“Bhuta, it is you who is cursed,” Tarek shouts, his voice carrying half as far as hers. “You are a demon. A soulless child of the Void.”
“You know what we are, Rajah Tarek,” the Galer responds, “and you will be slain for your lies. Anu sees the darkness in your heart. You cannot hide from the sky.”
The Galer’s solemn vow freezes my heart.
Tarek’s face reddens in the morning sun. “Finish her,” he commands, and storms inside.
I turn away, but not fast enough to miss the sight of the guards dropping great stones on the Galer, followed by the grisly crush of bone, and then the bleak silence of a sky without wind song.
I flee from the courtyard, down a stone path into the gardens that stretch between the palace and exterior wall. Manas will not like my leaving him, but he needs time alone as well. From his disheartened glower, I could tell that the Galer was not the one who killed his family.
You cannot hide from the sky.
The Galer’s eerie promise chases me. Her death discolors everything, washing the brightly hued oasis to grays. The Galer spoke with her powers, yes, but also with an authority that lingers like frost in my bones. She used her final breath to threaten the rajah with revenge, not from her people, but from the gods. I do not know the source of her powers, but to my ears, she did not speak like a soulless demon.
A stitch in my side and the rising morning heat force me to slow to a walk. I catch my breath and turn down a path shaded by neem trees to escape the sun. The pathway winds to a dead end and a meticulously maintained stone tomb scored with vines of blooming clematis. I read the plaque.
YASMIN. TAREK’S BELOVED FIRST QUEEN.
I touch the door of the tomb, still cool from the shade of the massive banyan trees standing as sentinels on either side. The gravel at my feet has been disturbed. Someone has recently gone inside to visit the rani’s remains. I am not tempted to look within. I do not trespass on the dead.
Branches rustle behind me. I revolve and gaze down the path, where dappled sunshine is breaking through the leafy cover. No one is there, but Mathura’s warning of sabotage blares through me. I slip my hand across my lower back, reaching for the dagger tucked along the indent of my spine.
A twig snaps nearby. I do not wait to draw my blade. I swivel on my heels and dash into the trees. Urgency pushes me through the thicket. Hopping over mangled tree roots and dodging low branches, I pray that this leads me to the palace faster than the pathway.
The trees end. I run out onto a trail and slam into someone.
Deven catches my arms. “Kali?”
My breaths ring ragged in my ears. I clutch my chest, trying to pull more air inside.
“I’ve been looking for you. Manas said he saw you run into the gardens.” His gaze roves the trees for danger. “What are you doing out here?”
I have no proof that I was being followed. All I have is my fear over Mathura’s warning. I straighten and recover my breath as I say, “I’m all right.”
Deven’s voice roughens. “We haven’t found the Burner yet. You shouldn’t explore the grounds alone.”
Alone. The word echoes through me, hollow and desolate. I rest my palm in the center of Deven’s chest. “I’m sorry I worried you,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says. He lays his big, warm hand over my hand.
I want more. I want his hands to cover my whole being. It is a selfish wish. A stolen dream. But I do not step back. I do not let go. My hand slides up to his shoulder.
Deven leans down. I can see my name on his lips, ready to ask me to step away. My own lips carry a plea.
“Ka—”
I press my mouth to his, sealing my name on his lips. His warmth spreads everywhere, dazzling my mind and aching straight down to my toes. My loneliness and my fears peel from me. His arms come around me, tentatively at first, and then they crush me against his hammering heart. I have never felt freer. I lift my hand to his cheek and stroke his jaw, skimming the thick, soft bristles. He groans, a low rumble in his throat, lighting my senses aflame. He is the sun and the stars in my sky. He is my light.
Deven releases me and steps back. “Kali, we risk too much.”
I choke on broken words. I should apologize, but it would be insincere. I am sorry for endangering us, but I am not sorry for kissing him.
“We need to go back.” Deven starts down the path with brisk strides. I follow a heartbeat behind, my limbs floating around me.
We go inside and reach my chamber door, and Deven faces me. “About what happened in the garden . . .”
“Yes?” My gaze drops to his lips, longing for their warmth.
“Kali,” Deven says in a pained whisper, “we cannot.”
I boost my chin. “I can do what I wish.”
“Not at the expense of your safety. I am asking you to, please, forget it.” His voice quavers. He is afraid for me. Afraid for himself. If I had any sense, I would be afraid too. I am fearful of many things here at the palace, but Deven is not one of them. Even so, I feel guilty enough that I cannot deny his request.
“All right.”
“It’s better this way,” he promises.
Looking into his eyes, I see the remembrance of our kiss, and the hurt of him asking me to forget it is too much. I leave him in the doorway.
Asha turns to see me come into my bedchamber. She is washing her face in the basin, her veil beside her and her face uncovered. My eyes widen at the red scars on her cheeks. She turns away and tugs on her veil.
“Forgive me, Viraji. It’s hot today.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Her veil must add to the miserable heat. I want to ask how she got her scars, but she keeps her head bowed, and I do not want to humiliate her further. “Would you please bring my meals here today?”
“Of course, Viraji.”
Asha scurries past me. I let her go, sorry for her embarrassment, and sit on the bed. I run my fingers over my lips. They no longer capture Deven’s warmth, but his taste clings to them like spring dew.
I drop my hand, a headache burrowing behind my eyes. I cannot face Deven again today, and I am in no mood to be social. Dining in the Tigress Pavilion would draw questions from the ranis about skill demonstrations, and I have no idea what I would do.
I take my sketchbook out of my satchel and draw. The meditative practice of scraping charcoal over parchment eases my headache and helps me think. I must stay composed in the face of my contenders at skill demonstrations. My sparring teacher taught us to maximize our strengths in the ring. Ki’s sister warriors were each known for having mastered one skill, like Jaya has done with the haladie. I wish that I had Jaya’s ability with a blade, but my weapon of choice is the slingshot, which will not intimidate anyone.