A hot bath washes away the mud but does not touch my numbness. I peel myself out of the cooling bathwater to dress, my wilted limbs drained of strength.
I have lost my throne. All this time I have thrashed and gnashed my teeth, trying to break free, but I am stripped bare of the only part of my life I was certain the gods had a hand in. The gods wanted Tarek to claim me. I fought that truth until I lost Jaya—and then I fought for her death to have meaning. I spilled blood to earn my throne. I held on to it with both hands as I searched for Ashwin. I wielded my rank against my enemies. I wore my nobility like a shield. I stood upon my throne to see into the future, dreaming of a better empire. Having my title taken is like tumbling down endless stairs. I am falling for an eternity, with no means of stopping.
You can turn to the Voider.
The errant thought sprouts from nowhere. I try to pluck out the terrible idea, but it grows roots.
The Voider can answer your heart’s wish. It can set Deven and our people free from the encampments.
I shake my head, joggling the wayward thought away. I would never . . . And yet the temptation tests, teases, prods for an excuse to utilize the Zhaleh. Was Tarek led astray by the power of the Voider? Did it eat at his soul and rot his conscience?
Gods alive. I rub a sore spot between my eyes where a headache chips away.
One more day, and the trial tournament will be over.
One more day, and I can pass the Zhaleh on to the Virtue Guards.
One more day . . . and then what? The rank marks on the backs of my hands have nearly faded. I can barely see the number ones. What comes after they are gone?
I step out from behind my dressing screen, and Ashwin spins around.
“My apologies,” he says. “I thought you were out.” His cheeks flush upon seeing me in my robe, my damp hair hanging loosely down my back. He holds up my painting of the peacock. “I was admiring your artistry.”
“I’m better with charcoals.” I go to him and take back the painting.
“Will you show me?”
This is a ploy to raise my spirits, but I must admit, it is a good one. I settle on my bed and tuck a blanket around me. My powers have not yet returned from the tonic I drank before the trial, and I am cold. I pull my sketchbook into my lap. Ashwin sits beside me and watches me draw. When I finish, he inspects my sketch.
“She’s beautiful,” he says at last.
“Her name was Jaya. She was my best friend.” I drew her soulful wide-set eyes and charming chin. What would she think of me losing my throne? When she saw me at the palace with Tarek, she said I was suited for the life of a rani. I hate to think that I have disappointed her, wherever her soul may be.
I set aside my charcoal stick and brush my fingertips clean. The soot has sunk into the lines of my skin, like my guilt over her death.
“I was thinking about your throne,” Ashwin says, setting aside the sketch. “I see no reason why you should lose it completely.”
“What do you mean?”
His blush deepens, but he maintains eye contact. “After I take my first wife, I may have more of them.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Are you asking if I’ll be your second wife?”
“Only in name,” he answers with all seriousness. “We would wed after I take my kindred. You would still be the one that I”—he swallows—“love.”
I reel away from the enormity of that word. “Ashwin—”
“I don’t need an answer now,” he hurries on. “You have time to consider.”
His earnestness astonishes me. I was not jealous of Tarek’s other wives, and I would not be jealous of Ashwin’s. But I have not been entirely honest with him. He says he wants to wed me, but he does not know what I have done.
“No matter what happens tomorrow, I would like you by my side.” Ashwin leans in slowly, and instead of moving away, I go still. I am curious what will happen once our lips touch, if all it takes to fall in love is one kiss.
My thoughts jerk to Deven. Now that my throne is no longer mine, we can be together, yet Ashwin’s proposal beckons me, tugging me closer. He can offer me something Deven cannot. Ashwin can give me a way to right my wrongs. Together we could rule the empire, unseat Hastin from the palace, and release the ranis and courtesans he has imprisoned. We could do a mighty good together, if I become his second rani.
My sketch of Jaya shines like a beacon in my side vision. I cannot fully avenge her death unless I ensure the empire becomes a peaceful place for everyone. Every person, bhuta or full-mortal, should have the opportunity to build the life they choose. I can enact change in the palace. As Ashwin’s rani, I can make Jaya’s dream come true.
The prince’s lips meet mine. His kiss is tentative yet grasping with excitement. His arms come around me with unexpected might. His slight build holds strength, one not of size or heftiness but inner determination. A refusal to fail. My hands climb to his smooth-skinned jaw, and I wait for my breath to catch or my lips to tingle.
Ashwin’s kiss is inviting, but it does not stir my heart. His kiss does not inspire dreams.
He sits back, his face rosy. His taste clings to my lips, neutral in flavor. Nothing about his touch entices me to seek out more.
He laughs breathily. “That was, ah . . .” He notices my reserved expression and sobers. “Did I scare you?”
What does he . . . ? Oh. He thinks his resemblance to Tarek upset me. Guilt throbs at my temples. I cannot have a lie between us any longer. His kiss may not inspire dreams, but his offer to take me as his wife is still a choice I need to consider for Jaya, for the people in the encampments, for those subject to the warlord’s rule back home. Ashwin needs to understand who I am before either of us seriously contemplates a union.
I straighten and meet his gaze head-on. “Hastin did not kill your father,” I state, articulating every syllable. “I did.”
Ashwin goes motionless, except his face, which slackens in shock.
“I won my rank tournament so I could marry Tarek and avenge my best friend. He murdered Jaya, and I wanted him to pay.” Hearing the conviction in my voice causes me to wonder if my revenge was warranted. What gave me the right to kill Tarek? Did I do anything except cause the empire more pain?
My explanation has caused Ashwin pain. He threads his fingers in his hair, abject in his acceptance of what I have done. “Why . . . Why did you lie to me?”
“I shouldn’t have.” Regret clogs my voice, making me sound small. “I was ashamed and afraid of what you might do. What you might think of me. I wanted to tell you, but Brother Shaan thought it best that you not know. He said you would trust me more.”
“Lying to me?” His disappointment comes at me harder than if he railed.
“I thought the truth would be worse,” I say, a weak excuse but true nonetheless.
“I haven’t lied to you, Kalinda.” His soft voice strains, his windpipe crushed by my betrayal. “I told you the truth from the beginning, even when it was difficult to share about my parents, even when I felt like a dolt for stating my feelings for you.”
Ashwin gave me more than the truth, he gave me his trust.