24
DEVEN
The explosions start just after dawn.
Our unit is already packed and hiking the path along the river. Quakes from the army’s assault on the city wall vibrate up from the ground. We all removed our disguises, leaving our scarlet uniform jackets and headscarves in the hut. When I woke, my fingertips were healed. I cannot figure out why my burns are gone while Opal’s are still healing, but it is a mercy I have no time to question.
I increase our pace uphill in the bare morning light. Natesa and Yatin keep pace with me. Opal lags some, but her pallor and posture have improved from yesterday. Her Galer powers are returning, so she listens for rebels.
The stone pathway ends at a low tunnel. The entrance to the mines lies in the shadow of the Turquoise Palace. I pause to light a lamp we took from the hut, and a chakram flies past me, nearly slicing my nose. The blade embeds itself in the wall.
All of us reel around, and the path beneath our feet drags us backward on a rockslide. Our backs hit the wall. Bands of hard dirt shackle our arms and legs.
The bhuta warlord strides down the steps to the river. Hastin’s deeply tan complexion is distinguished by patches of white hair at his temples. His gray eyes are hard as stones. Anjali accompanies her father, chakram in hand. Two more rebels in all-black uniforms trail them.
“Captain Naik, you insult me.” Hastin’s voice is gravelly, like pebbles roll in his gullet. “Did you really think you could sneak past us?”
I slant a glance at Opal. “I had hoped.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “My powers are returning slowly.”
“A bhuta?” Hastin asks, tipping back on his heels. “The demon rajah sent one of my own to spy on me?”
“We aren’t with the army,” Natesa says. “We serve Prince Ashwin.”
Hastin trembles the ground beneath us. “The demon rajah and the prince are the same. Both are out to destroy our world.”
A warning echoes in my mind, and my old suspicions manifest. “We were told you wished to unite with the empire.”
Hastin manipulates the stones around just me, pressing me into the wall. “I’ll never ally with Tarek’s heir or his kindred.”
“Are they alive?” I squeeze out.
“Concern yourself with your own inevitable death,” Anjali drawls.
Hastin releases us from our dirt confines. Opal falls forward onto her knees, residual grime in her bloodletting scars. Natesa helps her up.
“Take them to the wives’ wing,” Hastin tells his daughter and then points menacingly at Opal. “Don’t cause any trouble, or I’ll throw you in the dungeons.”
The palace dungeons are laced with poisons that dampen bhuta powers. Hastin’s reluctance to strip a fellow bhuta of her defenses is a courtesy he does not offer us mortals. His soldiers disarm the rest of us.
The warlord marches up to the palace. He must be holding us hostage for the same purpose he captured Tarek’s ranis and courtesans—leverage. Hastin hungers for the whole of the empire, and he intends to manipulate Kali and Prince Ashwin, or entrap them, into getting what he desires. We are alive so long as they are, which is comforting in a sense. If Kali and the prince were dead, we would be too.
Anjali yanks her chakram from the wall and pushes the rounded blade so close I can see my reflection in it. “Misbehave and you’ll lose your nose.” Yatin puffs out his chest, an instinctual reaction to protect me. Anjali’s blade comes even closer. My breath fogs the steel. “Keep your troops in line, Captain.”
She and her comrades herd us up the stairway to the palace wall. This section has no gate, yet one of Anjali’s men opens a passageway in the clay bricks with his powers. We pass through the temporary door into the palace grounds, and the Trembler closes it behind us.
The rebels prod us down a pathway through the garden. The untended flower beds are overrun with weeds. Palm trees molt dead fronds, and the topiaries need a trim, but the grounds are still verdant and smell of sweet citrus and flowers.
We enter the palace through a side door. Familiar jewel-toned draperies sweep across terrace doorways. Cool marble-tiled floors, white with rivers of nickel, echo our footsteps. Aromatic scents waft in from the high-arched open corridors: desert sand, budding neem trees, and coconut oil. The corridors that once bustled with servants, court officials, and guards are lonely. Only a flamboyant peacock struts down the hall, dragging its brilliant tail feathers behind as it searches for sand fleas to dine on.
