We will start by returning their control.
I select my old friend, a military-grade khanda, and pick up a second. I carry both khandas to the women and lift my voice. “The imperial army has been deceived by a demon. Their counterfeit commander does not care for us or our empire. The true ruler of the Tarachand Empire is Prince Ashwin, and Kalinda Zacharias is your kindred. She has not forsaken you. She fled here to find and protect the prince. She knows that to save the empire she must preserve its heir.”
Natesa comes to my side. “Tell them you trust the prince,” she whispers.
I bristle. She wants me to lie?
Natesa huffs impatiently and addresses her peers. “Prince Ashwin gave Kindred Kalinda the choice to wed him or go free. He has never spoken of retaining me as his courtesan, and he won’t force any of you to stay in wedlock or servitude to his inherited throne.” The women murmur to each other in astonishment. “Prince Ashwin is a fair and noble ruler. He cares for his people and the fate of our empire.”
A clatter of thunder foreshadows crooked bolts of lightning flashing overhead. The women cry out and stoop down. A baby wails, and mothers cradle their little ones nearer. I cannot bring myself to preach to these frightened women about the prince’s virtues, but I can warn them about Udug.
“The demon rajah doesn’t care for your well-being,” I shout. “He hungers to wipe out our world.” I hand my spare khanda to a rani with thick white scars on her arm. “You’re free to decide your own fate. You can fight for your homeland—or stand by and watch it fall.”
Parisa and Eshana rise and come forward to choose a weapon. Shyla passes her baby to a nursemaid and selects a sword. Asha would have received less training than most of the women here, yet she picks up two haladies. They and my friends join me, each armed, and we start for the doorway.
“Where are you going?” a rani calls.
“To fight,” I reply. “If you wish for your children to live through the night, you’ll pick up a weapon and come with us.”
Outside the Tigress Pavilion, through the corridor casements, I see rebel soldiers stationed in the garden. Tremblers fortify the perimeter wall, and Galers conduct the thunderstorm. Repeated lightning strikes glint above. Farther out in the city, Udug’s spooky blue flames flicker closer.
“Hastin knows we’re coming,” Opal says. “Deven, he’s waiting for you in the entry hall.”
Only the sister warriors who collected weapons stand with me. I do not wait for the other ranis and courtesans to come. I leave the wives’ wing for the central palace.
At the landing of the curved stairway in the rotunda entry, Hastin shouts orders. Out the open main door, I see Tremblers erect a thick barrier of clay bricks to protect the front gate, and Aquifiers roll heavy water barrels into the grounds and set them on end. Anjali sits on a lower step of the opposite staircase, pressing a compress to the back of her head.
Hastin’s gray eyes bore into mine. “Tell me why I shouldn’t smash your bones to pieces for accosting my daughter.”
“We’re here to fight with you.”
He leers, all surliness. “We don’t need you interfering, Captain.”
“General,” I correct. “Prince Ashwin appointed me as head of the imperial army.” Hastin sniffs in dismissal and starts to go. I call after him. “We deserve to go to battle too.”
He revolves on his heels. “Were your people hunted and slaughtered?” he asks, then waits for my reply.
“No.”
“I was away from home when the soldiers came to my village. They broke down my door and executed my wife and sons. I found Anjali, a newborn, bundled in a blanket. My wife had hidden her in a pot so the soldiers wouldn’t find her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology,” he growls, trembling the floor. “I want you to stop wasting my time. Retreat to the wives’ wing and take these women with you.”
I follow his gaze to the lines of armed ranis and courtesans packing the curved staircases. Shyla and Asha lead the troops, Parisa and Eshana beside them. I do a swift head count. Nearly all the women have come.
I inflate my chest, my pride uncontainable. “These sister warriors can hold their ground in battle. Udug’s army is ten thousand strong. You’d be a fool to refuse their aid.”
The warlord balls his hands into fists, like two sledgehammers. He could grind my bones to dust. I have suffered a Trembler’s grinding once before, but I do not let my remembrance of the agony move me. “You could never understand,” he says. “You’re not a father. All of this, unseating Tarek, seizing his palace, facing a demon, is to make a better world for my daughter.” He points at Anjali on the staircase. “She is the reason I will not let you stand in my way.”
“Many of these ranis and courtesans are mothers. They want their children to survive the night, just like you.”
“I let their children live!” Hastin bellows, stamping so hard he dents the marble title. “I could have slaughtered Tarek’s wives and sons like he slaughtered mine, but I showed them mercy! These women should drop to their knees and thank Anu they do not know true heartache.”
In the wake of his echoed anger through the rotunda, I reply, “If our people do not come together, we will all know that sorrow. None of us will have a future.”
Warning shouts reach us from outside the main entry. Then the palace walls shudder. The sister warriors clutch the staircase railing. I widen my stance, bracing until the shaking passes.
A rebel races in and reports. “They’ve armed their catapults!”
Hastin marches out, the ground vibrating with his every step. Anjali and I hurry after him. Night has fallen, driven away by the thunderheads. Booms ricochet from catapults at a distance, and several boulders sling toward the palace in an arch.
“Redirect!” shouts the warlord.
Winds propel the boulders back over the wall, into the city. A lightning bolt strikes one, breaking the boulder apart. Rocks the size of my fist shower the courtyard. Before they pelt us, Anjali blasts them away with a gust.
Aquifiers unleash a downpour from the storm clouds, drenching my turban and dripping into my eyes. The thick sheet of rain will hinder the army’s view and slick the catapults’ inner workings, but that will only slow them. Udug and his soldiers will reach the wall, and the bhutas will need more than winds and rain and quakes to defeat them. Bhuta powers are limited, and even with their combined strength, the rebels will tire against an army this size. We all pray the rebels can overpower Udug, but he has already breeched the city when they thought he could not. Every single warrior, bhuta or not, must stand against him.
“Hastin,” I plead. “You need us.”
The warlord taps his index finger agitatedly against his thigh, his gaze darting over the finished clay wall blocking the palace gate. “Very well. Fight at your own peril. Station your troops on the ramparts. They’ll intercept the soldiers. The rebels will combat Udug.”