I arch a brow. “You think Anu would have spared their lives if they had refused to fight each other?”
“We will never know. None of them fought for anything other than their own lives. If they had banded together, as sisters, I believe Anu would have taken mercy on them and they would have lived. Ki believed the virtue of sisterhood to be the solution. She organized the Sisterhood, built temples, and instituted a whole line of women to teach the following generations. These ideals have been forgotten, but they are not lost.” He pushes his hands against his knees to help his old legs stand. “Just think how Enlil’s courtesans would have changed the world had they chosen peace.”
Brother Shaan starts to leave. I rise and meet him at the bars. “Do you really think the tournaments can be changed?”
“Anything can be changed by those who have the courage to blaze their own path.”
“But which path do the gods want us to follow? Ours or theirs?” I grip the bars, impatient for an answer.
Brother Shaan’s gaze bores into mine. “You assume your path and the gods’ path lead you in separate directions. But they are one and the same.”
One path. I thought that my destiny was determined long ago and that I could not alter it. But what if my life never was out of my control? What if it is not?
Brother Shaan smiles, understanding infinitely more than I do about the mysteries of the gods. He bows. “Viraji.”
I stay pressed to the cell bars, listening to his retreating footfalls. Brother Shaan implied that the gods want what I want. I wish to bring back Jaya and Deven. I wish to hold Jaya’s hand and stroke Deven’s cheek.
But bringing back the dead is beyond even Anu’s power.
Misery weighs me down. If I cannot have Jaya and Deven, then what? I do not mull over my second choice for long. I want what I have wished for every day of my life—peace. But a simple, quiet life will be hard-won. The rajah will not give me up. My challengers will not fall easily. I have as much chance of surviving the tournament as Jaya and Deven have of rising from the dead.
Body heavy, I return to the corner and curl up in a ball. The rats revisit me, circling my meal tray. They chatter to each other, plotting how they will sneak up to my food without my noticing. Jaya was always strategizing ahead, anticipating others’ decisions. If she were here, she would say that I am an inexperienced fighter but I have a cause worth fighting for. She would say that my weapons may not have blades but I can wield five virtues mightier than any sword. Deven would tell me that my fate may be to die in the arena but I can fall with honor. I am not ready to die. If I were to allow Tarek to defeat me, Jaya and Deven would have perished for nothing.
This is my fate—to fight, to stand up to tradition, to finish what Yasmin could not.
I crawl to my waiting supper tray, scattering the rats, and eat.
Tarek comes for me the next morning. I lick the yogurt from my finger, and he looks in on me with surprise. “You’ve come to your senses,” he says.
The guard unlocks the door, and I exit the cell. Tarek kisses my cheek with more reserve than usual. He does not trust my obedience yet, but he will, because he wants to trust it.
“The time has come to prepare you for the arena. Will you behave yourself?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Desire sparks in his eyes. He pulls me close and kisses me. My cheeks heat from the force of not fighting him off.
“That color becomes you, love,” he says of my blush. “I hope to see it more often.”
Tarek escorts me to the wives’ wing and waits in my chamber while Asha readies me for the tournament. I have a new role to play today, my toughest performance yet. I am to act the part of a warrior.
Behind the dressing screen, Asha wraps a band of ivory fabric around my breasts, sealing them to my ribs, and then holds up loose trousers for me to step into. They hang from my hips to my ankles, the cloth baggy between. The straps of sturdy flat sandals wind up my shins, and leather cuffs strengthen my wrists. Asha smudges dramatic makeup onto my face. My lips are bloodred, my eyes dark and wide, my cheeks rouged. She then braids strips of ivory into my hair, the same shade as my uniform. I will be dusty the second I step into the arena, but the white will look striking for the procession.
I eye myself in the mirror glass for flaws, but Asha has done her job well. If I did not know myself, I would believe that I was the rajah’s champion. I tuck that knowledge away to draw on later.
“May the gods be with you,” Asha whispers.
I step out from behind the dressing screen for Tarek’s final inspection. He nods approvingly with a hint of adoration and then leads me out the main entry. The imperial court and soldiers prepare for the final journey to the amphitheater. Beyond the gates, the people chant for their champion. After today, I hope to be worthy of that title.
Many eyes follow us as we cross the courtyard to the line of waiting elephants. Others must have heard of my failed attempt to flee the palace, but if they disagree with Tarek’s decision to keep an unfaithful viraji, no one dares speak loud enough for us to hear.
Mathura stands off to the side with the favored four, and I meet her gaze. She looks older, as though a lifetime has landed on her all at once. I expect her to be angry with me, but her loving eyes bear the same silent message as Deven’s final words. You can do anything you set your heart on. His echoed confidence shines from her. Nothing I say can replace her son, but maybe she understands that I tried to save him. Maybe she is as sick of death as I am. Maybe she knows that I fight for us all.
Before I climb up the stairway to the howdah, Tarek pauses. “I have a surprise for you.”
Guards bring forward the old shepherd who helped me on my journey to Vanhi, along with his wife. The elderly couple bows. “Viraji,” they say, smiling.
I embrace both of them. They smell of the Alpanas, of budding spring grass and chilly, starry nights. But why did Tarek bring them here? Worry for their safety hides behind my glassy smile. “I’m glad you came.”
“The moment we met you, we knew you were a rani,” the old man says with his strange rolling r’s. “We wish you the blessing of the gods.”
I thank them repeatedly. I need their prayers more than they could possibly know.
Tarek speaks to a guard. “Find them seats in the amphitheater, and see that they are comfortable.”
The older couple bows in appreciation and shambles away arm in arm. Tarek helps me climb into the howdah.
“How did you find them?” I ask.
“They asked for you at the gates. I thought you would be pleased to see them.”
Tarek does nothing out of kindness. He means to prove that I can have a family, home, and love with him. I do not wish to owe him even the smallest sliver of gratitude, but I must convince him that I am the compliant young woman he wishes me to be.