Gemi cocks her head. “I wasn’t aware I was allowed.”
My face heats. She leaves me with that thought and starts up the outer steps of the temple. Engraved above the main entrance are the five godly virtues—obedience, service, sisterhood, humility, and tolerance. Every threshold in the Southern Isles is adorned with them. We go inside and Gemi surveys the artistry in the entryway.
“Kalinda had the shells brought from the coast to replicate the chandeliers in the Pearl Palace,” I explain.
“They remind me of home,” Gemi replies wistfully. “Father will be envious. Once he sees this, he may remodel our temple.”
The datu is a collector of rare and precious things. “I’m certain Kalinda would share the layout.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Gemi says, striding quickly ahead.
I trail her into the chapel. Minimal progress has been made on the murals since I was last here, but the completed sections are spectacular.
The wards run around, playing sleeping princess on the burned sacrifices altar. In a finished chapel, they would be reprimanded for irreverence. The temple has not been formally blessed by the brethren and dedicated to the gods, so I let them run and play. Gemi and I meander to the mural of the land-goddess Ki and her warrior daughters.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” I ask. “The artist was inspired.”
“By Kalinda?” Gemi’s flat tone unbalances me.
“The painter had creative freedom.”
“Hmm.” Gemi stares at the sister warrior on Ki’s right-hand side. It may be her comment, or perhaps I miss Kalinda, but the warrior does marginally resemble my cousin.
“Prince Ashwin!” Priestess Mita’s voice bounces off the high ceiling as she rants from the doorway. “Why are these girls here? You should have left them at the palace. I asked to see you, not them.”
“I’ll take them outside,” says Gemi. The priestess eyes my viraji suspiciously. Gemi averts her gaze and leaves, the wards scurrying after her.
“Your Majesty, we have a concern with the design. I need your decision immediately.” Priestess Mita leads me down a flight of stairs to an open area and posts that will eventually be a door. “The builders want to turn this section into another classroom, but this should be the Claiming chamber. We cannot have a temple of the Sisterhood without it.”
None of the temples in operation are currently utilizing their chambers. The priestesses have been commanded by me to postpone the rite. Kalinda and I planned to meet with them and establish a new order after this city temple is dedicated.
I toil to eliminate exasperation from my reply. “The ritual room is no longer relevant, as the wards will choose their own husbands and vocations. The additional classrooms are necessary. A proper education will be essential for them to make these decisions.”
“I strongly urge you to reconsider, Your Majesty. The Claiming is a sacred rite. Doing away with it will antagonize the gods. The girls should still be inspected and shown to benefactors, but they can accept or refuse who claims them. This compromise will appease our supporters and maintain our teachings of the five godly virtues. Obedience and humility are paramount to a healthy spiritual journey. How will fate direct our wards if they don’t submit to the gods’ will?”
“It’s not the gods’ will we oppose.”
“Your Majesty,” Priestess Mita presses, “our people look to you for guidance.”
Perhaps they should look at their own actions. Lives were stolen, rearranged, and imprisoned for this ritual. And not just Kalinda’s. My mother and her sister, Yasmin, Kalinda’s mother, were claimed as well. Would they still be alive if not for the hold Tarek had on their lives? Who would my mother have become had she been free?
This current institution, upheld and exploited by my father, has no place in my empire.
“Priestess, within these walls, the daughters of the temple will discover their own path. Proceed with the classroom construction.”
“But Your Majesty . . . !” She brings her palms together in prayer.
I turn on my heel and find Gemi playing with the girls in the courtyard. I make no sense of their game, except they are hopping about and giggling.
“Are you all right?” Gemi asks.
“Yes . . . no.” I rake at my hair. “The priestess disagrees in changes Kalinda and I are making.” I imagine the girls who are running about the courtyard older, forced to stand nude and blindfolded before a strange man for the Claiming. My gut curls into a fist. “This is right for the Sisterhood, especially the wards.”
“Kalinda is very important to you.” Gemi’s tone hints at disappointment.
“She’s my cousin,” I reply. “When it comes to establishing peace in the empire, Kalinda was the impetus. I am the means by which progress will be achieved.”
Gemi pauses midnod and her eyes broaden. “We need to return to the palace.”
I detect them then, the vibrations surging up from the ground. Every girl in the courtyard stills. Outside the wall, people abandon their work and run for home. The last time our city experienced quakes, we were infiltrated by bhutas.
“Let’s go!” I say, motioning to our driver.
Gemi rounds up the wards, and we pile into the carriage. Two girls sit in my lap, one on each knee. Both are in tears. We pull into the road. Families dart about in search of shelter. Mothers huddle under eaves with their children, crying. A loud rumble carries from behind us. I lean out the window and see huge dust plumes rising from the southeast.
Lords of all. Let it have been in the district closed off for reconstruction.
Gemi points ahead. The protestors are still outside the palace gates, crowded near the wall. We must go through them.
The quaking strengthens, detectable over the jostles of the wagon. We ride up to the gates, and people push in around us. Soldiers strong-arm them back and we pass through.
Before the carriage has come to a full stop, Gemi throws open the door and leaps out. The guards shut the gates, and our driver assists the girls from the carriage. I hurry after Gemi to the palace entry. A group encircles a section of the pebble courtyard at the landing of the outer steps. Basma, the older Burner girl, is wedged in the ground. Tears roll down her face. Her arms are free, her nails raking at the dirt. A Trembler boy; her sister, Giza; and several nursemaids hover over her.
Someone opened a hole in the dirt and closed it around Basma, crushing her inside.
The nursemaids quarrel about how to pull her free. One yanks on her upper body. Basma howls. She is jammed in tight.
Gemi kneels beside Basma and grabs her wrists. “I’ll hold on to you.”
My viraji gradually opens the fissure with her powers. Basma slips some, but Gemi holds her level. When the gap is wide enough, I grasp Basma by the waist and haul her up. Her legs sprawl out, limp and broken in several places.
Brac runs out of the palace and down the front steps. He must have returned to the palace while we were in the city. Basma cries for him until pain overcomes the girl. Her eyes flicker back into her head.
“I’ll take her to the healers.” Brac scoops Basma up and carries her inside.
“Send for Virtue Guard Indah,” I order the nearest nursemaid. “Tell her to meet them at the infirmary.” She obeys my command, and Gemi embraces the weeping Trembler boy.
“Tell us what happened,” she says.
“Giza burned my favorite toy tiger,” he cries.
My gaze flashes to Basma’s little sister. Giza’s eyes are swollen from sobbing.
The Trembler boy sniffles and points to a pile of ash that must have been his toy. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I only wanted Giza to apologize. Then Basma pushed me.”
Giza hangs her head. “She was defending me.”