“I won’t fight for you.”
He smiles, a dashing tilt of his lips. “I was going to ask if you would like me to escort you to your chamber.”
I deflate a tad. He must know I cannot find my way alone. “Fine.”
He joins me, leaving a gap between us. I widen our distance even more. I am not skittish, but Prince Ashwin has brought my nightmares of Tarek back to life.
We leave his chamber in silence, the Janardanian guards following us. I peek at the prince from the corner of my eye. He catches me, and I swiftly glance away.
“You aren’t the first to fear me for my appearance,” he says.
“The resemblance is incredible.” I assumed the prince would have more of his mother in him. Prince Ashwin is Lakia and Tarek’s son, and I am Lakia’s niece.
The prince and I are cousins. Family.
I mellow my voice. “It isn’t you they fear. It’s him.”
“I’m born of Tarek’s blood. Isn’t that the same?”
“I—I don’t know.” I walk faster. We do not choose the circumstances we are born into or the gods’ will for us, but which shapes us the most? Do our parents’ choices bind us to an inescapable fate or do our own?
Prince Ashwin pauses at an open door. “Brother Shaan told me of your tastes and hobbies. I took the liberty of requesting a few comforts for your stay. Opal will be your personal guard. I hope you find everything to your liking.”
I step inside the chamber, and my knees weaken with want. I have not slept in a bed since I left Vanhi. Adjacent to the large bed is a table with three chairs, and near the hearth is a raised lounge. More potted plants and trees stand in corners, as though the jungle could not spare a single room from its intrusion.
“Kalinda.” The wistful way Prince Ashwin speaks my name compels me to face him. The strength of his optimistic gaze spears me to my spot. “I would like for you to join me in defending our homeland. I need you to stand on my right-hand side.”
“I’ve stood on the right-hand side of the rajah’s throne. No matter what you were told about me, that isn’t where I belong.”
His shoulders draw up, his elbows tucking into his sides, holding himself tight. “I’m not blind to the legacy I’ve inherited. Rajah Tarek was a tyrant, but he also made you a champion.”
“I made myself a champion. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” I slam the door in his startled face, letting the satisfaction of the brusque echo vibrate through me.
A servant bustles in from an antechamber. I wave her away. “I don’t need a servant. Tell them to reassign you.”
She retreats the way she came, and I prowl the bedchamber, searching for possible exits, an escape route, should I need one. None of the closed windows have latches. I check the balcony, dissatisfied with my findings. The exit is too high to jump from, and armed guards patrol in the garden below, either to protect me or to lock me in. Most likely both. And Opal will be stationed outside my door.
I am stuck.
I take off my satchel and drop it on the bed. A note addressed to me rests on the table. Beside the note are a sketchbook and a tray of fine quills, ink bottles, and charcoals. I run my fingers over the rainbow array of inks. I have always wanted to learn how to paint, but I pull away. Prince Ashwin cannot bribe me.
But perhaps the prince’s gift could have another use . . .
I tug the leather cover off the sketchbook and fit it around the Zhaleh. That will do. After slipping the Zhaleh back into my bag, I stretch out on the bed and try to relax into the downy pillow and silk sheets, but noises carry in from the balcony, lonesome birdcalls and warbling cicadas. My bedsheets smell oddly of musty moss.
A dull throbbing swells inside me. I wish for the crackle of a campfire, the grit of dust on my hands, and the comforting scent of warm sandalwood and leather. Where are you, Deven?
A yawn pops out of me. Shutting my eyes, I picture home to force my muscles to unwind, but Rajah Tarek’s spirit looms over me in the dark.
5
DEVEN
I slog across the marshlands, surveying the inky edge of the Morass in the distance. In the other direction, Yatin and Brac forge for cattails and Natesa and Mother pick long-stemmed reeds. Rohan is resting from our long flight. The wind told him Anjali and Indira are retreating back to Vanhi, so we have the wetlands to ourselves.
At last, we are on the ground again, but I cannot see where I am stepping in the dark. I misjudge a mound of grass and slosh through a puddle. Cold, muddy water pours into my boots.
Son of a scorpion.
I finish surveying the area—with wet boots—and then squish back to Rohan, propped up against the wing flyer. His young face is disconcertingly pale. I heard no complaint or grousing from him today, but it was clear from his shaking arms that his Galer powers were overexerted by too many riders.
Natesa and Mother huddle upon a higher mound of land, piling willow reeds. Brac holds his glowing hand to the heap of grass, and it ignites. Firelight brightens the area, revealing the dampness on our clothes and the bugs zipping through the balmy air.