Silence pours out of the courtesans’ main entertaining hall. No music plays or jade glass bottles clink. No hint of hookah smoke hazes the entry or scent of women’s perfume lingers. The absence of life startles me. Natesa slows and then quickens her gait away from the deserted wing. Her servitude as one of Rajah Tarek’s courtesans is a time she would rather forget.
The doors to Tarek’s chamber and atrium have been torn off. Within his private quarters, furniture and cushions lie about haphazardly, as though swept up by the wind and dumped in a jumble. Glass shards sparkle like frozen teardrops across the tile floor. Torn draperies hang lopsided, and piles of sand gather in the corners. The destruction of the rajah’s quarters makes Hastin’s rule more tangible.
We are guided to the top floor of the wives’ wing. Arched casements open to a view over the garden, palace wall, and forsaken city. Past them, dunes ripple into the horizon. Streaks of red, soldiers in their uniforms, swarm the main city gate and launch boulders from catapults. A gut-shaking boom resounds in the distance.
“The army will break in,” I say, mostly to myself. “It’s inevitable.”
“They’ll enter the city only when we’re ready.” Anjali’s cryptic reply tests my assumption that the rebels pulled back to protect the palace.
“How?” I ask.
She scoffs. “Think, Captain. What’s the city wall made of?”
All at once, their strategy becomes clear. “Clay bricks.”
“And where does clay come from?”
She is patronizing me, but I answer all the same. “The land.”
“My father stationed Tremblers around the city to uphold the wall. As I said, your army won’t enter unless we allow them.”
“As I said, we aren’t with the army.”
“If my father suspected you were, you’d be dead.” Anjali stops at the doorway to the Tigress Pavilion. “Hold your breath.”
“What—?”
A wind barrels at us, smacking my breath away and pushing us back. My unit skids across the floor and through the pavilion threshold. A final gust slams the door shut after us.
In the sudden stillness, I blink dust from my eyes. The Tigress Pavilion, the ranis’ main social area, comes into focus. I never spent much time here, but it, too, looks different. The black-and-white tiled fountain has run dry, the water basin slimy and stagnant. Barren weapon racks line the far portico wall. Gone are the countless blades and staffs that the rajah’s wives trained with.
“General Naik,” Opal says, her stance alert. “We aren’t alone.”
Brac steps out from behind a low wall. My whole body locks with shock.
“General Naik?” Brac strides to me. “We have been apart a while.” He hauls me into a hug, my arms pressed at my sides. My brother’s golden eyes gleam. I am struck by how alike they are to Chitt’s.
“What are you doing here?” Natesa thumps him in the shoulder. “We’ve been searching for you, you dolt. You scared the sky out of Deven!”
“I only scared Deven?” he teases, and Natesa hits him again.
Yatin grabs Brac up in a wholehearted embrace. My brother’s voice squeaks out. “Missed you too, big man.” Yatin puts Brac down and rubs his head, mussing his coppery hair. Brac scans Opal up and down. “You look worse off than I do. Where are Rohan and Mother?”
Opal turns away, teary. I let Yatin explain. His gentle burr cushions everything he says.
“Mathura is well, but Rohan . . . won’t be joining us.”
Brac’s eyes spread in understanding. He lightly touches Opal’s arm. “My sympathies.”
Across the pavilion, behind low walls and lattice screens, shuffling noises and whispers sneak out from the wives’ divided dining patio.
Brac whistles. “You can come out! It’s just my brother.”
Just his brother?
“Gods alive, Brac,” I say. “I thought you’d been captured!”
He glances from me to Opal and back again. “Didn’t Opal tell you I got away?”
“That was days after I followed the imperial army looking for you!”
A flood of women pours into the main pavilion from the dining patio. The assembly is made up of ranis, courtesans, and palace servants, each group differentiated by their hair and attire. Ranis wear their long hair loose down their backs, and their saris are elegant and intricate, while the courtesans tie their hair back in braids, their apparel more garish in design and color. Servants wear plain robes that are boxy in shape. Children of all ages accompany them, holding hands with and carried by nursemaids. The stunning ranis and courtesans, all scarred in one way or another from their days competing for rank in the arena tournaments, file into the pavilion until it is full.
