“Of course they disagreed. None of them wanted to die.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they had a chance to make peace and they chose war.”

I arch a brow. “You think Anu would have spared their lives if they had refused to fight each other?”

“We will never know. None of them fought for anything other than their own lives. If they had banded together, as sisters, I believe Anu would have taken mercy on them and they would have lived. Ki believed the virtue of sisterhood to be the solution. She organized the Sisterhood, built temples, and instituted a whole line of women to teach the following generations. These ideals have been forgotten, but they are not lost.” He pushes his hands against his knees to help his old legs stand. “Just think how Enlil’s courtesans would have changed the world had they chosen peace.”

Brother Shaan starts to leave. I rise and meet him at the bars. “Do you really think the tournaments can be changed?”

“Anything can be changed by those who have the courage to blaze their own path.”

“But which path do the gods want us to follow? Ours or theirs?” I grip the bars, impatient for an answer.

Brother Shaan’s gaze bores into mine. “You assume your path and the gods’ path lead you in separate directions. But they are one and the same.”

One path. I thought that my destiny was determined long ago and that I could not alter it. But what if my life never was out of my control? What if it is not?

Brother Shaan smiles, understanding infinitely more than I do about the mysteries of the gods. He bows. “Viraji.”

I stay pressed to the cell bars, listening to his retreating footfalls. Brother Shaan implied that the gods want what I want. I wish to bring back Jaya and Deven. I wish to hold Jaya’s hand and stroke Deven’s cheek.

But bringing back the dead is beyond even Anu’s power.

Misery weighs me down. If I cannot have Jaya and Deven, then what? I do not mull over my second choice for long. I want what I have wished for every day of my life—peace. But a simple, quiet life will be hard-won. The rajah will not give me up. My challengers will not fall easily. I have as much chance of surviving the tournament as Jaya and Deven have of rising from the dead.

Body heavy, I return to the corner and curl up in a ball. The rats revisit me, circling my meal tray. They chatter to each other, plotting how they will sneak up to my food without my noticing. Jaya was always strategizing ahead, anticipating others’ decisions. If she were here, she would say that I am an inexperienced fighter but I have a cause worth fighting for. She would say that my weapons may not have blades but I can wield five virtues mightier than any sword. Deven would tell me that my fate may be to die in the arena but I can fall with honor. I am not ready to die. If I were to allow Tarek to defeat me, Jaya and Deven would have perished for nothing.

This is my fate—to fight, to stand up to tradition, to finish what Yasmin could not.

I crawl to my waiting supper tray, scattering the rats, and eat.

Tarek comes for me the next morning. I lick the yogurt from my finger, and he looks in on me with surprise. “You’ve come to your senses,” he says.

The guard unlocks the door, and I exit the cell. Tarek kisses my cheek with more reserve than usual. He does not trust my obedience yet, but he will, because he wants to trust it.

“The time has come to prepare you for the arena. Will you behave yourself?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Desire sparks in his eyes. He pulls me close and kisses me. My cheeks heat from the force of not fighting him off.

“That color becomes you, love,” he says of my blush. “I hope to see it more often.”

Tarek escorts me to the wives’ wing and waits in my chamber while Asha readies me for the tournament. I have a new role to play today, my toughest performance yet. I am to act the part of a warrior.

Behind the dressing screen, Asha wraps a band of ivory fabric around my breasts, sealing them to my ribs, and then holds up loose trousers for me to step into. They hang from my hips to my ankles, the cloth baggy between. The straps of sturdy flat sandals wind up my shins, and leather cuffs strengthen my wrists. Asha smudges dramatic makeup onto my face. My lips are bloodred, my eyes dark and wide, my cheeks rouged. She then braids strips of ivory into my hair, the same shade as my uniform. I will be dusty the second I step into the arena, but the white will look striking for the procession.

I eye myself in the mirror glass for flaws, but Asha has done her job well. If I did not know myself, I would believe that I was the rajah’s champion. I tuck that knowledge away to draw on later.

“May the gods be with you,” Asha whispers.

I step out from behind the dressing screen for Tarek’s final inspection. He nods approvingly with a hint of adoration and then leads me out the main entry. The imperial court and soldiers prepare for the final journey to the amphitheater. Beyond the gates, the people chant for their champion. After today, I hope to be worthy of that title.

Many eyes follow us as we cross the courtyard to the line of waiting elephants. Others must have heard of my failed attempt to flee the palace, but if they disagree with Tarek’s decision to keep an unfaithful viraji, no one dares speak loud enough for us to hear.

