Brac hauls me into a hug. A moment later, Mother wraps her arms around us both. “I knew my boys couldn’t stay mad at one another.”

“This is solely for your benefit,” says Brac.

“That’s right, Mother,” I add. “As soon as you turn your back, I’m going to throttle him.”

Mother shakes her head at our teasing and rests her palm against my cheek. “Be good to yourself. Your fate may not seem to be leading you where you want to go, but following it will bring you more peace than you could dream.” I squint down at her, sensing a lecture. She pats my cheek affectionately. “I’m proud of you, son.”

Heavy regret lands across my chest. At one point I may have deserved her praise, but not anymore. I take off my pack and pass it to her. “My supplies should last until the next village. Look after each other. Brac likes to wander off when pretty women are near.”

My brother barks a laugh, lifting my mood. Then the first stirrings of Rohan’s gales disperse the mist hanging over the marshland and wash away my smile. I have spent long stretches of time away from my family before, but the empire is days away from falling to the warlord’s control. I do not like leaving them behind.

Yatin and Natesa are already on the wing flyer. I climb in beside Rohan, and the flyer rises. Brac wraps his arm around Mother’s shoulders. They shrink below us until they are the size of ants. Rohan’s winds switch direction, and the wing flyer banks deftly, agile with less weight, like a moth instead of a fat bumblebee. We turn southeastward over the wetland, and my family sinks out of sight.

On the horizon, I spot a regiment of soldiers bearing the Janardanian flag traveling the roadway alongside the Morass.

“Why are those troops this far west?” I call to Rohan.

“Routine patrol,” he yells over the wind.

The ranks of the slow-moving battalion—about a thousand men—and numerous wagons suggest they are hauling heavy artillery. They are well within their borders yet are marching northwestward, nearer to Tarachand. They could also be traveling around the Morass.

Before I can determine their destination, we turn east into a red dawn.

6

KALINDA

Opal waits while I strap my daggers to my thighs. She arrived moments ago, wearing the loose dark-green uniform of a Janardanian palace guard, and summoned me to meet with the sultan.

“Any word from Rohan?” I ask.

“Not yet, but he and the others are probably a day or so behind.”

They could be here by tonight. If I can win over the people’s affection for the prince today, we could leave tomorrow.

“Before we go, put this on.” Opal offers me a veil. I recoil like it is a lit match. Married women wear veils. I am not married. “Brother Shaan said you mustn’t be seen in public without the lower half of your face covered.” She attempts to put the veil on me, but I tug it from her hand and crush the flimsy cloth in my fist.

“My husband is dead.”

I toss the veil, and it flutters to the floor beside my unmade bed. The sheets are crumpled, like my nerves. My nightmares of Tarek were worse last night, heightened by this strange place and the deception that brought me here.

The rest of our party waits in the corridor. Prince Ashwin offers me a shy smile.

“You look lovely, Kalinda,” he says.

Having every inch of me clean is a luxury I have missed. I woke to the noises of servants filling a bath for me and leaving. I bathed in the mint-scented water for nearly an hour and then spent longer than usual combing my hair. I wear no eye kohl or lip stain, as I never bothered to learn how to apply them. Any attempt would be heavy-handed and make me look garish.

Brother Shaan bows. “Kindred, please behave in the meeting today. The sultan doesn’t often allow women into the war room.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say stiffly.

Opal leads the way. The palace is opulent, with plant life at every corner, and swathed in tapestries of the land-goddess Ki. We leave the corridor to a covered walkway. A tall bamboo fence lines one side, so high I can only see the treetops peeking overhead.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“That’s the tiger paddock,” Opal replies. “They’re the sultan’s pets.”

Tigers are pets? I have come a long way from home.

We are lead to an entry, past two tall potted plants on either side of a door. I step into the chamber with Brother Shaan and Prince Ashwin, and my inner flame snuffs out.

I back out of the doorway and grip Opal’s arm. “I lost my powers. What’s going on?”

“Protection.” She waves at the potted plants. “White baneberry and snakeroot.”

The plants she speaks of are noxious to bhutas, given to mortals from the land-goddess Ki as a defense against us. They block bhuta powers, leaving us exposed. White baneberry and snakeroot have been used as safeguards from bhutas for centuries. I assumed the greenery was for decoration, but the palace is covered with poison. I must have experienced its effects last night while I walked the corridors.

