Yatin lifts Natesa into the saddle with him, and they gallop off. She has hardly left his side since the attack. I suspect that she chose the largest soldier as her companion in case the bhutas attack again. We have not heard or seen them, but Yatin was gone when I woke. Upon his return, I overheard him tell Deven, “They’re close.”
Manas and I embark for the road. Deven sets a less punishing pace than yesterday’s, but the ride brutalizes my sore legs. Instead of looking over my shoulder for golden eyes, I now look forward into the distance, each of the horse’s strides carrying me closer to the Turquoise Palace.
The Bhavya Desert has been abandoned by the gods. A scorched abyss of burnt-orange knolls stretches to every horizon. We bake in the blazing sun, our camels plodding up and down an endless sea of sand dunes.
Around midday, we leave the foothills and enter the flatlands. We trade our horses for camels at a small outpost, refill our casks, and start across the desert. Manas rides in front of me. My gaze slips to the front of the caravan, where Deven leads the way. I cover my mouth and nose with a headscarf to fend off the dust.
The sun banks low in the sky, and I allow our camel’s steady lope to rock me to sleep. A sudden stop wakes me. I sit up from resting against Manas’s back and gather my bearings. Sunrise marks our eastern flank. To the west, illuminated on the crest of a hill, the Turquoise Palace shimmers like an opal in the distance. The palace consists of a series of ivory buildings patched together by massive golden orbs tapering into points on top.
Our camels lumber toward Vanhi, the far-off hill growing to a solitary mountain. Stacked below the palace, as if holding it up, lies the City of Gems. Clay huts roofed with rust-colored tiles crouch together against the hot desert sun. Splashes of green from the leafy fronds of tall, skinny palm trees break up the dull brown, and smoke tendrils rise in short plumes, sky trails to civilization.
We approach a towering wall of clay bricks encircling Vanhi, and I sip my tonic dosage when no one is paying attention. We reach a hut outside a city gate, and two soldiers greet us. Sand crusts their beards and turbans, and their fists are tight on their khandas.
Deven addresses the guards, and they speak in low voices. I gaze up at the Turquoise Palace and wipe sweat from my brow. Sunlight glares down on me from the gold-domed palace roofs, and my mouth goes dry at their grandeur.
Deven turns back to us. “Kalinda and Natesa, please unveil.”
We remove our headscarves, and the guards study our faces. I wash my expression clean of curiosity. Finally, the guards step back.
“What was that for?” I whisper to Manas.
“One of the ranis ran away with her lover. They are looking for them.”
“What happens if they catch her?”
“She will be executed as a traitor,” Manas says matter-of-factly.
I rock back in my seat, away from his heartlessness. He takes my distance to mean something else. “Do not worry, Viraji. The runaway rani will not affect your rank tournament. The rajah may wed only one hundred women in his lifetime. Even if one of his wives dies or leaves, she is still counted as his.”
Manas’s effort to pacify me leaves a foul tang in my mouth. I stay bent away.
The guards open the city gate and wave us along. Our camels lurch forward, and we pass through the city wall. Haggard-looking women, bow-shouldered men, and half-naked children fill the yards, roadways, and rooftops. Though we sit on the camels, high above people’s heads, the buildings dwarf us. Huts are crammed so closely together that a child can scarcely squeeze between them. The crowded streets stink of unwashed human flesh and animal waste decaying in the hot morning sun.
Manas pulls back on the reins to let a woman balancing a basket of grain on her head pass.
I have never been anywhere like this. The heat, the bodies, the noise, and the stench tighten my chest into a snarled coil. To level my breathing, I pretend that I am in the Samiya Temple chapel, surrounded by a sea of daughters wearing calming blue saris.
Deven rides up to a road dammed with tents and dismounts. Manas helps me down after him. This new swarm of people and tents and animals shatters what is left of my composure. I gasp, trying to inhale enough air to feed my body, but my head spirals like water going down a spout.
I shut my eyes. I have come this far. I can make it to the palace.
Soft lights shine behind my eyelids. I focus on their serene brightness and ease my breathing one mouthful of air at a time. My chest loosens ever so slowly, and my head clears. On a steady breath, I reopen my eyes.
“The camels are too big to pass through the market.” Deven hands the reins of our camels to a peasant boy with a face smudged with dirt. “These are yours. Trade them and give what you earn for them to your parents.”
“My parents turned me out.” The boy juts his chin. “I’m on my own.”
“Then trade the camels and go to Brother Shaan at the temple. You can trust him. Tell him Captain Naik sent you. He will help you find a place to stay.” Deven bends so that they are eye level and passes the boy a gold coin. “For taking the camels off our hands.” The boy gapes at the coin in his dirty fist. “Go on. Say hello to Brother Shaan for me.”
The boy collects the reins and guides the camels away.
“That was good of you,” I say softly.
“A real kindness would be to go with him. He will be lucky if he isn’t robbed of the camels before he sells them or if the buyer gives him a fair trade.”
“Why do you think his parents turned him out?” I ask, thinking of my own.
“Most families are poor and are forced to put their children out at a young age. The boys resort to begging and stealing. And the girls . . .” Deven turns his solemn gaze on me. “You were fortunate to be taken in as a temple ward.”
“I see.”
Vanhi is a place of plenty—with people, huts, and sunshine, but also hardship, poverty, and sadness. My parents having left me with the brethren may have been a blessing. “Does the rajah know his people live this way?”
Deven lowers his voice. “The rajah is aware.”
I glance around, confounded. Rajah Tarek allows his people to live in squalor. How can he not wish to help them?
I frown at my quick judgment. The sisters did not hide the rajah’s flaws: he is a strict man with an appetite for women and power. But they also said that he is generous and judicious, a man of faith. What virtue could he gain from his subjects’ poverty?
“We’re going into the market now.” Deven offers me his hand. “It’s easy to get lost in there.”
I did not think that he noticed my moment of panic earlier, but I suppose he did. I accept his hand, and our fingers entwine. He smiles and gives an encouraging nudge, and we lead the way into the busy market. Yatin and Natesa follow at our backs, with Manas at the last.
Awnings hang from the surrounding structures, encroaching on the narrow roadway. I gawk at a man with a monkey on his shoulder and salivate when we pass a plate of fried sweetbread. Merchants shout at us to purchase their wares. They sell everything from clay pots to spices to animal hides. Deven is unfazed by their heckling, but I stay tethered to his side.