Mathura stands off to the side with the favored four, and I meet her gaze. She looks older, as though a lifetime has landed on her all at once. I expect her to be angry with me, but her loving eyes bear the same silent message as Deven’s final words. You can do anything you set your heart on. His echoed confidence shines from her. Nothing I say can replace her son, but maybe she understands that I tried to save him. Maybe she is as sick of death as I am. Maybe she knows that I fight for us all.

Before I climb up the stairway to the howdah, Tarek pauses. “I have a surprise for you.”

Guards bring forward the old shepherd who helped me on my journey to Vanhi, along with his wife. The elderly couple bows. “Viraji,” they say, smiling.

I embrace both of them. They smell of the Alpanas, of budding spring grass and chilly, starry nights. But why did Tarek bring them here? Worry for their safety hides behind my glassy smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“The moment we met you, we knew you were a rani,” the old man says with his strange rolling r’s. “We wish you the blessing of the gods.”

I thank them repeatedly. I need their prayers more than they could possibly know.

Tarek speaks to a guard. “Find them seats in the amphitheater, and see that they are comfortable.”

The older couple bows in appreciation and shambles away arm in arm. Tarek helps me climb into the howdah.

“How did you find them?” I ask.

“They asked for you at the gates. I thought you would be pleased to see them.”

Tarek does nothing out of kindness. He means to prove that I can have a family, home, and love with him. I do not wish to owe him even the smallest sliver of gratitude, but I must convince him that I am the compliant young woman he wishes me to be.

I kiss him on the cheek and whisper my thanks.

He beams and opens a flask of spirits. Our elephant plods through the overcrowded roads, and I encourage Tarek to take the bottle often. I want Tarek to drink today. I need him good and tipsy if I am to succeed.

31

Dust rains down from the upper levels of the amphitheater. The cheers and stomps of the audience drown out the violent pounding of my heart. An armorer straps a heavy shield to my arm. The cool metal soaks into my skin, and I shiver in the sweltering midday heat.

Light from outside blazes into the cavelike exit to the arena, a golden path that leads to my destiny or my doom. Cries from the spectators escalate in a crescendo of hysteria, a fervor for blood. They care not whose blood so long as crimson coats the arena floor by day’s end.

An iron helmet is dropped onto my head, pushing me down with the might of a thousand regrets. I should not be here. It should not have come to this. Jaya should be safe in Samiya. Deven should be serving the empire. But they are gone, and I am here.

I will do this for them. I will do this for everyone who will suffer if I fail.

Through the yawning gate, I glimpse the final blow of the opening act. Since Lakia sabotaged her challengers before they could enter the arena, the rajah arranged for her to demonstrate her greatness with a battle against a thieving servant. Lakia ends her downed opponent with a blade through the chest. Blood pours from the defeated thief as though her heart is a fallen bucket.

Cheers erupt, and the rajah’s voice rings out. “See my kindred in all her glory!”

Lakia leaves the arena through an opposite doorway, her arms raised in victory. I do not applaud. Her thirst for blood is disgraceful.

The defeated thief is wheeled out, and the armorer double-checks the security of my shield and helmet. Both are on tight. The quartet of gongs peals, and the mob hushes to a whisper.

Tarek speaks from his perch in the imperial box. “Welcome to the championship match!”

Spectators holler their joy.

“We have had more challengers in this tournament than ever in the history of our great empire. Each of them fought valiantly for my final rani’s crown, but only three have earned the right to stand in this arena today. Anjali, Fareeshah, and Natesa have proven to be worthy contenders for my viraji.”

Across the way, my opponents enter through a door to the calls of the crowd.

“They will now battle the gods’ champion of choice, a young woman who is the living reincarnation of Enlil’s hundredth rani. The indomitable Kalinda!”

My name reverberates through the arena, each syllable ricocheting off the walls and returning to me with the might of a fallen ax. I inhale slowly, my pulse quickening. Remember the gods. Remember your path.

The bladesmith hands me a khanda and urges me out the door. I wage war against my resistant knees, my whole body rusty from nerve-crackling trepidation. But with one step, just a single step, I know that I can build momentum. So I draw a steadying breath, shriveling my monstrous fear to a less sizable opponent, and pass through the gaping sun-drenched gate.

The bright light blinds me. Applause deafens me. My eyes refocus, and I spot the outline of my challengers approaching the center of the arena. A chalk circle marks our starting position.