The nursemaid urges me inside. I stay in the sun. I love my home and city, but more than anything, I love that Mama lives there. Why hasn’t she come?
A thumping noise pries me from the memory, yet it pangs onward, a well-established sore. Every detail of that day has stayed with me. Hanging out the window, I combed the desert horizon for hours. I thought my mother would gallop up on her horse, lift me from the carriage, and carry me home. I was sunburned for days after. Mother never apologized or explained. I grew up thinking she wanted nothing to do with me. After what Nursemaid Sunsee said, I wonder what really stood in Lakia’s way. Is there a sufficient excuse? Does anything merit sending away her child without a good-bye?
Seldom do I pray. The gods do what they please, regardless of what I want or hope for. But I tire of carrying around this heaviness.
Gods, please forgive Lakia . . . and help me forgive her too.
A thud sounds nearby. Kalinda’s lamp has burned out, so I push up in the bed and study the chamber. Deven lurches from the shadows and stumbles to the sitting table. He pours a cup of water and guzzles it down.
“General?”
Deven swipes his forearm across his lips. “Where—is—Kali?”
Something stirs behind him. I look for the source but detect nothing more. I stride to Deven. His beard has grown scraggly, and his garments sag off his frame. He is a fraction of the soldier I remember. “She left to find you.”
“No.” Deven grabs my shoulders. “Tell her not to come. Kali cannot enter the Void. She’ll never get out again.”
“She left for Paljor two days ago. I haven’t heard from her.”
Deven presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “I tried to find her . . . Her soul-fire was hidden.” His fingertips dig into his hairline. “Kali is gone.”
“Come sit down.” I help him into a chair at the table. Kalinda told me nourishment is scarce in the under realm, so I refill his cup and pass him the flatbread. He rips off half a piece and shoves it in his mouth.
“When did Kali leave?” Deven asks, chewing.
I just explained this. Perhaps he did not hear me. “Two days ago. No word from her since.”
He swallows the bread and gulps more water. “Where’s Brac?”
“On an errand. We’ve run into . . . complications with my wedding.”
“What sort of complications?”
Deven is the best soldier I have, but I will not burden him. “Captain Yatin and Brac can manage it. Why have you stayed away?”
“Kur summoned his demons to his lair. Their meeting lasted days and let out just this morning. This was the soonest I could come.” Deven runs a shaky hand over his lips. “Kur may be planning something. You have to get word to Kali.”
“She won’t listen. She’s determined to find you.”
“She cannot come.” Deven’s gaze grabs at mine. “Kur isn’t the worst monster down there.”
Although I cannot imagine who could be more terrible, I trust his estimation.
Deven drinks the last of the water and presses the cup to his cheek. “Tell me about the complications with your wedding. I may be able to help.”
He pushes his tray away and waits. Doubting I can sidetrack him again, I slide his tray back in front of him. “I’ll talk. You eat.”
While I recount Commander Lokesh’s public protests and the people’s anger with my selection for my first viraji, he returns to his meal. Deven, of course, latches on to my immediate problem.
“You have too few guards. Station your nearest units of soldiers at the palace temporarily. Set up tents for them outside to make their presence known. This will discourage the protestors from marching on your gates again.”
Armed troops on these grounds could be interpreted as a countermove. The people may credit Lokesh for influencing my choices. However, I would rather they see me depending on my army than bhutas.
“You’ve done well, Ashwin,” Deven says, “but Lokesh is not for you to confront. Don’t give him any more credence. If there’s anything malignant about Lokesh’s employer, Brac will find it and Yatin will organize your defenses.”
“The captain has been invaluable.” I add belatedly, “and the ambassador.”
“Brac can be difficult, but you can rely on him.” Deven scrubs at his beard, his eyes owlish. “You should promote Yatin to general. He’s fit for the task. When he denies the advancement, tell him it was my idea.”
“Why do you think he’d turn it down?”
“Don’t take offense. He’s loyal to my friendship.” Deven uses the table to push himself up, every movement paining him. “I have to go.”
“Stay a little longer. I’ll get you some more food and drink.” His departure is a bitter end to this reunion. What the Void is doing to him is unbearable.
Deven closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. He reopens them again and answers in monotone. “Find Kali and keep her safe.”
The night shifts forward around him. Shadows clutch his wrists and ankles like manacles.
“Deven—” I reach out and my fingers pass through him, leaving me with a fistful of cold emptiness. I stare at the bare wall he was in front of, my insides encased in ice.
A shadow darts past the balcony. I rotate in that direction. Nothing is visible, but the sensation of not being alone nags at me. I grab the empty pitcher and creep over. My heartbeat ramps up as I near the fluttering curtain. I snatch the drapery back.
Fresh air pours in through the ajar door. The place is empty, the movement a trick of the wind.
Before my imagination can deceive me again, I leave the wives’ wing and travel up one floor. I knock at a door. A moment later, Indah answers in her robe.
“Ashwin, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I’m sorry. May I come in?”
She lets me inside the chamber. Pons is up, pacing the floor with Jala. The baby squirms and fusses. It is too late for pleasantries, so I rush to the point.
“Deven came and told me to warn Kalinda. He thinks Kur is planning something. Has any word come from Paljor?”
“No,” Indah replies. “Pons, what can you hear?”
While Pons listens to the wind, Indah takes their child and bounce-paces her around the room. Jala rarely cries, yet every time I see her lately, she is in tears.
“Is she ill?” I ask.
“She misses Kalinda. Her fussiness started right after she left.” Indah bounces Jala some more and asks Pons, “So?”
“I cannot hear her.”
Indah paces faster.
“What about Tinley?” I suggest.
Pons clears his throat. “She’s unreachable as well.”
I sit on their rumpled bed. Deven said Kalinda’s soul-fire was hidden from him. I should have never let her leave. “Can we send Tinley a message that they can receive once they travel closer?”
“It isn’t a matter of distance,” Pons replies. Worry wears his voice down to a murmur. “Where Kalinda has gone, no message on the wind can reach. She’s alive; I would know if she had passed on. It’s as if she’s disappeared. As if . . .”
“She’s left our world,” I finish.
18
KALINDA
The stranger extends his hand to help me up. I hesitate, uncertain if I should touch this being with flames for eyes. He persists, so I lay my fingers in his.
A vision blinds me.
Fire Eyes locks me against him. I hang from his broad shoulders, my hands secured around his neck. My cheek rests above his collarbone. I am tall, but my head fits neatly under his chin. He is mountainous and warm as a bonfire.
His shoulders sear into my fingertips. Within him, his soul-fire illuminates little pathways up his arms for me to trace. Tingles dance across my skin. His feverish touch soaks into me like a hot drink in my belly and brings out my inner sunshine. My own veins come alight with powers.
He presses his lips to my forehead. “My dearest Cala. How I have missed you.”
My vision fades and a shudder ruptures from my core. I yank from his touch. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, Cala,” he says, his voice liquid warmth.
“My name is Kalinda.”
“Of course.” He steps closer. The air between us sizzles, a repeat of my vision. “Do you remember me yet?”