“The sultan doesn’t allow bhuta powers in the war room,” Opal whispers, glancing at Prince Ashwin, waiting for me inside. “Sultan Kuval doesn’t know what you are. The prince might, but I don’t know for certain. You should go. The sultan has limited patience.”

Looking inside, I see a stout white-mustached man sitting on a pedestal across the sunken room. More pots of white baneberry and snakeroot line all four walls. A knee-high, rectangular table occupies the middle of the oblong chamber, with richly colored cloth floor mats laid about. Military officers are seated and ready to begin the meeting.

Prince Ashwin eyes me with concern, attune to my discomfort. I am tempted to go back to my chamber, but I have come all this way to support him. Moreover, I have faced a room full of ranis, all experienced sister warriors. These men cannot be scarier than them.

I step to the prince’s side in the war room, and my powers shrink to a useless ember.

A middle-aged military officer with a gaunt face greets us. “Kindred Kalinda, I’m Vizier Gyan, the sultan’s head military adviser. We’ve heard much about you.” His gray-streaked hair is tied back, and he carries two machetes, one on each hip. His poor attempt at a welcoming smile broadens his austere appearance. He, with the other Janardanian men, wears a loose-fitting skirt instead of trousers, folded so there is a slight crease separating his legs. The vizier sizes me up in turn but with scrutiny that surpasses polite interest.

Prince Ashwin leads me to the steely-eyed man on the throne. “Sultan Kuval, this is Kindred Kalinda.”

The sultan lowers his double chin as if to inspect me better. “They call you the indomitable Kalinda, the reincarnation of Enlil’s hundredth rani.” His tone borders on ironic.

I wince at the comparison to the fire-god’s triumphant intended queen. Tarachandians started a myth that I was Enlil’s final wife in another life, and Rajah Tarek fed their fantasy, expanding my reputation beyond the believable. I temper the urge to correct the sultan.

“Thank you for having me, Your Majesty.”

“I heard you refused the prince’s invitation to join the trial tournament.” His gruffness carries a note of satisfaction.

“I’m undecided.”

“We anxiously await your answer,” Sultan Kuval replies, returning to his ornery tone. “Please be seated.”

Prince Ashwin and I kneel at the table, and Brother Shaan sits across from us.

Vizier Gyan addresses the council. “Before we begin with other matters, we have questions for Kindred Kalinda about the recent events in Vanhi. Kindred, you were in the Turquoise Palace when it was occupied by rebels, were you not?”

His question, and the subsequent dozen or so probing stares, catches me off guard. I clasp my unsteady hands in my lap, seeking some semblance of composure. “I was.”

“How did Rajah Tarek die?”

A phantom finger strokes down my cheek, and a deep voice whispers my love in my ear.

I jerk my chin sideways. The sultan’s watchful presence hovers at the brink of my vision. “I—I don’t know. I fled when the rebels attacked.”

Vizier Gyan takes hasty notes in front of him with a quill pen. “How did you escape?”

“The captain of the guard led me through a secret passageway below the palace.”

Their silence fires a flush over my skin. They do not know that I bargained with Hastin and slayed Tarek. Prince Ashwin shifts in his seat beside me. How much does he know?

“On the night of the attack, did you see the bhuta warlord?” Vizier Gyan asks.

I falter on a reply. All I can think of is the truth: Hastin tried to kill me in the underground cavern, but I used my powers and fled.

Brother Shaan speaks up. “We must contest this line of questioning. We didn’t bring the kindred here so you could interrogate her.”

“Our apologies,” replies Vizier Gyan. His flat offer of remorse is meant to appease Brother Shaan’s protest on my behalf. The vizier does not extend his apology to me. “The kindred is the only member of Rajah Tarek’s imperial court who escaped the insurgency. We must establish how and why she was spared.”

They suspect I might be a traitor.

But I am.

I scatter the thought before guilt lands on my expression. “I’ll answer.” I level the vizier with a cool stare. “I didn’t see Hastin in the palace on the night of the attack.”

Vizier Gyan leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Did you see Rajah Tarek’s body?”

Brother Shaan lifts his hand to gain the council’s attention. “The kindred lost her husband on her wedding night. Upon fleeing the warlord, she searched for Prince Ashwin and came here to join him. Her devotion to the empire is undeniable.”

No one contests him, though the council’s blatant disapproval of my fleeing Vanhi remains evident in their frowns.

“One last question.” Vizier Gyan returns his meddling stare to me. “Where is the Zhaleh?”