Enlil sighs. “I could not.”
My annoyance laces with Cala’s. Had Enlil come before my Claiming, he could have stopped Tarek from separating Jaya and me. My best friend would still be alive. “You forgot about me?”
Enlil tugs me to a halt. “I have not lived a moment without you that I did not wish you were at my side.”
“Then where were you?” I whisper, my voice mingling with Cala’s.
“You are a bhuta. Your responsibilities set you on a different path.” His spear brightens one side of his face. “Kali, this mortal man you seek is not your fate.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Or does he? As a god, Enlil does not see time. His life has no beginning or end. Fate is a spectrum, not a destination.
A pressure builds at the base of my neck, my worries compounding into a headache. I block it before I am off-balance. “I told you from the start, I’ve come for Deven Naik.”
“As you desire,” Enlil replies reasonably. I await a bigger reaction, yet he is the very picture of acceptance.
“All right,” I say, stretching out my reply. We set off, and I look at him askance. “You never told me what my payment will be for our bargain.”
He makes a noncommittal “Hmm.”
“Well?” I ask archly.
“As I clarified before, I will require compensation when the mortal man has been freed.”
“His name is Deven Naik.”
“Of course. Forgive me.”
Enlil resumes our hasty pace. I let silence reign, ignoring his insincere apology. Our discussions help to distract me from this grim landscape, but I will not debate with him about Deven’s importance.
We progress through the dusty wasteland, my mouth and throat parched from the scorched air, like inhaling stale smoke. When the desert rules every direction, I hear a groan. Off the trail lies a person.
“Water,” he rasps, clawing at the barren ground.
I come to a halt. “Who is that?”
“A wanderer,” Enlil replies. “Let him be. The Desert of Anguish is a mercy.”
“Dying of thirst is a mercy?”
“It is in the Void.” Enlil ushers me along.
More wanderers appear off the trail. Some lie on the cracked ground, while others crawl. Fewer stumble about blindly. All of them beg for a drink, but do not cross onto the road. The pleas of the suffering torture my ears.
“Can we not spare them food or water? You could give them mangoes like you did me.”
“Nothing can quench their thirst,” Enlil replies. “The living pray for them; thus, Irkalla cannot confine them to her city. Trust me. Wandering the desert is a more compassionate sentence.”
The City of the Dead is worse than this? Deven said he hides near there.
“Kalinda,” a voice calls from within the open wasteland.
A woman drags herself toward us over the rough ground.
Kindred Lakia.
The last time I saw Ashwin’s mother, we were in the amphitheater arena locked in a duel, an impulsive conclusion to my rank tournament that led to her death. Though she still wears her training sari and sandals, her attractiveness has lessened from a sharp blade to a dull spoon.
“Please, Kalinda. Water.”
Someone in the mortal realm has been praying over her soul, and I would wager it is her son. My memories of Lakia are not the fondest, but if Ashwin were here and this were my mother, I would expect him to show her compassion.
“Don’t leave the trail,” Enlil warns.
“It’s all right. I know her.” Stepping over a skull, I go to Lakia. She appears even more miserable up close. Her once-glowing complexion has a lusterless hue. Patches of her hair are missing, the rest knotted in stringy clumps.
“Kalinda,” she cries, guttural, tearless gasps. “I left him out in the desert. He’s gone and I could not stop it.”
I kneel on the sandy desert floor, which is softer and finer than it seems. “Who’s gone?”
“My little boy.” She sobs into the crook of her elbow. “Tarek sat in my chamber and waited with me. I heard his cries as the carriage pulled away. My husband wanted me to cry or run. He wanted to punish me for my weakness.” She lifts her bloodshot gaze to me. “I didn’t cry. I held it in until I was alone. But my boy . . . my boy was gone.”
“Ashwin is home, Lakia,” I promise, her heartbreak pressing upon me. “He’s living in Vanhi again, in the palace. He’s home.”
Lakia rubs her forehead in the dirt, further matting her hair. She lifts her head again, her gaze wild. “Water. Please, water.”
I wave for Enlil to come over so I can ask for one of his mangoes. He sends me a stern glare to return to the path and does not budge. “I don’t have any water for you. I’m sorry.”
Lakia pushes up and cups my cheek, her fingers icy. “You’re my husband’s kindred . . . ?”
“Not anymore.”
The fact of this strikes me deep. I never wanted to be Tarek’s kindred. Then I was his kindred, and I was good at my role. Gods curse him for that. Without the title that I earned, I no longer know what to do with myself.
“Much has happened since you . . . left,” I continue. “Prince Ashwin rules Tarachand now. He reigns with fairness and mercy.”
Lakia grabs my chin hard. “I know not who you speak of. I have no son.” Her other hand grasps the back of my head, securing me in a vise. I immediately realize my legs are stuck. I have been sinking into the sand. “No water? Just as well. I’ll drink the water from your blood.”
She lowers her mouth to bite me. I push her off and yank at my knees. I have sunk farther into the ashy ground. Lakia lunges and her teeth snap at my nose. I hold her back, her flesh frozen and lifeless. I cannot parch her to render her unconscious. She has no soul-fire to draw out.
Enlil enters my side vision and aims his spear at her. A lightning bolt shoots from the end, striking Lakia in the side. She flies back, smoke rising off her still form. Our squabble attracts more wanderers across the open area. They amble toward us.
“Hold still.” Enlil aims his spear at the sand around my feet and shoots. It solidifies to glass. He smashes it and heaves me up. “Next time use your dagger.”
“I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“Kalinda, everything wants to harm you here. Even the ground would devour you.”
Back on the trail, I brush myself off. The dustiness persists. “What is this sand?”
“Bone ash.” Enlil drags me onward while I knock the dust off faster. “We must not tarry. The wanderers cannot enter the path, but we best not tempt them.”
I skip along, stunned from my encounter. “Did Lakia truly forget her own son? She was weeping over him one minute, and the next she said he didn’t know him. How could she forget him? She had her faults—many faults—but she loved Ashwin.”
“She was not the woman you knew. The Void boiled her down to her worst attributes and pains.”
“I took her life,” I whisper. Lakia will recover. After all, she is already dead. But leaving her to suffer . . . “I sent her here.”
“You took her life to preserve your own. You did not condemn her. Her actions did.”
I wait for Cala to add her opinion of murder to the matter. I saw what she did in the arena. She killed all those women to secure her place as Enlil’s wife. She remains quiet.
The souls in the desert beseech us for water. I cannot do anything for them, so I focus on escaping this morbid wasteland. “Will you be punished for breaking your pact not to interfere with mortal affairs?”
“No,” Enlil replies shortly. “My unusual paternity formed lower expectations of my behavior.”
“How many times have you saved me?”
Enlil slows to a more official gait. “My dear queen, it is you who saved me. Before our first meeting, I was floundering. My sister Enki was the epitome of obedience. I was . . . less so. My true parentage had been revealed, and I felt I did not belong with the gods. I hid my pain in the joys and passions of the mortal realm. Then I met Cala. She loved me as I was.” He adds tenderly, “Every time you are reborn, I rediscover the wonder of watching the sunrise.”
Is he speaking to Cala . . . or to me? The separation between us has blurred.
I rummage around inside my head for her commanding voice.