“Oh!” the audience peals.
“At this rate, Tarek will have no roses left,” Parisa mutters to Eshana. Their translucent veils flutter in the stale afternoon breeze.
The previous dozen or so courtesans started ripping apart the garden with their blades. The once-beautiful foliage is quickly being pruned to pieces.
From the corner of my eye, I see Natesa mingling with Anjali and Mathura in front of a servant waving an ostrich fan. With our segregated lives, I have not seen Natesa since the declaration ceremony. Her face seems paler and thinner, her eyes bigger. But if she is ailing, it did not show in her demonstration. She brandished her khanda like a seasoned blade fighter.
Fareeshah’s display earns her applause. I scuff my feet against the terra-cotta tiles, my confidence that I will impress the crowd crumbling to dust. I want to present my skill and be done with this spectacle.
“It’s a shame two courtesans are already out.” Eshana scoots closer to a servant swaying a feather fan. Another servant passes out ice chips from a golden bucket. She and Parisa take a chunk. “I overheard the healer say food poisoning.”
“Sabotage,” Parisa says. She runs ice across her brow. “Happens every tournament. Rarely does anyone get caught.”
Eshana pops a piece of ice into her mouth. “At least we know it isn’t Lakia. She wouldn’t stoop to toying with the courtesan duels, not with her own to worry about.”
“Who challenged her?” I ask.
“Four fools,” Eshana answers around the ice in her cheek. “They will be fortunate if Lakia tears their throats out in the middle of the night instead of in the arena.”
Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck. Sabotage tactics have begun. I feel for Yasmin’s dagger, hidden at my waist, grateful for the protection.
Anjali’s name is announced, and she strides forward to perform her thirty-second demonstration. I lift my chin to see her better over the benefactors at the front of the crowd. She is my youngest opponent, yet she carries herself with maturity.
Anjali picks up a stack of chakrams, ringed throwing blades with blunt rims on the inside, and aims at a feather-stuffed dummy across the lawn. An official tips the sand timer, and Anjali tosses the rounded chakrams in quick succession. The first one slices off the dummy’s foot. The next one severs the second ankle. Another two disks disconnect its hands at the wrist. Another stabs itself into the dummy’s abdomen. The final disk slices through the dummy’s neck, beheading it. Anjali bows to the cheering audience and blows kisses.
“She has talent,” I say.
“And ego,” adds Eshana with a dry smile.
“You will go up against her in the tournament, Kalinda,” Parisa says.
Eshana nods. “Anjali will be in the final three.”
My insides roll like windswept sand dunes. I try not to envision Anjali’s chakrams amputating my limbs.
Parisa sends me a heartening smile. “Don’t let it bother you. Tarek could have chosen any of his courtesans to wed him, but he didn’t want them as his rani. He wants you.”
If only that were the comfort she means it to be.
Eshana runs her fingers absentmindedly through her hair. “What skill are you showing, Kalinda?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Eshana exchanges a look of consternation with Parisa. “Whatever you do, it ought to be flashy. Lakia opted to perform before you.”
Parisa slips the last of her ice down her shirt. “Lakia loves dramatics.”
Lakia plays mind games. I will not let her intimidate me.
My gaze wanders to the raised platform at the center of the terrace, where Lakia sits on her throne beside Tarek. The rajah is watching me. His gaze slides down to my throat, and he smiles. I did not want to wear Yasmin’s necklace today, but Asha insisted. Considering Lakia’s deep scowl, I am glad I did. Mind games can go both directions.
“Kalinda?” Shyla comes through the crowd holding a bundled infant. “We came to wish you luck.” She leans toward us, and I look into her newborn’s sleeping face.
“She’s tiny,” Parisa says.
“What’s her name?” asks Eshana.
“Rehan, after my mother.” Shyla offers the child to me. “Would you like to hold her?”
“I shouldn’t.” I have never held a baby before; my fevers prevented me from working in the temple nurseries. Rehan is so little and fragile that I would not know what to do with her. “She’s beautiful. Tarek must be proud.”
“He doesn’t meet his children until they’re older.” Shyla glances up at her husband on the podium and lowers her voice. “He’s still distraught over losing his firstborn.”
Parisa and Eshana nod in unison. I can understand how losing a child would have wounded Tarek, but for him to not want to meet his newborn is unfathomable. I cannot resist running my finger over his daughter’s fuzzy dark hair.
“We should return to the nursery.” Shyla smiles. “Good luck, Kalinda.”
“Thank you.” I stroke Rehan’s soft head once more, and they disappear into the audience.
Parisa’s eyes go wide. “Hurry this way.” She ducks her head and links arms with Eshana and me, dragging us in the opposite direction from the place where she was looking. “General Gautam is over there. Last time we spoke, he tried to touch me.”
I twist my head to see the general, but we lose him in the crowd.
“Gautam is terrible,” says Eshana. “I would loathe to be his—Kalinda, your guard is looking for you.”
Deven starts to cross the covered terrace. He is supposed to wait outside the tents with the other guards. I try to repel him with an off-putting glower, but he keeps coming. What has come over him? The rajah could see him. I glance up at Tarek to see if he is still keeping an eye on me, and the gong sounds for quiet. All look to the rajah, rising from his throne.
“A treasure was returned to me this morning.” Tarek motions before us, and the crowd swivels to face the clearing. Two soldiers drag out a filthy woman and shove her to her knees on the grass. Whispers spread across the tent like a sudden wind. “My dear wife Taline has been found. Unfortunately, the guard she ran away with did not survive his capture.”
His contrived regret hardens my jaw.
Deven reaches me and speaks low in my ear. “We have to talk.”
“Not now.” He could not have chosen a worse time. We are surrounded by people, the rajah is watching me, and the reappearance of the runaway rani tells me something horrible is about to happen.
Lakia strolls out of the warm-up tent in the clearing, carrying an urumi.
“My kindred has requested that she carry out Taline’s penalty as a demonstration of her skill,” Tarek continues.
Great Anu, they are going to discipline the woman here.
“How many lashes, my kindred?” Tarek calls over the audience.
Lakia circles the woman, blades trailing in the grass like silver asps. “One for each day she was missing.”
“Husband, please forgive me,” Taline cries. “I will be loyal. I will obey.”
Tarek speaks over her, his hard eyes glinting. “How many days was she gone, Kindred?”