I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of ragged breathing. A startling awareness barrels down on me. I am not alone. My bedchamber is dark, my doors to the balcony closed. A soupy thickness clots the air. The darkness presses down upon me like an iron curtain.
Something brushes past the side of my bed. My heartbeat hammers inside my skull. When Jaya appeared to me underwater, she was light, true, and warm. This is the antithesis—a pressing, cloying chill. I experienced this pervading despair one other time, in Ki’s throne room.
I slip my hand under my pillow for my daggers. Whatever is here exhales across my face. Its breath smells of rubble and ruin, loss and sorrow. The scent permeates my senses, squeezing my heart and spinning my mind into places I never wanted to return.
I am blindfolded in the Claiming chamber.
Rajah Tarek inspects me, a predator circling his prey.
An invisible force tugs at my hair. I grasp one of my daggers, but the backs of my hands burn, and I drop it.
Don’t test me, love, says a voice directly over me.
The words are Tarek’s, but the tone is different, a raspy hiss.
“Who are you?” I ask shakily.
Its breathing stays over my bed, blowing the scent of charred rubble across my cheek. Your husband. Have you forgotten me already?
Two blue eyes appear above me, burning like azure flames. I twist to reach my daggers, and when I turn back with blades drawn, the malevolent presence has disappeared.
I collapse against my pillow. Fears expand like a paper lantern inside me, strangling the remnants of a scream. I can still smell ashes and the char of burned skin.
And Tarek’s spirit lingers, like an invisible chain forever linking our souls.
I hold myself still and grip my daggers close. They cannot cut the dark, but having them pressed over my thudding heart provides a comfort that almost convinces me I am safe.
The next morning, I receive instructions from Opal to go alone to the south gate of the tiger paddock. Natesa has been gone since I woke—she is probably off doing laundry—so I dress in my training clothes, braid my hair, and run out the door.
Raindrops sprinkle on my head as I turn down the dirt path. Citra and Indah wait for me at the gate to the paddock. Sultan Kuval stands off to the side, scowling at my late arrival. No one else is here but us.
“Today,” he begins, “you will face a deadly opponent of your choosing in a test of fortitude.”
“Is the weather part of the challenge?” Indah asks, holding out her palm to watch the raindrops patter on her skin.
“This is the start of the wet season, so you can thank Anu for the weather,” the sultan replies. “As this trial is about fortitude, you may use your weapons, but you may not rely upon your powers.” He holds up a vial of neutralizer tonic, water steeped and boiled with poisonous white baneberry and snakeroot.
“I won’t take that,” I say, repelled by the memory of the vile drink. I am not too keen to ingest anything Kuval would give me either.
The sultan’s lips spread in a cutting smile. “You may concede the tournament and leave at any time, Kindred.”
He’ll never give up, will he? I widen my stance to prove that I am staying.
“I’ll drink it first,” offers Citra. She takes the vial from her father, swallows a swig, and passes it to Indah.
Indah sniffs the tonic and wrinkles her nose. “How long will the dosage last?”
“The effects will fade by tomorrow,” answers Sultan Kuval.
Indah sips her part. I watch her closely for an adverse reaction, but she appears unchanged. She passes the vial to me.
I have not taken neutralizer tonic since I came into my powers. But seeing as the sultan gave the same vial of poison to his daughter and Indah, I drink my portion. I grimace at the bitter flavor, and immediately, my soul-fire shrinks, hunkering down like a cowering pup.
“When the gong rings, you will all enter the paddock and separate to find a package left for you—you will know yours when you see it. Retrieve your package, and deliver it through the gate near the tower at the far side of the paddock within ten minutes.” The sultan lifts the door lever. “Be on watch. My tigers haven’t fed in days.”
The sultan’s vague instructions acerbate my nerves. How are his tigers opponents of our choosing? I never volunteered to fight a man-eating cat.
A gong rings across the way, and the sultan opens the gate. I cannot see any spectators or tigers in the rain-soaked flora. Citra is the first inside, followed closely by Indah. I go last, and Sultan Kuval shuts the door on me, rapping my heels. Though he cannot see me through the fence, I glare over my shoulder at him and then face the rainy forest. My competitors are gone.
Ten minutes. Plenty of time to become a tiger’s meal.
I creep through the underbrush and promptly lose sight of the fence. Raindrops glisten off everything, pooling at my feet and drenching my thin clothes.
A shriek nearby sets my hairs on end. I follow the sound about fifty paces and stop. Citra stands before me with her machete drawn, confronting a huge orange-and-black-striped cat.
The tiger growls and paces before a banyan tree. Above them, a girl hangs upside down from the branches. I blink to see her better through the rain. Citra’s sister Tevy has been tied up in the tree. She is gagged, soaked, and shivering. Citra has to pass by the tiger to reach Tevy. I draw my blades and step forward to help her and her sister.
The tiger growls at me.
“Go away, Kalinda,” Citra snaps.
I leave my gaze on the large cat. “I came to help.”
“This is a competition, you dolt. Find your own package.”
The sultan’s instructions return to my mind. Find a package left for you—you will know yours when you see it.
My heart shrinks. If Citra’s package is her sister, could mine also be someone I love? Praying Citra can help Tevy before the tiger helps itself to them both, I back away and run. I leap over roots and fallen logs, searching for anyone or anything familiar. I would call out, but what name should I shout? Is my package even a person?
As I am forced to circumvent a bamboo thicket, I come upon the far gate. A four-legged observatory tower butts up to the fence line. High above me, the spectators watch, a leafy roof shielding them from the rain. Ashwin sees me and scratches his nose . . . and continues to scratch. What is he doing? He’s pointing west. That must be where I can find my package. Gods bless you, Ashwin. I revolve and sprint back into the trees.
Time flows like sand through my fist. I sprint the width of the paddock, my side aching. I spot the west fence through the foliage and slow. The trees thin to a grassy expanse, and in the middle, I spot Natesa kneeling, tied up and gagged. Nothing else is around her.