she were in my place.
Another servant enters, bearing a velvet pouch. “The rajah sent this for the viraji.”
She and Asha watch me open the pouch to reveal a jar. I unscrew the top, and the scent of the ginger-lavender lotion escapes.
My insides slope to my knees. Once again, Tarek is pushing Yasmin on me. Is it not enough that I dress like her? I must smell like her too?
I set the gift aside. “Asha, I would like to be alone.”
“Right away, Viraji.” She and the other servant leave.
Kneeling beside my bed, I dig my arm beneath my mattress, up to my shoulder, and pull out my last tonic vial, as well as the ointment Jaya gave me. Poison does not have the same comforting feel in my hand as a blade, but its secretiveness makes it deadlier.
I tuck the tonic vial down the front of my blouse, and then Parisa and Eshana bustle in. I stash away Jaya’s ointment in the pouch with the lotion. A contingency plan, should my other efforts fail.
“Kali, you’re a vision!” says Eshana.
Parisa rubs the hem of my sleeve. “This is the lightest silk I have ever felt. My bridal sari wasn’t half as elegant.”
“You weren’t half as favored either,” says Eshana.
Parisa cuffs her in the side of the head with my flimsy veil.
Asha hurries in, her gaze apologetic for the interruption. I am not annoyed. I have not spoken to the chatty duo in days. Their prattle is welcome.
“Everyone is talking about your performance in the arena,” Eshana says as she preens at herself in the mirror glass. “We all agree you embodied the land-goddess. You were a true sister warrior.”
“No one is sad Lakia is gone,” adds Parisa. “The mood of the wives’ wing is brighter. All of us will get along better without her.”
Eshana abandons her reflection to face me. She places my veil over the lower half of my face, hooking it behind my ears. “The rank tournaments are in the past now. With all of Tarek’s ranis claimed, and you as our kindred, we can live in peace.”
Their outlook is encouraging but leaves a bitter aftertaste. So many died to reach this point. I hope with all my heart that their sacrifice was not in vain.
Shyla sweeps into the room and clasps her hands. “Kalinda, you look breathtaking! Do you have everything you need? You won’t return to your chamber tonight.”
“Yes.” I hand Asha the velvet pouch containing the lotion and Jaya’s ointment. “Can you take this to the rajah’s chamber? He favors the scent.”
Parisa reaches for the pouch. “What is it?”
“Can we smell?” asks Eshana.
Shyla loops her arms around Parisa’s and Eshana’s waists and steers them toward the door. “Let that be Kalinda’s secret, at least for tonight.”
I trail the giggling young women out of my chamber, the smooth tonic vial buried deep in my bodice. I doubt that every secret is deadly, but I fear that those are the only secrets I will ever know.