Brac explains in a hushed voice. “I was thrown from the wing flyer when we were struck in the sky. I fell into the Morass and the crash knocked me out. The army probably thought I was dead or would be soon. When I came to, I found the crash site, but Opal and the army were gone. I didn’t know how to get to you and Mother in Lestari, so I went to the nearest village, borrowed a horse, and rode here. I walked up to the palace gates and surrendered to Hastin. He gave me the option of rejoining the rebels or staying with the women. After what he did to you and Kali, I couldn’t stomach serving him again.”
“You’ve been here, with these women, all this time?”
“Good idea, eh?” Brac winks at a pair of very pretty ranis, and they giggle. At my short sigh, he sobers. “I knew Kali and you would eventually return for the ranis. Coming here was the surest way I could think of to find you.”
I grip the back of his neck and drag him against me. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“You too.” He pats my back and lets me go. “We should probably address the women. They don’t have much patience these days.”
Our audience’s stares pull me back. A few courtesans whisper to each other. I hear one slur Natesa’s name like an obscenity. She holds herself with an air of aloofness, but stays close to Yatin’s intimidating bulk.
A servant steps forward. Long-healed red scars run down her cheek and over one eye. “Where is Kindred Kalinda?”
The whispers cease, and Yatin sets his mouth in a grim line.
“I don’t know.” My voice falls off, dragged away by worry.
“I’m certain the gods are watching over the kindred,” says a young rani, a baby propped on her hip. “I’m Shyla.” She motions to the pair of ranis who tittered at Brac earlier. “That’s Eshana and Parisa. And the woman there”—she gestures at the scarred servant with downcast eyes—“is Asha, Kalinda’s servant.”
I recognize them now. Eshana was one of Tarek’s favored four. Asha, the servant, once wore a heavy veil that hid her facial scars. She took good care of Kali.
Shyla moves in closer. “We’re the kindred’s friends, but some of the women are upset that she ran when the rebels invaded.”
From the women’s accusatory glares, they consider Natesa and Kalinda’s actions cowardly. But Kali has been fighting for her people since she left, and Natesa is here now. The truth of their efforts scalds my tongue.
Brac tugs my arm, turning us away from the crowd. “They don’t know what’s happening outside these walls. Hastin believes they’re too beneath him to tell them anything, and I didn’t want to upset them even more. We should speak in private.” He revolves and tosses the women a charming grin. “We apologize for interrupting your breakfast. Please, return to your meal with your children. We’ll gather again shortly.”
He escorts a rani to the dining patio. She smiles at him as they go, and they pick up more women and children along the way. Skies above. Brac hasn’t told them he’s a Burner. Gradually, everyone returns to their meal, except Shyla, Parisa, and Eshana, and the servant Asha, whom he invites to stay.
We gather around the fountain. Brac returns and motions for me to start. I do not waste time on pleasantries. These women are all battle survivors. They can handle the truth.
“The imperial army, ten thousand men strong, has gathered outside the city wall.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Parisa asks.
“No. The army is being led by a demon who escaped from the Void.” I wait for my explanation to permeate. “The demon is disguised as Rajah Tarek.”
Eshana and Parisa gasp. Shyla covers her open mouth.
“But Rajah Tarek is dead.” Frown marks indent Asha’s scarred brow. “We saw his body. Before he burned it, Hastin threw it on a refuse cart and carried it around the city for all to see.”
“Rajah Tarek is dead,” I affirm. “The demon has convinced the army that the gods sent him back to this life to avenge the empire against the warlord.”
“This demon rajah . . .” Shyla glances at her child, one of Tarek’s heirs. “He’s headed for the palace?”
“Yes. His freedom relies on his success. The imperial army is trying to break through the city wall right now.”
Eshana blanches. “But we have no way to defend ourselves. The rebels took our weapons.”
Parisa frowns at her fingers. “They even confiscated my favorite nail file.”
