He contemplates my wrecked chamber, his bewilderment deepening. His attention returns to me. “Kali? I had the strangest dream about your parents.”
A laugh-sob bursts from my lips. I lie down and lean my head against his shoulder, resting my hand over his healthy, beating heart. I have so much to tell him that I cannot decide where to begin.
He drifts off again, so I snuggle into him and let him rest. He said everything I need to know.
39
KALINDA
I clench the passenger’s bar and smile despite the precarious side-to-side cadence of the howdah carriage. The box carriage with a red silk canopy is tied to the back of an elephant. Children run alongside us, keeping pace with the gentle beast’s patient lumber.
General Yatin patrols ahead on horseback, clearing stragglers from the roadway. The onlookers cooperate, moving aside for the army general in his dress uniform. As I near, they cry, “Burner Rani,” in praise.
Gods, what a difference time makes.
The imperial procession winds through the packed roads, my view swinging with my ride. A canopy shields me from the midday sun, and a dry breeze whisks away my perspiration. The rest of the procession leaves the palace after me and snakes through the packed roads.
On their own elephant behind mine, Ashwin and Gemi wave from their howdah, both dressed in finery. The people’s cheers grow to a roar for their prince and his viraji. They have gone from despised intendeds to celebrated rulers in three moons.
Ashwin has doubled his efforts to rebuild Vanhi. The southeast district is nearly complete, which eased tensions somewhat. Mostly we have Enlil to thank. The chapel altar is littered with burned sacrifices day and night for the fire-god. He must feel so smug. One appearance to our citizens, and suddenly the Brotherhood temple is full of worshippers.
The fire-god also contributed to the empire-wide reacceptance of me as a champion rani. Our public embrace before he flew off on his chariot revived the rumor that I am Enlil’s hundredth rani reincarnated. I have advised my friends and family not to dissuade the gossip. Wherever Cala is, she, too, is smiling.
We round a corner. The howdah tips, then rights itself. I leave my grip on the bar and wave at a child below. I rarely wear my prosthesis anymore, but Indah added carvings and jewels to this one. Today is my first time showing it off.
We pass Little Lotus Inn. Natesa bends out the top-floor window, brandishing a headscarf and blowing kisses to Yatin. Two moons ago, they wed and moved here. Natesa complains regularly about how busy they are. She is very happy.
Soldiers open the gates to the Sisterhood temple. Yatin stops outside them, monitoring the crowd for suspicious rabble. The last of Lokesh’s mercenaries have gone underground. As the public becomes more accepting of bhutas, the likelihood of an insurgence of dissenters lessens.
My elephant enters the courtyard and halts. I climb down onto a temporary stairway, and a handler leads the elephant off. The sisters and wards are lined up outside the temple, hair brushed to a shine and skin scrubbed clean. Priestess Mita stands by the steps, Healer Baka beside her. A couple of my art students wave. I return their quiet hello, earning a glower from the priestess.
Gemi and Ashwin enter the courtyard, the people’s adulations ushering in after them. A servant assists them from their howdah. Halfway down the staircase, Gemi kisses Ashwin full on the mouth. The crowd hollers with enthusiasm.
Ashwin tugs at his high collar, embarrassed. The princess leads him to me.
“Viraji,” I say, bowing. “You’ve stolen the empire’s heart.”
“Hopefully we can maintain this approval after our wedding,” Gemi says, twisting her shell earring nervously. She draped her sari so her scarred arm is visible. No one would guess she was not a sister warrior.
The whole city is abuzz about their wedding. When the datu arrived for the original date, he was perturbed the ceremony was postponed. His daughter explained that she and Ashwin wanted more time together. Thus, she remained while her father returned to the Southern Isles. The datu will come back for the real wedding, the evening of the next new moon.
More attendees arrive, the rest by horse, camel, or foot. The ranis and children come in as a big group. Shyla and Rehan are mixed in with the rest of Ashwin’s siblings. The ranis have been nattering nonstop about the wedding gifts they are making Gemi. As the prince and princess welcome each of them by name, I nearly miss Indah and Pons’s entrance.
Jala is tied to Indah’s front with a cloth binding. I shake her little fist and smooth down her hair. She grins, her top two teeth sticking down like a bunny’s.
Oh, do I love that sweet face.
Tinley leads in the bhuta trainees. No one in the crowd at the gate spits or boos. They cheer just as loudly for them as they did for me.
And well they should. Those who saw Enlil also witnessed the bhuta children battling demons, which raised questions about why they would do so if they were, in fact, demons themselves. Those who lived in the empire before Tarek rewrote our history flocked to the Brotherhood temple to learn about bhutas as half-gods. Since this collective epiphany, the number of palace guards is up, and the general phobia of bhutas is diminishing.
The people’s fickleness sets my veins on fire. Ashwin often reminds me this is the change we wanted. Acceptance of bhutas is the true return to tradition.
Giza and Basma run ahead of Tinley. The Galer is visiting from Paljor, her current primary residence. Maida asked Tinley to come home and help her lead. Ashwin calls the sisters the frozen fist of the north. Instead of arguing with each other, they advocate for their tribe. The prince always emerges from their trade meetings wholly drained.
My Burner students run to stand by me. They straighten as the last of the procession comes in, the all-female guard. Eshana rides a camel at the front of her unit. Ashwin assigned her as captain of two dozen women who alternate shifts with the other palace guards. Eshana’s service helps to distract her from grieving for Parisa. I was saddened when Ashwin told me of her demise. Little will heal the knowledge of her death other than time.
At last, Deven and Brac approach on horseback, the conclusion of the procession. Deven’s broad chest fills out the navy-and-silver tunic. He rides at ease, his sword slung at his side. I have yet to adjust to him not wearing a uniform. Deven did not feel right about displacing Yatin as general, so he accepted an advisor position, acting as a liaison between the army and the prince.
Deven dismounts and kisses me in welcome. His trim beard brushes my skin, his sandalwood scent mild. The Burner girls giggle and make room for him at my side.
Separate from the procession, Mathura and Chitt arrive. They have stopped traveling to spend time in Vanhi with us. Deven thinks they will reside here now. Natesa and Yatin come in last and find standing room at the back of the audience. People on the streets fill the temple gate to listen. I pause to absorb the view of my friends and family.
We are all here.
Ashwin strides up the temple steps. The priestess passes him a cone amplifier.