I watch him from the corner of my eye and ask Brac, “When?”
“The morning after the wedding, the courtesans’ wing will be emptied,” Brac says. He appeals to his brother next. “If you still don’t believe me, come with us, and you can hear it from someone you trust.”
Deven glances my way for an explanation, but I do not know who that trusted person could be. I too am reluctant, afraid of walking into a trap. I believe that Brac cares for his brother and that he would not lead us into harm’s way. However, Brac is loyal to his people. Even with his vow, I fear his intentions are purely in favor of the bhutas.
Deven’s glare cinches in on his brother. “Does the warlord have a plan to save Mother?”
“I wouldn’t have told you about this if he didn’t.”
I plead silently with Deven to join me. Coming along must be his choice.
He nods shortly. “Fine. I’ll go along.”
Brac’s grin nearly splits his face. “Meet me in the chapel.” He walks to the balcony, leaps over the banister, and drops out of sight.
Deven turns his back to me. “Why didn’t you tell me you met Brac?”
“I didn’t know he was your brother.”
“And if you had known?”
I hold my tongue. I doubt that I would have told Deven even then.
He sighs wearily and faces me. “Are you armed?”
I pat the dagger tucked against my lower back. A useless precaution. My blade will not protect us against bhuta powers. Neither will Deven’s sword, yet he sheathes it in preparation. I let him have the reassurance of his steel, for once we face the warlord, we will be at his mercy.
24
Before we meet Brac, we have to pass Manas and Yatin, stationed outside my door. Deven and I come up with a quick justification and go out to meet them.
“The captain has offered to escort me to the chapel,” I say, sniffling like I have been crying. “He suggested that I pray for my fallen contenders.”
Yatin nods with understanding. Manas eyes us more closely, not as easily convinced.
“Would you like us to come along?” he asks.
“No one will bother the viraji in the chapel,” answers Deven. “One guard will be enough. You are both relieved of duty for the night.”
Yatin extends a sympathetic smile to me. Manas frowns suspiciously at his captain. Deven challenges the young guard with a direct stare until Manas bows curtly, and we go.
Brac waits for us at the back of the chapel. Before I can inquire why we are here, he lifts the bottom corner of a long tapestry on the wall, exposing a hidden passageway. Deven ducks through first without any sign of surprise or trepidation. My hand hovers over the dagger hidden at my back as I step into the dark.
Brac leads us down a stone stairwell, his oil lamp lighting our way. My heartbeat echoes with each footfall.
“How did you know this was here?” I whisper.
“Deven and I found these passageways as children. There’s a network of them all over the palace. We used to slip out of the nursery through them. When we were older, we used the passageways to escape kitchen duties.”
Deven stares straight ahead, unmoved by his brother’s memories. Brac must have also used these tunnels to sneak around the palace before and after our meetings.
The stone steps give way to a steep gravel decline. My feet crunch over loose rocks as the passage narrows to a low-ceilinged tunnel. Water runs down the muddy walls to rivulets at our feet. I skid on a slick rock, and Deven is immediately at my side.
“Take my hand,” he says. I clasp it hard. I have wished for time alone with him in the dark, but this is not what I envisioned.
We descend deeper underground, the damp air laying a heavy film on my skin. Gradually, our surroundings lighten to a hazy gray that peels back the darkness. The running water grows louder, rushing in my ears. Brac blows out the lamp, and Deven releases my hand. My fingers twitch at the loss of his comforting touch.
My eyesight adjusts, and I make out the shape of Brac in front of us. The tunnel opens to an enormous underground shaft. Bits of light from the city above filter through slim openings in the high ceiling.
“What is this place?” My voice bounds off the walls and comes back to me.
“The last of the turquoise mines,” Deven replies. “Several passageways lead down here, though they are mostly forgotten. Veins of turquoise run throughout the rock along the banks of the underground river. Many of those veins have since dried up, and the mines have closed.”
Our path turns onto a ledge along the riverbank and up a sheer incline. Something shiny catches my eye. Along the wall, scraggy streaks of robin’s-egg blue gleam through the dirt, the remains of a turquoise vein. We walk uphill long enough to tax my legs, right up to a wooden door. Anything could be on the other side.
“Viraji, once you step through the door, there is no turning back.”
Brac means I cannot go back on our bargain, but I am more concerned about the Razing than I am about what the bhutas have planned. The thought of being bled roils my stomach.
“Kali,” Deven says quietly, “are you certain this is what you want?”
Hesitancy paralyzes me. I am frightened of what I can do without my tonic, but I am also afraid of what will happen if I do not raze. My gaze skips from the door to Deven. “What if Brac is right about me?”
“You needn’t worry about that, Kali.”
“I am worried.” I will not let him dismiss this as an extension of his own squashed feelings for his brother. “This could reveal me to be a bhuta.” He flinches at the word. “You hate them. You cannot ignore that.”
“Certainly he can,” Brac retorts.
Deven hurls a glower at his younger brother and then refocuses on me. “I don’t hate bhutas. War demands allegiance. I had to pick a side, and I chose the empire. That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about the people who matter most to me.”
Brac scowls at his feet.
Deven pauses, reaching for the right words. “I know what it’s like to run from who you are. I tried that when I joined the Brotherhood, but I was meant to be a soldier.”
“Exactly my point,” I say. Concern makes my voice scratchy. “If I’m a bhuta, that would make us—”
“Enemies,” Brac says, confronting Deven with an arched brow. “It isn’t too late to turn back. The viraji can carry on without you.”
Whether in defiance of his brother’s suggestion or in support of me, Deven answers without faltering. “No.” He brushes my cheek with the whisper of a touch. “I am with you.”