I huff a dry laugh. “He doesn’t deserve that right. The glory of this is all mine.”
“This was an accident, Kalinda.” Baka rotates me away from the other sisters’ direct view. “They’ve voted for the prince, your friends, and you to leave.”
“But our wing flyer was taken,” I say, planting my heels. “And Indah sent for aid. The Lestarians will come with rations. We should wait here for them together.”
Healer Baka wraps one arm around me. “Priestess Mita wants you and your companions to start down the mountain. We’ll send the Lestarians for you after they arrive.”
I jerk from her hold. “The sisters and wards should know the truth. Bhutas are good. Don’t send us away or they’ll always fear my kind.”
Priestess Mita speaks from behind us. “They should fear you.” Healer Baka and I whirl around. The priestess’s glare ties my thoughts into a jumble of apologies, rendering me speechless. “You’re no sister warrior, and you’re not my kindred. Leave this place and take the Lestarian abominations with you.”
I am unsurprised that she would cast aside bhutas, but her disrespect for Ashwin unknots my tongue. “What of the prince? He’s your ruler.”
“My ruler is Rajah Tarek,” Priestess Mita corrects. “He leads the empire, not the prince.”
I reel on Baka “You told her?”
She extends an apologetic grimace. “As you said, they deserve to know the truth.”
“Anu sent Rajah Tarek back to save us,” Priestess Mita rails on. “He will preserve our sacred rites and finish exterminating your kind.”
Her gullibility floors me. “The gods never send souls back. They send them forward, to their next life. The rajah isn’t Tarek; he’s a demon in disguise.”
She screws her lips up like I am a piece of filth on her tongue. “You have no place to brand anyone a demon, slag.”
Baka gasps at the priestess’s use of the derogatory term for a Burner. I am flabbergasted they even know it.
Priestess Mita lifts her voice louder, unashamed of her contempt. “Go from here before the gods strike you down for the ruin you have brought upon these faithful sisters and wards.”
I tense my body to ward off my shaking. “These wards should know who they’re following. Rajah Tarek is a—”
“Go!” bellows the priestess. “Go and take your lies and corruption with you!”
Healer Baka speaks. “Mita—”
“Hush, Baka!” The priestess directs the full force of her animosity at her instead. “Either you side with us or you leave.”
The healer deflates. “I’m sorry, Kali. The wards need me.”
I need you too. I bite off the admission and seek a softening of heart from the sisters behind them. But they are united in their dismissal.
Sarita steps forward, little ones at her side. “Kalinda, take me with you.”
“You’re needed here,” I rasp, my emotions clogging my throat. The girls with Sarita stare up at me. I bend down to speak to them. Despite the priestess’s claim that I am demonic, they abide my presence. “Stay with Sarita and Healer Baka. They’ll keep you safe.” After I muster an encouraging smile for Sarita, I trudge across the snow to Ashwin. “We’ve been asked to leave, but they cannot make us.”
“No more contention,” Ashwin replies, rubbing at a headache. “We’ll go.”
He starts for the road, and Pons and Indah follow. I lock in a shout. Why is Ashwin listening to the sisters? He’s their rightful leader! I squeeze my fists at my sides and trail him down the road. Pons wraps his arm around Indah, and she leans against him. I cannot tell if she is sick again or simply exhausted from our horrible night. Whatever the case may be, she needs to rest. She should not be trekking down a snowy mountain.
My anger pushes like a blade into my gut. I stomp up to Ashwin. “Are you giving in?”
“Does it appear that way?”
“You’re feeling sorry for yourself. You should be thinking of our people.”
He addresses me, his walk swift. “A ruler doesn’t force himself upon his people. He cannot demand that they love or respect him. Besides, the priestess is right to send us away. We invited rebel deceivers here and they destroyed the temple.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to let them think the demon masquerading as your father is a better leader than you?”
Ashwin comes to an abrupt halt. “Who are you angry at, Kalinda? The priestess for sending you away? Me for not caring? Yourself for burning down your childhood home—”
I throw a small flame into the air between us, and he jumps back. “You’re Tarek’s son with or without me. Accept your fate and claim your throne. Stop pitying yourself.”
“I am my father’s son, but that doesn’t entitle you to speak to me so.”
“You’ve never been the exact image of your father until just now.”
His gaze flattens to a wall. “And you’re his murderess.”
Indah wedges in between us. “Stop it. You’re like dragons, snapping at each other’s gullets.” She clutches her stomach, and my temper dissolves to concern. Indah covers her mouth. Heaving into her hand, she runs for a shrub alongside the road.
Pons strides over to her. I fire a glare at Ashwin for letting the priestess bully us into leaving. Indah’s condition is his fault. She finishes retching and wipes her mouth on her sleeve.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re ill?” Ashwin asks.
“I’m not ill. I’m . . . I’m with child,” Indah replies. Ashwin and I stare openly. “Pons and I have known for a while. I’m more than five moons along.”
Her explanation adds to my amazement. She was with child when she traveled to Iresh to fight in the trial tournament. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“My father will be angry,” she whispers.
Pons tugs her in close. “Perhaps at first,” he says, “but he’ll praise Enki once he’s a grandfather. He loves you, and he will love our child.”
Ashwin fidgets with his gold cuff. Our gazes meet, and once again, I can envision his dream for us. The dream I stomped all over. His dejection is still too fresh, too visible. I have to look away.
A sudden northern wind arises, twirling down the road the way we came. Pons tilts his ear to the sky, and his eyes progressively widen.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Come along.” He leads Indah back the direction we came.
Ashwin and I hustle after them, following the smoke spiraling into the sky, around the bend in the road to Samiya. A mahati falcon, feathers rich red with orange undertones and yellow tips, circles the site of the fire. Its master rides the giant bird on a woven saddle. Her silvery hair flies behind her, striking as lightning against her sepia skin. The falcon screeches as it dives. The sisters and wards scatter and hide in the unburned section of forest. The great bird, its body large as a wagon and its wingspan three wagons wide, lands near the ice-covered lake.