Tinley shoots Indah a poisonous glare. “I haven’t decided yet, Your Majesty.”
I pick at my food with my fingers. The spicy sauces and dishes smell delicious, of turmeric and coriander, but I am too nervous dining with these women to put anything in my belly.
Indah swivels her focus to Citra, her next victim. “You have never left Iresh. You didn’t even set foot outside the palace gates until you were fourteen. Your father is afraid you’ll be killed like your mother was.” I sit up straighter, and Ashwin stills, the flatbread in his hand forgotten. Citra’s eyes and jaw harden. “You have one full younger sister, Tevy, who shares your same mother, and you would do anything for her happiness. Your first love was with a palace servant when you were thirteen. Your father found out, castrated the boy, and sold him to another household. Since then, you invite public male attention often to punish your father.”
Tinley snorts, amused now that the focus is off her. I spread my fingers out in a fan against my breastbone. How does Indah know all of this? From the other women’s reactions, everything she says is accurate.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Citra seethes.
Indah leans back, unperturbed. “As for your reasons for participating in the tournament, you will do anything to avoid being given in marriage to an old, fat man. You even tried to run away once, but you were caught and the sultan’s kindred beat you before his court.”
Citra’s face flushes. “Enough.”
I would console her if she would allow it. Citra’s relationship with her father is none of our concern.
“And what of Kalinda?” Ashwin asks, engrossed in Indah’s game.
“I know the least about the kindred,” Indah replies, switching her attention to me. I block the urge to cover my face. “You’re an orphan raised in a Sisterhood temple of the Parijana faith. Your people believe you’re Enlil’s hundredth rani reincarnated, though you won your rank tournament on account of your opponents conceding. You have no particular weaponry skill, as your strongest offense is your faith in the gods.”
“Why does she wish to win?” Tinley asks. Clearly this supper game has become a means for her to study her opponents.
“Glory,” answers Indah. “The kindred wishes to uphold her reputation as a fierce sister warrior.”
Glory? I tamp down a guffaw and wait for Indah to reveal more about me. Something in regard to Deven. Or Hastin. Or Tarek. She sits back, finished, but my nerves stay locked on high alert. Indah knows more about me than a stranger should, and I sense she is holding back.
Tinley stabs a hunk of boar meat with one of her talonlike fingernails and shoves it into her mouth. “Kalinda, were you really claimed from a Sisterhood temple?” she asks, staring at me with her cloudy irises.
“Yes.”
“You killed to wed the rajah?” Tinley’s tone drips with disapproval.
Ashwin pushes food around his plate. Although he understands why I defeated his mother, it would be callous to speak of her death in his company. “I didn’t want to,” I answer.
“I would never kill for a man,” Tinley says, shoving more meat into her mouth.
I tip my chin up, lifting my chest. “We didn’t fight for a man; we fought for a better life.”
“Their reason isn’t so unlike your own for entering the trial tournament, is it, Tinley?” Citra asks, tapping her painted nails against her wine chalice. “We all want the life that goes with the throne.”
Tinley glares at Citra as she picks up a piece of flatbread and tears it into bite-size pieces.
“Don’t they have Claimings in Paljor?” Indah asks, her voice inexplicably chipper.
Tinley answers Indah, ending her stare off with Citra. “We have temples of the Parijana faith as Tarachand does, but only for the brethren. The women don’t preside in the faith. As for the Claimings, we have none. We’re betrothed from infancy.” Tinley smacks her lips, gaining a look of disgust from Citra, and adds, “My intended died last year, but you already knew that.”
“I thought it would be impolite to share,” replies Indah.
Tinley huffs, for Indah’s other descriptions have already surpassed rudeness.
“What about you, Indah?” Ashwin asks.
“She isn’t going to say anything insulting about herself,” Citra replies, her glower unyielding.
Indah raises her hands, palms out. “I’m a Virtue Guard for Datu Bulan, come from Lestari.” The datu is the ruler of the Southern Isles. His stronghold, the city of Lestari, is located on the largest island. “My mother birthed me in healing waters and raised me on milk and honey. I learned to walk on our island’s sandy beaches and spent my childhood fishing on the southern seas. My weapon of choice is the trident, which works to spear big fish and irritating supper patrons.”
Citra utters a stale laugh.
Tinley sets her chalice down hard, nearly spilling her wine. “Indah, you didn’t say anything bad about yourself.”
“She didn’t have to,” I say. “Indah is arrogant, offensively honest, and too observant for her own good.”
Indah laughs, a light tinkle like clinking shells. “Kindred, you sound like my father.”
“He must be a wise man,” inserts Ashwin.
Citra lowers her pointed glare, remembering we are in the presence of the prince. “Let me serve you some more, Your Majesty.” She ladles him another helping of sauce, even though his plate is already swimming in it.
Indah observes the celebrators across the terrace, fishing for more secrets. I nibble at my food, my thoughts hooked on what she said about being a Virtue Guard.
“Are any other Virtue Guards in Lestari?” I ask her.
“Yes, we’re the last sovereign to work with bhutas. Datu Bulan has one of each serving on his high council.”
“Even a Burner?” I ask.
Indah tilts her head, cataloging my curiosity. “The datu retains all four to maintain balance. We work in conjunction with him and his advisers. Our Burner Virtue Guard is one of the most powerful Burners in the world. Though there could be others we don’t know about . . .”
I arrange my features into disinterest, my pulse charging. Oh, yes. Indah knows more than she pretends.
Citra tries to spoon-feed Ashwin, but the food falls down his chin and into his lap. When she moves to clean it, he waves her away.
“Burners aren’t welcome in Paljor,” Tinley says, chewing with her mouth open again.
Indah sips her wine. “Our people don’t live in fear of Burners.”
“You live on islands, surrounded by water,” replies Tinley.
“We also aren’t afraid of a few burns.” Indah slides a glance at me.
I drop my hands below the table. Did she see the healing boil on my palm? She must sense I am hiding something. I would like nothing more than to shoot fire over their heads and boast about my powers as they did, but I cannot let my people find out who I am.