I awake shivering.
Morning sunlight streams through the windows and balcony. My blanket is pulled up to my chin and my limbs are drawn in close to my heart, yet I am cold. I search inside myself for my soul-fire, but my powers elude me. I throw off the covers and stumble to the mirror glass. I try to push my inner light into my hands. They do not glow.
Natesa glides in, refreshed for the new day. She holds out a black training sari for my duel. “Good, you’re awake. You leave for the amphitheater in an hour.”
I swivel from the mirror glass, and even after I halt, my head continues to spin. “Sultan Kuval gave me neutralizer tonic yesterday before the trial. He said it would wear off by now, but I still don’t have my powers.”
“Slow down,” Natesa says, laying out my clothes. “You took something from the sultan?”
“All of the competitors did.”
My legs wash of strength. I rest against the vanity for support. The sultan poisoned me. Am I the only competitor he sabotaged? Or did he drug Indah as well? He would not impair his daughter.
I release a guttural moan. “Citra is going to crush me.”
“You don’t have any powers,” Natesa asks, finally hearing me. “At all?”
Indah and Pons enter my chamber. Pons wears a navy tunic with a low-cut split collar and has recently shaved the sides of his head. Indah sports an aquamarine sari with dazzling gold beading that matches her lip stain. They came dressed in their finest, prepared to represent Lestari well in the tournament procession.
“We came to see if you need anything,” Indah says, smiling. She reads our troubled faces and loses all cheerfulness. “What’s the matter?”
“Kalinda doesn’t have her Burner abilities,” Natesa says, her palm over her mouth in horror.
“I haven’t gotten my powers back after taking the tonic yesterday,” I explain. “I think the sultan’s poison is still obstructing them. Do you have yours?”
“Yes, my powers returned last night.” Indah exchanges a puzzled frown with Pons, and then her eyes go wide. “My injured ankle. I bled the poison out.”
The crocodile bite let her blood. Sultan Kuval gave the same tonic to Citra, but he must have warned her. By now, Citra will have let her blood to revive her powers.
Pons lays a supportive hand on Indah’s shoulder, their frowns abysmal. They believe I have been sabotaged beyond repair.
I press down on my aching sternum. Gods, gods, gods.
“You’re an Aquifier!” Natesa screeches at Indah. “You have to do something!”
“The only way to drain the poison is to let her blood,” Indah replies, her voice regretful. “The recovery process takes hours. She would be in no condition to duel.”
I slump down upon my vanity stool. Without my powers, Citra will bury me. I might as well be defenseless.
“There must be another way,” says Natesa, pacing in front of me. Each time she passes by, my despair drops further.
She stops abruptly, and her chin snaps up. “What if you don’t tell them? Let them think you have your powers. For all you know, the poison could wear off, and you’ll regain them by the start of the duel.”
I would prefer a remedy to bluffing, but Natesa’s strategy may be the only answer. I cannot request a delay. Sultan Kuval will know I am stalling and tell me to concede, as he has done every other time I have protested during the trials. I have no other choice but to go forward with the duel. Whether I win or lose is up to the gods.
“This stays between us,” I order. “Say nothing to Ashwin or Brother Shaan. I don’t want to worry them.”
Indah and Pons mutter in compliance, both tense and anxious.
Natesa throws up her gaze, suddenly aware of the time. “Skies above, you need your hair and makeup done before you go anywhere. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I look in the mirror glass, my sallow reflection staring back at me. “Then you better get started.”
Ashwin comes into my chamber as Natesa finishes painting my lips. Indah and Pons have already left for the procession. Now, nearly an hour after I woke, my hair is braided, my black training sari is pinned on tightly, and my daggers are strapped to my thighs.
I still have no powers.
Natesa gives me a hug. “Teach Citra what a true champion is. I’ll be waiting for your return.”
I squeeze Natesa back in thanks. She bows to Ashwin and then goes into her antechamber. I tuck away my worries and face Ashwin’s nervous gaze.
“Brother Shaan suggested we arrive at the procession together so we appear united,” he says stiffly.
I walk up to him and adjust his stand-up collar. His immaculate scarlet tunic and trousers are handsome. The black scorpion crest on his chest matches his turban. “We are united. I’m sorry, Ashwin. I was unfair to you when you deserved my honesty. I cannot promise you anything. Except that I . . . I would like to try again.”
His face brightens with boyish charm. Is his smile sincere? Or does he see me as a murderess? The playful tilt of his head and the humor on his lips are so like Tarek. I cannot guarantee how close we can become when at times he reminds me of his father. My knee-jerk reaction may never go away.
“So you’ll stay with me after you win?” he asks.
Ashwin’s belief in my ability to triumph today corrodes my lesser apprehensions about us. We do not have time to discuss whether or not he forgives me now. His support of me is enough.
“I’ll consider staying.” That is the best assurance I can offer. First, I must honor my promise to return for Deven, and then I will know if he and I have anything left between us to hold on to.
“I was hoping you would wear this today.” Ashwin hands me his gold cuff. “Brother Dhiren gave it to me. It belonged to his grandmother. She was a sister warrior, like you.”
The square cuff style is one a warrior wears to battle. I turn the piece of history over, running my fingers along the worn edges, dings, and shallow scrapes. This cuff has seen combat and bloodshed. I pray that today it will see victory.
I slip the gold cuff onto my wrist. Ashwin’s wrist looks bare without it.
“I have a good luck charm too.” He lifts a thin chain from around his neck. The oil vessel hangs at the end like a pendent. “I’m wearing it as a reminder of those we’ve lost. Is that morbid?”
It would be if I wore the vial, given it contains the blood of my people, but Ashwin is honoring the fallen. I tuck the vessel back under his tunic. “Protect it.”
Ashwin takes my hand in his and then reaches for my other one. He holds them up and rubs his thumbs over the backs. “Your rank marks have faded.”
On the day I need them most. I will win them back, I vow. But apprehension clamps down on me. Memories from my rank tournament plagued my sleep last night. Blood and screams and death.
Ashwin lets my hands go and skims his knuckles across my cheek. “You’re nervous.”
“In tangles.”
He offers me his arm. “This is your throne, Kalinda. Tarachand is your empire to defend.”