I step out from behind the dressing screen wearing plain dark clothes that I found in the cabinet. The fitted trousers will take some adapting to, but I already prefer their convenience over the lengthy process of pleating, pinning, and tucking a sari over a blouse and petticoat. I smile to myself as I pack another set of trousers and tunic to bring to Samiya.
“What’s so amusing?” Mathura asks, entering my chamber.
“I was imagining Priestess Mita’s expression when she sees me in trousers.”
Mathura sizes me up. “A skirt is more proper for a rani, but they’re flattering on you.”
I glimpse my profile in the mirror glass. The trousers define my lower body and hips. Priestess Mita will say my attire is scandalous, but my wardrobe is the least of the changes that have come over me since we last saw each other.
“You just missed Deven,” Mathura notes.
“I know.” I stuff the last of my belongings into my pack, pushing hard to fit the extra clothes. Between the colder mountain weather and the chill inside me, it will be a battle to stay warm.
Mathura sits on the end of the bed. “Natesa told me you’ve grown close to Prince Ashwin.” Before I can guess what she is insinuating, she finishes. “That’s for the best. You’re the kindred of the Tarachand Empire, and a good one at that.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you want, Mathura?”
“Deven will never interfere with your duties. He’ll hold on to the dream of you unless you tell him otherwise.”
“I love your son,” I say, forcing an even tone.
“Do you love him enough to step away from your throne? Few women have the influence you hold. Natesa says the prince respects you—he says you’re equals. Do you understand how rare that is? That’s a gift from the gods. You’d be a fool to squander it.”
She forgets I am not only the kindred; I am a Burner. My people will never accept me as I am. Even the ranis held captive in the palace were raised to despise my kind. I hid what I am from them, and I doubt I will regain their trust once they learn my true heritage. “When the time is right, I will step aside.”
Mathura clucks her tongue. “My son is a good man, but that’s folly, Kalinda. You’re a rani. You’ll always be beyond his reach.”
Gods alive, I hope Deven does not share her opinion.
Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he left without saying good-bye, why he hasn’t asked me to relinquish my throne. Maybe he’s afraid I won’t walk away.
More doubts worm into my mind. I sided with Ashwin about the rebels. But Deven understands loyalty and duty better than anyone else. He will think back on our disagreement and realize that I supported Ashwin for the sake of the empire. I just hope Deven forgives me for the hurt my choice is causing him.
Mathura adjusts her sari pleats. “I’m leaving for Janardan with Ambassador Chitt. I trust when I see you next this will be resolved.”
“It will be.” By then the war will be over, and Ashwin will have secured his throne and palace. I will be free of my obligations. Free to openly love Deven. And free to tell Mathura to quit meddling.
I will savor that day.
A knock comes at the door, and Indah lets herself in. She is followed by a balding man in a long indigo robe.
“Healer Mego has come for Kalinda,” says Indah. “We’ll leave you two alone.”
Mathura rises, stately in her grace. “Think on my words, Kalinda.” She bows to emphasize my standing as kindred and sweeps out of the chamber after Indah.
Healer Mego sets his basket down on the table, rolls up his sleeves, and examines me with pale-gray eyes. “Indah told me you were corrupted by a demon.”
I grapple with his verbiage. “Corrupted” sounds as though I have been irrevocably wrecked. “We don’t have long before I have to leave. Can you heal me?”
“All in due time.” He unpacks his basket and lifts his hands, palms facing me. “I need you to burn me.”
“B-burn you?”
“Don’t fret, child. Do as I say.” Healer Mego presses our hands together, our palms and fingers touching. His old hands are marginally bigger than mine and smooth as the inside of a coconut. His arms are covered in more hair than his head. “Go on.”
My fingers glow white-yellow with soul-fire. His flesh must be blistering, yet he does not wince or draw back. He fixates on my fingertips. As I push my powers into them, my fire darkens to greenish yellow, then a sickly jade, and then . . . sapphire sparks fly out.
I douse my powers and shrink away from the vanishing blue fire. The healer lowers his unburned hands.
“How . . . how did you do that?” I ask.
“Years of practice.” Healer Mego unrolls his sleeves, his gaze resisting mine. “I’m sorry, Kindred. The Voider’s toxins are beyond healing. Only he can remove his poison from you.”
“What?” My hope to extract the cold-fire within me wastes away. “But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’m afraid his toxic cold will smother your soul-fire until it’s gone.”
“I’ll die?” No mortal can live without soul-fire. It is our essence.
“Your mortal half is already dying.” At my expression of horror, he adds, “You can try Razing, but I do not recommend you do so. The poisons would be quelled for a short while, but they would return twofold.”
My belly flips and dives. I have razed once before. An Aquifier cut me several times to bleed out a poison that hid my abilities. I will not relive that excruciating ritual for a temporary reprieve. “Can you do anything?” I plead.
“No,” he replies, his tone gentle. “I’m sorry.”
I sink onto the chair, knocking my pack to the floor. The temptation to lie down and let the cold consume me nearly pushes me to tears. The healer repacks his basket. Why did he even come if he cannot help me? I want to tell him to go away, but I withhold my bitterness. Lashing out at him would be wrong, and I cannot abide the thought of Udug winning in any small way. He will not compel me to cry or give into my endless shivers. He would have me believe I cannot survive. But we have the Lestarian Navy on our side, and soon the rebels will stand with us. Both are mercies from the gods.
I harvest a kernel of courage and push out my voice. “How long do I have until . . . ?”
“The full effect of the poisons takes a moon to manifest.”
“Udug poisoned me a fortnight ago.” I have about that much time left to find a remedy the healer is unaware of or persuade Udug to cure me. Any chance is better than the healer’s predicted outcome. “Are you certain no one can ward off the Voider’s powers?” I ask, thinking of Ashwin. “What if someone’s soul-fire can lessen the cold within me?”
“I would caution against relying on another’s soul-fire to supplement your own. Such practices are unpredictable and will worsen your side effects.” My fear returns, as does his kindly voice. “If you stay in Lestari, I will make your final hours comfortable.”
I scoop up my bag. “I must go.”
“Kindred, I pray you’ll reconsider. The damage the Voider’s powers are wreaking—”
“Is less than what he plans to do the world.” I pause at the door. “Thank you. I trust you’ll keep this between us.” I wait for the healer to grasp my expectation and then go.
Ashwin rushes down the corridor, dressed in his travel clothes. “There you are. We’re ready to depart.” He slows to a halt, his eyes growing. “What are you wearing?”