“I’ll come back—”
Lakia shoves the ax at me, and I catch it on reflex. “The rajah’s new courtesan has a mouth on her. She has been here just one night, yet she has convinced some of the courtesans who were not already clamoring for your rank to step forward as challengers. She said you spent your childhood in a sickbed and cannot fight.” Her gaze rolls down me. “She also said you are shaped like bamboo, and your personality is just as flat.”
Natesa. I grip down on the ax. “I can fight.”
Lakia wrenches the ax from my hands. “Then pick your weapon.”
“And spar with you?” My insides shake. Lakia has killed more opponents in the arena than any other rani.
She twirls the ax at her side. “Did you come here to train or not?”
I do not see how sparring with Lakia will end well for me, but if I refuse, the rumors about me will worsen. I do not need a reputation as a poor fighter and a coward. I select a staff from the weapons rack.
Lakia sets aside her ax with a smirk. “To be fair.” She gestures me forward. In her obscenely short training sari, more scars are visible on her legs. I swing at her head, and she sidesteps me. “You aren’t as pretty as I thought you would be.”
“You are.” I hold up the staff, preparing to block.
She paces sideways. “Do you know how long I have waited for Tarek to choose his final wife? I have been forced to watch him wed ninety-nine other women. Ninety-nine.” Her fist attacks too swiftly for me to evade. I back away, jaw on fire.
“Don’t you mean ninety-eight? You were claimed with your older sister, weren’t you?”
Lakia kicks me in the middle. I stumble back against the wall. She slams her fist into my gut, precisely where she kicked me. I clutch my pained abdomen, groaning through my teeth.
“Do not speak of her.” Lakia yanks the staff from my grip and presses it across my neck. “You aren’t the only one who has to fight for rank. The first-wife position is the most coveted. Any of the wives may challenge me.” I push against her, but with the wall behind me, she has the leverage. “After you,” she says, “there will be no more tournaments. No more challengers. No more wives. No more proving my devotion.”
She drives the staff down on my jugular, sealing off my breath. My lungs reach into the rest of my body for air.
Yatin is outside. He replaced Manas when we reached the pavilion, but my mouth gasps soundlessly for his help.
Lakia leans forward, her weight still bearing down on my gullet. A veil of blackness falls over my vision. “You’re the hundredth viraji Tarek traveled far and wide for?” she says. “Pathetic.”
She lets me go. I slide to the ground, wheezing.
Lakia drops the staff, and it clatters near my head. “Tarek is my husband. Win your tournament—if you can—but when it is over, I will be his kindred forevermore.”
Through my splotchy sight, I see her strut away. I sag against the floor and cough.
“Kalinda? Kalinda?”
I look up to see Shyla bending over me. I try to answer her, but my voice box aches. She toddles off in a hurry, and I pull myself up to half sitting. Hoarse chunks of air burst in and out of me.
“Kali!” Deven races across the patio. Yatin lumbers behind him with waddling Shyla. Deven stoops over me. “What happened?”
Coughing slows my reply. “Lakia.”
“Let’s get you to a healer.” Deven lifts me to my feet, and Shyla grips her round belly, puffing out her cheeks with labored breaths. Deven motions to Yatin. “Better bring her too.”
The infirmary, located in the central palace, smells familiar—of ground ginger. An elderly woman brews me a cup of ginger tea and advises me to sip it slowly.
Yatin has gone to help Shyla to her bedchamber, and the healer sent a midwife after them. According to her, Shyla should deliver her baby by day’s end.
Deven stands guard at the end of my cot. He is unshaven, his eyes red rimmed. He must have been up all night searching for the Burner. How is he still on his feet?
The healer returns with a second cup of hot tea and hands it to him. “You need this as much as the viraji.”
He does not take it. “I’m on duty.”
“So am I.” The healer squints at him, multiplying her wrinkles.
Deven accepts the tea, and, with more prodding from the healer, he sits beside me on the cot. He stretches out his legs, crossing his dirty boots. Tendrils of steam curl up from our cups, fogging our faces. The healer goes to her desk to write in her logbook.
“What happened?” he asks.
I rub my sore throat. “Lakia asked me to spar.”
A troubled frown lengthens his face. “You aren’t the first person her temper has sent to the infirmary. What happened between you?”
“She threatened me. In a sense.” I could not care less about Lakia’s rank. She could have the rajah to herself, and I would be happier for it.
“Keep your distance, Kali. Everyone in the palace sidesteps the kindred.”
I nod, and Deven nestles his delicate teacup in his big hands. “You didn’t tell me your mother is one of the rajah’s courtesans,” I say.
“I told you she’s a courtesan. Whose courtesan didn’t seem relevant.” He exhibits no frustration, merely resignation. “She won’t challenge you. Her tournament days are over.”
My fingers relax on my drink. Thank the gods I do not have to decide between his mother’s life and my own. “How often do you see your mother?” I say.
“Not often. I love my mother, but courtesans don’t raise their children. My brother and I were brought up by nursemaids. He was my only family for a long time.”
“You must have loved him very much,” I say, thinking of Jaya.
“Yes, I did.” He sets his tea aside and unbuttons the top of his jacket, releasing his neck from the strangling collar. “There is still no sign of the Burner,” he says. “He was not captured in the raid, but the rajah wants us to stay on the lookout. He believes the Burner may be near the palace.”
Near the palace or inside it? The Burner must be skilled at hiding; anyone who looks at him would remember his distinctive eyes.
He must not have been far from me since we met. He may have even been close enough to sneak into my chamber and leave something on my bed.
The notion turns my tongue to cotton. I want to tell Deven about Bhuta Origins, but it must wait. The healer could be listening.
Yatin appears in the doorway. “Captain, the viraji’s servant is looking for her. Her midday meal is being served in her chamber.”
Deven stands and buttons up his jacket. “I will take her.”
The healer rushes over, wagging a finger at Yatin. “The viraji needs to finish her tea, and Captain Naik needs to rest.”
“I will rest right after I escort the viraji to her chamber,” says Deven.
Though the old healer is half his size and more than three times his age, she does not back down. “Captain, I will confine you to the infirmary if you do not go directly to your quarters.”
“Go on,” I say to Deven. “Yatin will take me back to my room.”