“The Lestarian Navy is on its way here,” I say. “Kalinda and Prince Ashwin might be with them.”
“Might?” Brac asks. Some of this information is news to him as well.
“Hastin was supposed to meet them and discuss allying, but it was a ruse. I believe they’re alive, but I have no idea where they are.”
Opal clutches my arm. A second later, an earsplitting explosion goes off and a cloud of dirt stains the skyline. Everyone quiets across the pavilion and in the dining patio. The palace walls and floors rumble.
The Galer releases me, her hand shaking. “The army has broken through the city wall.”
Curse Hastin for his arrogance. Despite Anjali’s assertions about the rebels’ superiority, Udug bludgeoned his way through.
Shyla bounces her baby on her hip nervously. “We need to warn the others.”
“We can do better than that,” counters Parisa. “We can fight.”
The rajah’s wives and courtesans have ample experience contending for their lives, and the scars from their rank tournaments prove it. A piece of Parisa’s earlobe was hacked off, and scars run widthwise across Eshana’s torso. Shyla is missing two fingers on her left hand. These women are dedicated daughters of the land-goddess Ki and have the right to defend themselves, their homes, and their families. They are not standard soldiers—they are better. They are sister warriors.
But even they cannot stand against the demon rajah and triumph. I should warn them of our remote chance of victory, though I doubt that would discourage them. It did not change my mind. I, too, am willing to fight against Udug for all that I love. The ranis and courtesans deserve that same choice, and perhaps together, we can make a difference.
“Brac,” I say. “How fast can you find their weapons?” No one knows the palace passageways better than he does.
“Could take a while. Galers are monitoring the corridors.”
“I can help,” Asha offers, her voice shy. “I was there when they stashed them. They’re in an antechamber off the throne room.”
“That’s in the center of the palace,” Natesa grumbles.
Asha nods. “I can lead us through the servants’ passageways. One connects to the antechamber, but the door is locked on the outside and I don’t have a key. We’d have to go through the throne room to the antechamber and unlock the door from the inside. We can use the passageway to carry the weapons out.”
I make a split-second decision. “Asha and I will go.”
“Won’t the rebels be guarding the main entrance?” Natesa asks. “You’ll have to pass by it to enter the throne room.”
Brac hops slightly on his feet, eager to help. “I’ll take care of the guards at the main entrance.”
“Good,” I reply. “Yatin and Natesa, stay here with Opal. Defend the entryways. Hastin may do something rash if he feels threatened or suspects we’re organizing our troops.”
Opal speaks up, wearing a mask of intensity. “I’ll cover everyone’s movements the best I can.”
I hearten her with a quick, one-armed embrace, and she tucks into my side to lengthen our connection. Her need for comfort is so great I regret not consoling her sooner.
“We’ll help too,” Eshana offers. “Parisa, Shyla, and I will tell the other women what’s happening.”
“Yatin and I will help answer their questions,” says Natesa. The ranis assess her, a lower-ranking courtesan in their strict hierarchy.
“Good idea,” Shyla says, slipping her arm through Natesa’s. She leads her ahead of Yatin and the others to the dining patio.
“Did you hear him?” Parisa whispers to Eshana as they go. “Deven called us his troops.”
“I wouldn’t mind being under his command,” Eshana replies. Their giggles drift away, and Yatin lumbers after them.
Asha goes to the doorway of the servants’ passageway and waits. I hesitate to leave my brother so soon after finding him. I still need to have a word with him about Chitt. But a new worry stops me. What if Brac is excited to hear about his father? He, Mother, and Chitt will be a family, and I do not know how I will fit in. Our conversation can wait.
“Look after yourself,” I say.
Brac grasps me by the shoulder. “Stop worrying about me, Deven. I’ve been sneaking around the palace since I learned to walk.”
“We’ll meet back here shortly,” I promise. My words are partly snatched away by rising winds. The rebels are gathering their defenses against the army. Time to move.
I join Asha at the doorway and pause to look back. Wind lashes at the silk draperies. Brac’s hair dances about his brassy eyes. I wave farewell and duck into the passageway.