Below us, Natesa repeats the Prayer of Rest, and then Shyla speaks the blessing on Ameya’s soul next. Then Eshana and Parisa lend their voices. Idle chatter dies to a hum of shushed murmurs. The prayer ripples out to the other ranis, each bowing her head in respect. Every courtesan and rani, besides Lakia, honors the fallen young woman. A surge of pride pushes me to my feet, and I sit back down.
Tarek leans toward me and taps my knee, his tone quiet. “Have a care, Kali. You do not wish for me to tire of your boldness. I still find you amusing, but that could quickly change.”
I shrink away from him, my insides boiling. Only Tarek would view a prayer as rebellion, but I need not show my support for the defeated challengers again. My message has been felt by his court. Those who perish in this tournament are not refuse. They are our sisters.
Gongs ring in unison, followed by a tournament official proclaiming the start of the second duel. Witnessing the bloodbath of the next two duels does not get easier for me; however, Lakia’s smile widens with each passing death. One less woman with whom to share her husband.
At midday we pause for a meal. I wave off the food tray, too nauseated to keep anything down. The dirt arena floor, once brown, is splattered with blood. When the time comes, I do not know how I will find the courage to add to the gore.
When the midday meal finishes, Anjali is summoned with Cala for the fourth duel. Tarek remains relaxed in his throne, displaying no worry for the youngest of his favored four. The gongs ring, and Cala lunges. Anjali dismembers Cala’s arm in the first blow. Cala sinks to her knees with an agonized yell. Anjali silences her with a clean blow to the heart.
Tarek claps loudly, and Lakia scowls at him. I cringe away from both of them. Seeing Anjali fight, I am certain she could defeat me. Someone with her skill would not need to stoop to sabotage. A different courtesan slipped the asp into my bed, and with four competitors already dead, I may never know who.
The four winners are called out for their final match of the day. All save Anjali bear injuries from their earlier battle. Selfishly, I wish for their speedy deaths and a swift end to this butchery.
A rapt silence blankets the crowd. The gongs boom, reverberating down to the marrow in my bones. The attacks commence. Tired arms swing heavy blades. Pained grunts carry over hushed spectators. The first challenger defeated falls, awakening the spectators’ voices. Then a second fighter is downed. There is more frantic applause. Only Anjali and Shanti remain.
Tarek sits forward, his gaze fixed on Anjali. His favored courtesan paces around her opponent, but she is limping, and her khanda is lowered. Anjali is losing strength. Shanti swings at her. Anjali dodges and kicks Shanti in the kneecap. Shanti drops to the ground.
I wince, and the audience roars. Anjali brandishes her sword, swinging it flagrantly for all to see, and then stands over her injured opponent and drives the blade between Shanti’s eyes. It is a ruthless triumph that petrifies me to the soul.
22
I fend off Tarek’s wandering hands and sloppy kisses during the return procession to the Turquoise Palace. He is all hands when he is drunk, but his reaction time is slower. I abandon him at the howdah and run off through the crowded courtyard into the palace ahead of my guards.
The corridors fly by in a haze. I burst into my room, ready to scream or sob—or both. Deven turns from my balcony, where he was watching the procession arrive, his eyes brimming with compassion. Finding him waiting for me unlocks the fear I have held in all day. Warm tears trickle down my cheeks. He opens his arms, and I fill them, crying against his shoulder.
“I watched those women die, and I did nothing.”
He rubs my back, his caresses as soft as his voice. “They chose to fight.”
My tears flow faster. His being right does not change the mark their deaths have made on my heart. The palace walls thin around me, and I can feel the Beyond. I am aware of my tender mortality, how close I am to the divide between life and death. Deven holds me until my sorrow runs dry.
I wipe my damp cheeks. “I thought you had changed posts.”
“I thought you wanted me to.”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.” I told Mathura that I would remind Deven that I am the viraji, but he knows who I am, and he is still here. I lay my cheek against his solid chest and savor him, his sandalwood scent a precious comfort.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there today,” he says. His gentleness unlooses more of my tears. “Jaya’s sorry too. I spoke to her while you were gone. She’s lodging here in the palace.”
I look up at him, my heart lightening. “You saw Jaya?”
“I stayed behind to search for her.”
I throw my arms around his neck and hold him closer. “Thank you.”
Deven eases us back toward the wall, out of the open. “It isn’t safe, Kali.”
“It will never be safe.” After a day of biting my tongue, I revel in the lack of constraint, and my words tumble out. “I cannot forget our kiss.”
Deven draws me behind the silk draperies, secreting us in a cozy cocoon. My hands remain fastened to his shoulders. “I cannot forget either, but I don’t want it to be like this, with you smelling of him. I don’t want to watch over my shoulder, terrified that every moment I’m with you will be my last. I want you to myself, Kali.”
My fingers seek the soft hairs below the neck of his turban. “I want that too.”
He tilts forward, resting his forehead against mine. I realize that any second he will come to his senses. His morals as a soldier will force him to stop, and he will warn me that we can never touch again. But Deven inhales through his nose, breathing me in, and presses his lips to mine.
His lips touch mine urgently, without a care for regulations or threats. He runs his hands through my hair and pours his unspoken words into me. I should stop this. I should be the reasonable-minded one. But there is no reason when it comes to my feelings for Deven.
I kiss him back and remove his turban, dropping it, and my fingers weave into his silky hair. His hands travel to my waist, and his kisses deepen. His gripping fingers loosen as they begin gentle strokes. Slowly, so slowly, his lips part from mine.
Deven releases an explosive breath. “Jaya’s waiting for you in the herb garden. Yatin will show you the way.”
I do not know how long we have been hiding behind the curtain, but I want to stay inside this silk chrysalis forever.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I trace his jaw up to the curve of his bottom lip.
He kisses my fingertips and pulls my hand away. His other hand smooths down my hair. His own hair is ruffled and free, a soft tumble of waves around his flushed face. “The rajah saw me approach you at skill demonstrations. We don’t want to give him another reason to look our way.” Deven kisses me again and smiles to lift my worries. “I’ll be all right. Go meet your friend.”