“How’s Indah?” I ask, bending over to collect my breath.
“She’ll be all right. Pons carried her off to see another Aquifier.”
The spectators start down the stairs from the observatory tower. Sultan Kuval arrives on the landing first, and behind him follow Citra, wearing a gloating grin, and Tevy wrapped in a blanket.
Sultan Kuval stands over me and speaks, his voice like thunder. “Kindred, you failed to complete the trial in the allotted time frame and are hereby disqualified.”
“What?” I clutch my blanket closer. “The assignment was to deliver my package to the gate in time. Natesa was out of the paddock before the gong rang.”
Citra gives a quick, dismissive snort. “The instructions were to pass through the gate with her.”
My gaze darts from Citra to the sultan. “I don’t remember that rule.”
“What you heard or didn’t hear is no longer our concern,” Kuval rejoins. “You’re out of the tournament.”
My mouth gapes open, hoping I have heard them wrong, but the sultan and princess loom over me with mocking smirks. I drop my head to conceal my gathering tears.
I’m finished. I’m really out of the tournament.
Ashwin comes down from the tower with Tinley and sees me sitting in the rain. “What’s the concern here?” he asks.
“My sincerest regrets,” says the sultan, his tone anything but genuine. “The kindred failed to reach the gate before the allotted time and has been eliminated from the tournament.”
“Sultan Kuval,” Ashwin says, drawing out his name with exaggerated patience, “we all saw what happened. Kalinda arrived with Natesa on time.”
“But the kindred did not pass through the gate with her servant, as was the rule.” The sultan seals his decision with a perfunctory jiggle of his double chin.
Ashwin extends a hand to him in appeal. “If you would please consider—”
“The rules stand. Indah and Citra will compete in the final trial. Tomorrow we will hold a rank duel at the amphitheater, and they will battle for your first wife’s throne. We will reconvene then.” Sultan Kuval thrusts out his thick chest, collects his daughters, and directs them away.
Ashwin’s shoulders and head sag. He cannot go against the sultan’s ruling without invalidating the entire purpose of the trials.
Tinley steps up to me after witnessing our exchange with Sultan Kuval. “You’re brave, Kindred. Your face-off with the tiger was compelling.” Raindrops sparkle like crystals in her white hair. “I’m returning to Paljor before the worst of the wet season arrives. I’m having Bya brought home for a burial.” Tinley trains her milky eyes on me. “Thank you for the prayer on her behalf. Let me know if someday I may repay you.” She offers Ashwin and me a full, elegant bow and strides off.
Natesa kneels in the mud and hangs a loose arm around me. “You were brave.”
“I couldn’t leave Pons and Indah behind,” I whisper. My chin trembles, and tears fog my sight. I am one kind word away from them pouring down my face.
Ashwin stands over us with his hands deep in his pockets, his expression bleak. “Kalinda—” His caring tone undoes me.
I press my face into Natesa’s shoulder and cry.
25
DEVEN
The grave has to be six feet deep, the guards said. As quickly as we dig, the hole fills with rainwater. Even so, the three other diggers and I somberly shovel mud into a slippery pile while the guards observe our progress from under the eaves of a tent.
Why must we bury the dead in the rain? The Trembler guards could excavate a grave with the crook of a finger. But that would be too easy, and they are entertained, watching us labor.
Gradually, the hole deepens. I shovel alongside Manas and the other two men until the grave is finished. We lean our shovels against the outer wall, and a guard orders us to drop the bodies.
The deceased are wrapped in bedrolls, their stocking feet sticking out, since the guards stole their boots. I imagine Yatin’s big feet hanging out of a bedroll and scrub away the miserable thought. I wish I had the power to heal him, but at least an Aquifier is tending to him. He will be all right. I repeat it to myself, He will be all right.
We roll the first body to the rim of the grave, sliding through the slick mud, and push the dead man over the edge. He hits the bottom with a splash. The next two men land with empty thuds that hollow out my chest. We reach the last man, and I recognize Eko’s shape under the blanket. Manas stands back to wipe his face, wet from rain and tears. The rest of us heave Eko into the hole.
The guards command us to leave the grave open. I suspect the vizier anticipates the illness will claim more lives. The four of us stare down at our dead comrades in silence. I am the highest-ranking officer, and so it is my duty to offer a prayer.
I recite the Prayer of Rest while the others bow their heads. “Gods, bless our comrades’ souls that they may find the gate that leads to peace and everlasting light.” At the closing, Manas sniffles. On impulse, I add, “And let Eko know, wherever he may be, that he is missed.”
The gong rings for midday meal. I squint up through the rain at the nearest tower. It’s noon; shift change. The Galer on duty will swap places with a new one. Both men will be preoccupied for a couple minutes while the previous Galer gives his report.
The men set off for the dining tent, but Manas lingers at the grave site.
“I’d like to speak with you,” I say.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
Gods, grant me patience.
“I’m trying to prevent us from losing more comrades. Please, Manas. We don’t have long. The guards will be eavesdropping on us again soon.” He does not lash out with a rebuttal—progress?—so I go on. “I’ve been monitoring the guards and the gate. I have a plan to break out, but I need your help organizing the men.”
“Why do we need to break out? The prince said we’ll be released after the trial tournament.”
“That’s what Sultan Kuval told him, but I don’t think the sultan means to let us go. Think about it. Would you release your enemies’ soldiers into your imperial city?”
Manas goes quiet. I am taking a risk, confiding in him. The vizier’s informer could be another prisoner in camp. Manas could be reporting to Vizier Gyan for Hastin, but the chance is slim. Manas hates bhutas. I cannot picture him serving one.
“When the time comes to leave here, we’ll have to work together,” I say. “I cannot do this alone, and if you back me, others will too.”
“What if Kalinda wins?” Manas asks. “Aren’t you afraid of her, of what her Burner powers can do?”
“I fear her the same way I do the gods—out of respect.” Manas scowls at my explanation. He cannot separate his emotions so easily, but for this to work, he will have to try. “Helping me is helping the prince and Kalinda. Can you accept that?”
Manas returns his attention to Eko’s body and answers with reluctance. “Tell me your plan.”