I fall to my knees with an enraged cry and throw my hands out. A heatwave flies off my glowing fingers, and a hot wind ravages the tapestry, igniting it in a blinding blast of flames. I cringe away to protect my face, and when I look back again, the blazing doorway is gone. Black char stains the bricks, and the air hints of singed hair and burning dust.
The fire starts to die, and with it, my inner flame shrinks to a faint flicker. Rajah Tarek will think that Brac let loose the heatwave. But I want Tarek to know that I did it. I want him to fear me.
Deven lifts me to my feet, but I pull away from him, my tear-filled eyes burning from the clearing smoke. On the other side of the doorway, the rajah shouts for his guards to follow us. Fury fires through my veins. Tarek must pay.
“Kali,” says Deven, “we have to go.”
His face comes into focus, the bloodied mess that once was his beautiful jaw and lips. I cannot risk his life again. Someday I will go for Tarek’s throat. Someday I will make him hurt. Someday, but not today.
I run with Brac and Deven down the passageway. My grief stretches to new heights as we travel away from the hidden door, away from the chapel, away from Jaya. Without a torch, the dark is darker and the water is louder, rushing through my ears like a midnight rainstorm. Deven latches on to me for balance, and I stick to his side, relying on his fortitude as much as he does mine. He is propped heavier against me the farther and faster we walk.
Somewhere in the blackness behind us, footsteps pound. Little spots approach—torches.
We dash out of the tunnel into a dim cavern. Brac runs down an incline toward the blue-black river gushing below. Deven and I try to match his pace, but we lose our footing. We trip over each other and tumble to the bottom of the slope, shy of the riverbank.
Brac stands knee-deep in the rushing water. “Run!”
Soldiers spill out of the passage above us. The archers line up and arm their bows. I hold Deven up, and we stagger for the river; it will take us downstream, a faster escape than on foot. A few steps later, Deven jerks against me and collapses. I stumble under his weight and take some of the impact of his fall. My hand comes away slick with blood.
“Good gods,” I breathe. An arrow is lodged in Deven’s shoulder, the serrated tip burrowed deep in his flesh.
His brow scrunches in pain. “Kali, I’m done.”
“No!” My quaking fingers grasp his chest. “You have to get up.”
He rolls onto his side, blood flowing down his back. “Leave me.”
His order triggers a flash of panic. “No. I cannot do this without you.”
“You can do anything you set your heart on.” He pushes me.
More guards rush out of the tunnel, armed with bows and arrows. Tarek runs behind them, yelling, “Stop them!”
The archers release a swarm of arrows, spearing the muddy ground and nearly clipping my foot. I grab Deven’s ankles and drag him, still on his side, down to the mucky riverbank. He groans and tells me to stop. I ignore him and the trail of fresh blood he leaves behind.
Brac sloshes back to help. He grips Deven under the arms, and I pull his legs. Cool water laps over him, but it is not deep enough. Soldiers’ steps thunder behind us.
I press my lips to Deven’s and send up a quick Prayer of Protection. “Let the sky lead you, the land ground you, the fire cleanse you, and the water feed you.”
He murmurs something, but I cannot make it out.
“I will follow you,” I say, and with one final push, I shove Deven into the river. Brac catches him, holding both their heads above the surface, and drags him into the current. The fast-moving water picks them up and sweeps them along.
I slog into the frigid water after them. More arrows fly in front of me, blocking my path. Deven and Brac float out of sight. I run with the current, hurrying after them near the shore.
“Seize her!”
Water rises to my waist, and the river sucks me downstream. I move my arms back and forth near the surface to keep my head above water. Splashes sound behind me, and Manas grabs me. I try to kick him off, but he is a stronger swimmer and will not let me go. I bob under and up again. Manas hauls me, my arms and legs flailing, back to shore.
I sputter up mouthfuls of river water, my limbs wet and heavy. Manas and another guard lug me before Tarek and shove me to my knees. I hang my head as I regain my breath, but I can see that the rajah is pressing a hand to his bleeding thigh, where I stabbed him; his injury is at my eye level.
“The captain may have gotten away,” he says, “but he will not live through the night.”
My chin shoots up. Tarek has taken away everyone I love. I have obeyed for too long. I will be silent no more.
“I hate you,” I say, and I reach for my powers, vowing that the first second Tarek realizes that I am a bhuta will be his last. But I have exhausted my inner flame. I could parch his soul-fire for fuel, but I would have to be close enough to lay my hands on his skin. Still, that would knock him out long enough for me to push his fire right back in, scorching him. I draw my dagger and stand.
Tarek raises a finger, stopping an archer from shooting me. “You will not kill me, love.”
“You are wrong. I am not Yasmin. I am Kalinda, and you will pay.” I lift my knife as though I plan to cut away his smug smile, and then I move in with my free hand. But before I can touch Tarek, I see the blur of something arcing toward my head—and then nothing.
30
A foul stench wakes me. I lift my head to look around and then drop my cheek back to the sandy floor. The dungeons stink as dreadfully as I recall.
I do not sit up when a guard brings a breakfast tray into my cell, nor do I stir when he leaves, locking the iron door behind him. I lie on my side, waiting for Tarek to come and force me to attend the tournament.
He does not come, but the rats do. They scurry close, sniff my feet, and twitch their whiskers. I do not move for them either. Eventually, they grow bold and help themselves to my untouched food. I let them have it.
Sand works its way under my clothes, a gritty itch that I lack the will to scratch. I stare at my hands. My worthless hands. All I can do in this poisonous prison is think. I have more than enough hours to reflect on what went wrong, but I do not need them. I know why I am here. The gods are punishing me. I strayed from their path, and they crushed my rebellious dreams.
“You look droopy today, love.”
Tarek drags a chair to the bars and sits facing me. He is dressed for the tournament in his finest jewel-adorned tunic and turban, the rubies cold crimson in the dim light. Either he knows that I am a bhuta and I have no power here, or he does not suspect what I am. I doubt that it would matter if he did know. He would probably find a way to restrict me by tying a collar of noxious herbs around my neck.