The falcon does not respond; her wing smokes where the lightning struck. Indah rushes in and lifts a whip of water from the lagoon. She tosses the airborne stream at the falcon’s wing, dousing the last of the embers. The Paljorians cry mournful sobs that bruise the soul.
Tinley wraps her arms around the falcon’s neck, burying her teary face in Bya’s feathers. The sky has returned to blue, mockingly so. No thundercloud or lightning can be seen on any horizon.
Indah slides her healing hands over the bird’s injured wing. “Water bless the sky. Sea reflect the clouds. Blue of the sky shine in the heart of the sea.”
She repeats the healing prayer, and each time she finishes, my despair grows.
Ashwin goes to Tinley and touches her back. She cries with her face in her hands. He turns her around and enfolds her in his arms. She lays her face against his chest, sobbing so hard her hair shakes like wheat stalks rippling in a breeze. Ashwin seeks me out with wet eyes and holds Tinley tighter.
Overhead, a rain cloud gathers and pours lightly over them, a patch of misery in an otherwise cheerful sky. Finally, Indah stops her strings of prayers and steps back from the falcon’s injured wing.
Citra shields Tevy’s face from the devastation, gripping her sister against her. A silent tear runs down Citra’s cheek. She brushes it away before anyone else sees.
Sultan Kuval saunters over to me and slicks down his white mustache. “Tinley failed to complete her trial,” he says.
“Have you a heart?” I hiss. “She’s lost her best friend.”
“She has also lost the tournament. Should you fail as well, Citra and Indah will move ahead to the duel, and your people will be one day closer to better living conditions and remedial care.”
His bribe sets my teeth on edge. “I won’t fail my trial on purpose.”
“I didn’t imply you should. I’m merely providing you consolation for when you do fail.” He strolls away pompously, his hands tucked behind his back.
I glare past him at bamboo-woven riverboats drifting upstream into the lagoon. The bows and sterns of the long, narrow vessels curve out of the water with a regal rise. Gold leaf covers the sides of the first canoe, the imperial boat.
Sultan Kuval lifts his voice. “We’ll now adjourn to the riverboats for Kindred Kalinda’s trial.”
One by one the audience members flock to the water’s edge. Citra parts from her sister, leaving Tevy to return to the palace with her eunuch guards. The Paljorians stay with their competitor. Tinley pulls away from Ashwin and clings to Bya, weeping into her side.
I walk toward them. Bya is even bigger up close, her fiery feathers breathtaking. My heart wrenches hard. I cannot believe this guardian of the sky is gone. I stop beside Ashwin and Tinley, press my palms together in prayer, and dip my chin.
“May Anu welcome Bya to the Beyond, and may she find peace and contentment flying the forever skies.”
Tinley’s swollen eyes take me in with reserve. I bow in farewell, and Ashwin and I leave her and her people to mourn.
Ashwin helps me board a riverboat beside Rohan and Opal. As our boatman paddles us out of the lagoon and down the narrow waterway, I stare at Tinley clutching Bya.
If she can fall this far, I can too.
Our boats slide down the stream, out from under the low-hanging trees and into Iresh. We glide past bamboo huts and those people along the water’s edge. They wave when they see Sultan Kuval and Princess Citra. Soon their cheers draw a large crowd, until the muddy banks are packed shoulder to shoulder. Some run alongside us, matching the speed of the parading vessels.
The waterway widens and empties into the River Ninsar. Spectators gather along the waterfront between rows and rows of bobbing fishing boats. Our vessel drifts into an open slip, and Rohan jumps off to tie the line. Ashwin and I follow Sultan Kuval to the end of a dock. There a gong and sand timer wait. Bhuta guards are stationed along the riverside, and a dinghy is tied to the end of the pier. Out farther in the river, a barge is buoyed. I swap a questioning glance with Ashwin—What are we doing here?
“We’ve come to our final trial of valor for the day,” says the sultan. “Kindred Kalinda will now represent the fire-god Enlil, Keeper of the Flame.”
I join the sultan’s side, my back to the river.
“Due to the dangerous nature of the kindred’s powers, her trial will be held here. At the sound of the gong, we will release a burning arrow to light the barge in the middle of the river on fire. She will have five minutes to row out to the barge and extinguish the flames. The boat is tied to buoys that are anchored to the riverbed to ensure it does not drift away. Aquifiers are on standby should there be any danger of the fire spreading to shore.”
Thorny fear rakes at my belly. They want me to tame nature-fire. I coaxed an ember into a flame once, but that hardly qualifies me as a master Burner.
Ashwin comes to my side. “Kalinda, you don’t have to do this.”
“True, Prince Ashwin,” the sultan says loudly. “The kindred may concede.”
The onlookers whisper to each other. They must think I am a monster and a coward.
“I’ll go.”
I lay down my khanda, climb into the moored dinghy, and pick up the oar. The sultan gestures toward shore, and a guard there lifts a bow. Another soldier lights the pointed end of the arrow on fire. With the tip burning, the arrow flies out over the water and strikes the flat-topped barge. Flames overtake the boat, and trepidation blazes through me.
Ashwin leans over me from the dock above. “Have you lost all sense?”
“This is why you brought me here, isn’t it? This is the trial tournament.”
“Gods, Kalinda,” he says, terror shaking his voice. “I’ll give you your freedom. Just don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing this for my freedom. I’m doing this for the empire.”
The second I utter the words, they are true. I am kindred to the Tarachand throne, and our people must come first. Before my needs, and even before Ashwin’s. Everyone I love has been affected by the empire’s divide. Brac and Mathura are stranded at the border, and Deven and Yatin are imprisoned. Deven predicted this moment was coming long before I did. He saw what I must do to free us. I can play the sultan’s game. I can face fire for Deven and the others I love. I can set aside my fear for my people. I can—I must—fight for peace.
The gong sounds, ringing down on me.
Ashwin says the Prayer of Protection. “Let the sky lead you, the land ground you, the fire cleanse you, and the water feed you.” He unties the dinghy from the dock and tosses me the line. As I paddle out, he stays crouched on the dock, his troubled gaze watching me go.