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.

25

KALINDA

Hot wind guides the mahati falcon over the waves of ginger sand dunes. Ashwin and Gemi stoop forward in apprehension as dust builds on their skin. I search the blurry horizon, sepia fading to azure heavens, for the City of Gems.

A shadow deepens on the skyline, materializing into view. Civilization rests upon an old, rounded mountain. The Turquoise Palace appears first, its gold-domed roofs a burnished reflection of the desert sun. White-walled towers gleam like ivory teeth above the drab city kneeling at the palace’s feet.

Red-coated soldiers flying Tarachand banners with black scorpions swarm the outer wall. They crowd a blown-out hole and fling huge rocks to smash the gap wider. The imperial army is only minutes from breeching the city.

Deven and the others would have found a safer, quicker route past the wall to await the navy. He will expect our arrival, so Rohan should be listening for us. Please hear us coming.

Tinley clucks her tongue, and Chare dips lower. The falcon circles a soft-mounded dune and lands. Gemi slips off and then Ashwin. He extends his arms to me. My feet hit the sand, and my knees crumple. I clutch his shoulders and wait for feeling to return to my lower half.

“I’ve been stationary too long,” I explain.

The corners of his mouth crease. He stays close a moment until I can transfer my weight to my feet. Numbness runs down my legs, but my knees adjust to standing and hold strong.

“I must be off,” Tinley says from upon her saddle. The mahati falcon digs her hook-like beak under a scrub bush and comes up with a scorpion to chomp on.

“Will you go to Paljor?” Ashwin asks.

“I wish I . . .” Tinley halts herself. “My father says wishes are for dreamers, not doers.”

“Your father may be the biggest dreamer of all,” Ashwin returns. Chief Naresh is a pacifist, a rare visionary and advocate for peace. “You only have one home, Tinley.”

I sigh inaudibly, or so I thought. Ashwin brushes his hand against mine. Neither of us has been blessed with a family praying for our safety. Tinley’s devotion to her falcon is admirable, but she may be avoiding Paljor for another reason. Perhaps she is not ready to confront her memories of Bya and replace them with Chare. But I hope she finds the strength to go home.

“Thank you, Tinley.” I stroke Chare’s feathers. “Let the sky lead you, the land ground you, the fire cleanse you, and the water feed you.”

“And you.” Tinley yanks on the reins, and the falcon launches into the air. They soar away from the late-afternoon sun, back over the hungry, brutal desert.

Ashwin stares in the opposite direction, at the gleaming palace domes. I slip my hand into his. He has not seen his palace, his legacy, as an adult. It must be odd to return to a place that belongs to him but is vacant of memories.

Gemi frowns at our linked hands. “Should we go?”

I release Ashwin to pull my dagger. Gemi brought a trident from her homeland, wielding it with poise. We ascend the rise and go down the other side. As we climb another dune, I slip and fall forward. The parts of me that are not yet numb radiate iciness.

Gemi crawls to the crest and lies on her belly, batting sand fleas away. Ashwin edges up beside her. I force myself to crawl the incline to them and peer over the ridge. We are about a thousand strides away from the rearmost ranks of the army.

The hole in the wall is finished. Hundreds of soldiers push catapults and wagons through the passage. My anxiety mounts as more troops disappear into the city. The protection of the palace relies upon the rebel army. They must uphold the palace’s outer wall until the navy arrives. By morning, they will be begging for our aid.

“We’ll wait here until the entire army is through, and then we’ll follow,” Ashwin says.

Gemi grabs his forearm. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

She shushes him and then launches to her feet. “Run!”

Gemi takes off across the dune, in clear sight of the army. I gape at her. What is she—?

A fearsome tremble rises from the ground. Ashwin and I scramble up. The quaking grows to a knee-buckling roar like a slumbering dragon has awoken. Gemi does not slow for us but sprints directly east, to the river. Ashwin and I clamber after her across shifting sand.

My leaden legs and feet, weighed down by numbness, impede my speed. Ashwin grabs me and helps me along. Out in the open, our view of the army is unhindered. They see us too. But as we run, an infantry drops and vanishes into the desert floor.

A stronger tremor jolts up my legs. I weave, and Ashwin catches my balance. Jagged cracks snake across the ground, spreading wider and wider. Gemi is carried away on the far side of one rift, and we are stranded on the opposite half. Ashwin and I go right up to the ledge. The chasm between us is wider than a catapult wagon.

Gemi summons a bridge of compact sand to span the gap. “Hurry!”

Ashwin pushes for me to go first. I stumble across the temporary conduit, Ashwin right behind me. I reach Gemi on the other side. Just before Ashwin meets us, another tremor opens the crevice broader, and the bridge disintegrates.

Ashwin leaps but misses my outstretched hand. Gemi throws up a burst of sand, blasting him in an arc above our heads. He falls and lands in a roll beside us, dusty and coughing. The ledge beneath us shakes. The two halves of the gulch are closing.

Gemi yanks Ashwin to his feet. We lurch down the shifting dune to the river, side-foot into the muddy bank, and splash into the cool water. Behind us, the quakes in the desert cease. The troops surrounding the city wall have disappeared.

I scan the sandy plain. “Where . . . where did they go?”

Gemi’s chest heaves, her trousers wet up to her knees and her chin quivering. “A powerful Trembler split the desert floor open. The soldiers fell into the cracks, and the Trembler closed them again.”