“The recipients were highly desired as wives. At the time, the rank tournaments were not in practice, and the recipient could reject a benefactor’s request.” Mathura’s tone darkens. “Then Tarek came to our temple. He wanted Yasmin at first sight. She refused him, but Tarek did not care for tradition, and he claimed Yasmin against her will.
“Word spread about what he had done, and the other benefactors felt their monetary endowments entitled them to any recipient they desired. The temple priestesses declined to change the rite, so some benefactors withdrew their requests, but most withdrew their funding. Fearing the closure of the temples, the sisters complied. The greediest benefactors began to claim recipients for courtesans and servants. Temple enlistment plummeted, so the brethren sent orphan girls to be wards.” Mathura looks down at the blank backs of her hands. “By the time I came of age two years later, I had no choice.”
She raises her cool gaze. “You are not the only one dismayed by the life you have been claimed for, but you have been given more than most. Yes, you must fight for your throne, but should you win, your children will be heirs to the empire. You will be permitted to raise them and keep them. You will not suffer the heartache I have for my sons.”
I lower my gaze, feeling properly chastised, but my problem still remains. “But how can I hide my loathing for Tarek?”
“You lay up your fury for when you need it most. Hatred is sustenance for survival. Use it right, and your loathing will sustain you through the tournament, all the way to your triumph.” Mathura pats my knee. “This is how I survive. This is how you will survive.” She stands with the dignity of a sister warrior. “I will meet you at the feast.”
Long, low tables fill the throne room, lit by hundreds of fat candles. Tarek is seated at the head of a table set above the rest on the dais, surrounded by his favored four. He beckons me forward. I would rather dine with hogs, but I go to him. Benefactors, courtesans, and ranis cram around lower tables bowed with platters of rich dishes. I do not see Jaya or Gautam.
“Here’s my champion!” Tarek welcomes me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
I cringe at the stench of apong on his breath, but I sit cross-legged on the floor cushion beside him. Mathura smiles a distant welcome and puffs on her pipe, her cane propped against the table. Beside her, Eshana beams with a friendliness that nearly curtails my unease for joining their elite group. Anjali lounges on her elbow, eating bits of pineapple, and Lakia sidles up to Tarek’s other side possessively, unsubtle as always about her incapacity to share him.
Tarek selects a hunk of charred flatbread from a basket and lays it on my plate. “Eat, love. We’re celebrating you. This tournament, this feast—”
“This wine,” Anjali says, saluting me with her cup.
“Yes, everything is in the viraji’s honor.” Tarek tops off his chalice and drinks to me. I manage a small smile.
Lithophone players perform on the other side of the dais. A dancer moves between the tables with precise, balanced stances. Her hand gestures match the beat, and she stamps her feet in a fancy rhythmic pattern. Tarek taps his fingers in time and eyes the dancer like a hawk spying a mouse in a field.
Jaya is still nowhere to be seen.
Laughter carries up from the attendees. Fareeshah grins, her mouth full of food. Should I also relish this feast as my last meal? I stare at my untouched plate, the food growing cold.
After another course that I do not partake of, servants carry baskets stacked with wooden lots from table to table. My challengers pick a lot and compare fate’s hand with their neighbors. When all of the wooden lots are dispersed, my opponents will be sectioned into pairs for the duels.
A servant brings a basket to Anjali. She digs her hand inside and plucks out a stick. Smiling wide, she picks her teeth with the pointy end.
Tarek’s chuckles boom in my ear. “Come,” he says, inviting Anjali to his side. She squeezes in between us, and I gladly scoot over for her. “You duel tomorrow, my sweet?”
She pets the nape of his neck. “Afraid for me?”
“You? Never.” He kisses her forehead, blessing her with good fortune.
I am partly disgusted, partly intrigued. The rajah cares for Anjali, yet he supports her fighting to the death. And, remarkably, despite his not claiming her as his rani, Anjali adores him. Tarek plays more mind games than Lakia. His charm, his bravado, his affection. Are all of these women willing to die for one of his kisses? Or are they playing their part in order to survive? The rajah has set himself up like a god, but I do not fear his power more than the gods’. I cannot be the only one.
I tolerate the rest of the feast as I would a long day in the oppressive desert sun. Eshana tops off Tarek’s chalice, and Lakia and Anjali compete for his lap. I slip away. Only Mathura acknowledges my departure and then returns to smoking her pipe. Manas and Yatin wait for me in the corridor, but still not Deven.
Natesa comes out in the hall to meet me. “Kalinda, have you seen Jaya? I heard she was claimed by the general.”
I would never tell her where Jaya is after what Natesa did to her, but I stop myself from saying so.
The kohl around Natesa’s eyes is smeared, as though she has been crying. She holds her arms securely across her chest. “I just want to know if Jaya is all right. I know you don’t think I care, but I do.”
I am so startled by Natesa’s sincerity that I answer in kind. “I don’t know where Jaya is. I saw her with the general at skill demonstrations, but not since.”
Natesa frowns, her dark eyes troubled. I hardly recognize this fretful young woman. “Are you all right?” I say.
Natesa glances over her shoulder at two benefactors watching her from a table in the hall. “I’m fine.” She raises a surly lip. “Go back to your private wing, where you are left alone.”
My heart speeds up. “Natesa, I—”
“If I see Jaya, I will tell her you’re looking for her.”
Natesa returns to the waiting benefactors. They receive her with hungry hands and oily smiles. Natesa’s eyes glaze over when the men touch her, reminding me of how Jaya was acting beside Gautam. I swallow through a rough, dry throat and start off to my chamber, my guards tailing me. I try to leave Natesa’s concern for Jaya behind, but it lays a slimy coating all over my insides. I am worried for both of them.
At my doorway, I turn my teary eyes away from my guards. “Please tell Asha not to disturb me tonight.”
“Viraji,” Yatin says in his gentle burr, “do you need anything?”
“Actually, yes. General Gautam claimed a new wife. I would like to meet with her. Please pass my inquiry along to her servants.”