My open balcony door teems with morning light. I stretch my toes to the end of my canopy bed, reaching for sunshine. Noises of working men rise from the garden. Last night, Gemi closed the gulch in the palace grounds, and Brac led the surrendered rebels to the dungeons. Most had exhausted their powers during battle, preventing them from fighting or fleeing. Including Anjali, just over half survived.
Ashwin sent Deven and me to rest and then took charge, sorting through the dead and overseeing aid for the wounded. Though I wanted to visit with the ranis and courtesans, I was glad to leave the battle site. Until yesterday, none of my palace friends were aware that I am a Burner. We have much work to do to reeducate our people about bhutas.
Deven rubs his foot up my insole, tickling me. I prod him with my toe to stop.
“We should get up,” I say, a suggestion born of guilt more than desire.
Deven hooks me with his arm and drags me against him. “Not yet,” he mutters sleepily.
After peeling ourselves off the marble floor, we stumbled to my old bedchamber and passed out from exhaustion. I hardly remember pushing the ridiculously huge pile of satin pillows from the bed and falling asleep beside Deven.
In thinking over last night, I remember the initial death toll—twenty-one ranis and forty-nine courtesans. We have yet to tally the soldiers, though the total missing and deceased is anticipated to be in the thousands. Deven also informed me of Rohan’s demise. In turn, I told him of the destruction of the Samiya temple. My sorrow returns for all those who gave their lives, but some aspects of yesterday remain murky.
“How did you convince Hastin to unite with the sister warriors?”
Deven traces swirls across my arm. “I realized you were right and told him we needed to work together. I even gave a speech to the ranis and courtesans about your devotion to them.”
I splay my fingers across his chest, cherishing the low flicker of his soul-fire. “You did?”
“I was very complimentary.”
“Care to share what you said?”
He chuckles, a deep, rich sound. “Where’s your humility?”
“I have none when it comes to your praise.” I tuck my head beneath his chin and swing my leg over his, my knee high on his thigh. His sandalwood musk permeates my clothes and bedcovers.
“I told them you’ll do what’s right for the empire,” he says, his voice husky.
I slide my fingers under his tunic neckline to erase more distance between us. “Ashwin will do what’s right for them. Our people need to look to him for guidance.”
Deven stops drawing on my arm. “Are you and he still . . . close?”
“No, at least not that way. What you saw between us wasn’t real. Ashwin included me in his heart’s wish. In his ideal empire, he imagined me at his side. His vision protected me from harm but also drew me to him.”
Deven’s voice pitches to a dissatisfied grumble. “He manipulated you to get close to him?”
I’m not explaining this well. “Neither of us knew his heart’s wish had that much power. I figured it out in Samiya, and Ashwin had no idea. I would have told you if I knew.” I make myself ask the question I have been dreading since our argument in Lestari. “Did you—or do you—really believe I’d choose Ashwin over you?”
“I prefer not to think that your choice is between him and me, but me and your throne.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I never wished for my throne.”
“But you need it to accomplish the change you wish to see in the empire.” His answer is too smooth to convince me of his dispassion. Deven pretends not to care when he cares the most.
I rest my chin on his chest and gaze up at him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t think you’d leave angry.”
“I didn’t think you wouldn’t say good-bye.”
“I tried.”
His composure cracks a little. “You did?”
“You were already in the air. Then Mathura came to see me . . .” I did not intend to discuss his mother. I rest my cheek on his chest again, but Deven is curious.
“Kali, what did my mother say?”
I decide against telling him that Mathura disapproves of our closeness, and instead, I summarize her opinion of me. “She thinks I’m foolish for not wanting to be a rani for the rest of my life.”
“My mother had a different experience in the palace than you. She wasn’t . . . valued as you and the other ranis were. To her, becoming a rani was the best life any courtesan could dream of. But she believes in you, Kali. And she’s right. You’re the rani the people need.” Deven brings the back of my hand to his lips, kissing the symbol of the kindred. “But you aren’t foolish for wishing for more. You have a right to your own dreams. That’s why I left without saying good-bye. I was angry, but I also wanted you to make up your own mind.” His heartbeat pounds against our chests. “Truthfully, I thought you’d choose Ashwin—er, your throne.”
“I care for Ashwin like family, but I fell in love with you before I was a rani.” I lay my hand upon his flat stomach. “The day will come when Ashwin will take his own wives, and I’ll step down as the empire’s kindred.”
Deven smooths my hair from my shoulder. “And then?”
“And then . . . I want a future with you. A future of our own making.”
He slides down the bed until we are eye level and strokes my hip. My nerves stir and tingle, hypersensitive to every glancing touch. His beard grazes my chin, his lips a head tilt away. “We have the same dream.”
He throws the sun-scented blanket over our heads. I stretch out against him, and he kisses me until my limbs quiver and my skin burns for more. Silky sheets, wet lips, and needy hands overrun my senses. We explore each other in ways we were never allowed to and never dared. No fears temper our desires. We set our dreams free, soaring to limitless heights of fulfilled wishes.
Deven tries to shift away, but I pull him closer. “Don’t go yet,” I whisper.
He kisses me long and slow, melting me into my pillow, and then sits up and tugs on his trousers and white tunic. The baggy sleeves hang off his arms, and the low neckline reveals the hard cuts of his chest.
He looks back at me. “It’s difficult to leave you.”
I grab the hair at the back of his head and drag his lips over mine. When I let go, hunger shines from his eyes, and I know I can coax him to slide back under the covers with me.
My door to the corridor swings opens. Giggles move across the room, and then Shyla, Eshana, and Parisa pile on the mattress with us. Asha strolls in behind them carrying a meal tray, a bandage wound around one hand. The ranis are covered in various scrapes and bruises. Parisa’s broken ribs are the worst injury. Bandages wrap around her torso beneath her sari. I do not miss what a mercy it is that we all survived.
“Morning, ladies,” Deven says too brightly for my taste.
Parisa assesses the flattering fit of Deven’s loose tunic. “Don’t you mean good afternoon? The kindred has kept you preoccupied.”