Yatin heaves rocks over for Natesa and Mother to sit on and then takes first watch near a glassy pond. He removes his uniform jacket and rests on top of it. Out of habit, I go to do the same and remember half a second too late that I took mine off in the desert after we left Vanhi. Eventually I will get used to not wearing my uniform, even though I am viewed as half the man I was with it. Yatin still thinks of me as his captain, but to the troop that passed us on the road yesterday, I am a traitor. I would be a fool to think my execution sentence is behind me. The trained soldier within me knows I deserve whatever punishment comes my way. But the man stripped of my uniform wants my title, my honor, back. An impossible wish. Traitors are neither forgiven nor forgotten.
I find another rock for my seat, then pull off my boots and set them near the fire to dry. Mother passes out cattails for supper. They are all we have to eat. Our food stores were destroyed in the attack.
Natesa curls her lip at the grassy stalk. “I’m not eating that.” She throws the cattail at the feet of the fire and rises.
I shift out of her path before we touch. The one time I tried to help Natesa onto her camel, she drew a blade on me and nearly took off my finger. She only lets Yatin near her. She was wary of men when we first met, and her time as Rajah Tarek’s courtesan made her even more cautious. I would not admit this aloud—Natesa would probably slice me open if she knew—but I sympathize with her, as I do my mother. Rajah Tarek was not good to his courtesans.
Natesa joins Yatin, his silhouette big beside hers. My chest pangs in envy. Skies, I wish I knew Kali was all right.
Rohan picks up Natesa’s discarded stalk and nibbles it away, his eyes flat with fatigue. He finishes the cattail, curls up on his side near the fire, and goes to sleep.
Across the campfire, Brac is missing his trademark grin. I know he regrets parching me, but I cannot forget that he threaded out my life source and used it as a weapon.
Mother flickers her gaze between us, preparing to heap her motherly guilt upon my peacekeeping ways. I am sure I will give in. I am no good at holding a grudge. My instructor at the Brotherhood temple once told me I was quick to forgive—a compliment, I think. But Brac needs to realize the full ramifications of parching me and to never do it again. I tug on my wet boots and trudge away, facing the fields.
Alone in the quiet, my evening prayers meander from expressing gratitude for surviving another day to requesting protection for the next. But prayers cannot curtail my restlessness. By now, Kali must have met Prince Ashwin. The events that have befallen the empire since Rajah Tarek’s death are not her fault. She did as the gods directed her. Even so, her ending the rajah’s life may dissuade the prince from retaining her in his court.
But should Prince Ashwin take a liking to her . . .
Mother and Brac speak in hushed voices behind me, probably about me. Brac does not understand how he is viewed. His abilities are terrifying. When he uses his Burner powers, I am reminded that he is a half-god. A literal spiritual offspring of Anu.
And so is Kali.
The harder I hold on to her, the brighter she shines and the further apart we grow. Kali is a shooting star. I do not know how much longer I can keep her close without burning up in her wake.
Early light reveals a mist over the marshlands. Rohan is up and alert, his strength and color returned overnight. He gnaws down the rest of the cattails for breakfast while we take turns marching across the soggy plain to use the latrine.
Brac comes up to my side. “Mother and I spoke last night. We agree it would be better for her and me to find another way to Iresh. You go ahead with the others. We’ll take the road east of here.”
Several paces away, Mother hugs Natesa and Yatin. She must be telling them good-bye.
“Why Mother?” I ask, masking my hurt. They decided this without me. “Yatin could stay behind with you.” He is the obvious choice to free up the weight of the wing flyer.
“Natesa wouldn’t allow it,” Brac says lowly so they cannot hear. Separating Natesa from Yatin would be like trying to untangle a monkey from a tree branch. A monkey that bites. “This was Mother’s idea. She wants to see more of the empire.”
“What about her bad knee?”
“I’ll trade work for a horse and supplies in the next village, and she can ride to Iresh.” Brac glances at Rohan drinking from our water flask. “We’ll arrive a few days behind you.”
“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” I pull on my pack and tighten the straps with brisk tugs. Brac reaches out to console me, and I lean away.
“I am sorry for parching you, Deven,” he says, lowering his hand. “I was trying to protect you and Mother. I don’t want you to fear me.”
I am not afraid of Brac. I am afraid of what he can do. Since we were boys, I have distanced myself from his powers. I hate that I am weak. Weaker than him.
Brac starts to go, and, despite my anger, I refuse to part on bad terms. “Wait,” I say. “No matter what, we’ll always be brothers.”