“Is that a question?” I ask coolly.

“Kalinda is endeavoring to wed the prince.”

“She’s his for the taking. He has first rights to her.”

Vizier Gyan’s smile twists. “Does that anger you, Captain?”

I lock my jaw. Any response I give will be warped and used against me.

“You met the kindred at the Samiya Temple where Rajah Tarek claimed her and escorted her from the temple to Vanhi. There, you were instated as her palace guard, and, later, you were accused of spending the night with her. You were sentenced to execution, but she freed you from the dungeon and helped you escape. You returned for her the very same evening Rajah Tarek was killed.”

An itch starts at the back of my mind. Where did he hear this from? “Your informant has it wrong. If I was of value, would I be here while the kindred is out there, as you said, endeavoring to wed the prince?”

“I don’t care so much who weds the prince. I’m more interested in an item the kindred stole from Vanhi.”

He’s after the Zhaleh. I should have guessed from his circling questions that he has no interest in Kali but in what she is protecting.

“You were caught with the Zhaleh and sentenced for treason,” he presses. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know. Rajah Tarek had the book for years. It must still be hidden in Vanhi.”

Vizier Gyan’s stare turns frigid. “The kindred gave me the same answer, nearly word for word.”

“Then it must be true,” I retort. “Hastin could have it.”

“Captain, we both know the warlord doesn’t have the Zhaleh.”

I narrow my eyes at Vizier Gyan. Has he been speaking with Hastin? Is the warlord the one who fed him information about Kali and me?

“Tell me where the Zhaleh is, and I’ll release you to the kindred,” he says.

I would like to comply with him more than I will allow myself to consider. “I don’t know where it is. That’s the truth.”

Vizier Gyan inclines forward in his chair. “Day after tomorrow, the final two competitors will duel in the arena, and my offer will expire. I need a better answer by then.”

“My answer will be the same, sir.”

“All right.” He musters a cryptic grin. “You may return to your housing.”

The guards lead me to my tent; the other men are already asleep. I lie down beside Yatin’s empty bedroll and listen to the buzzing mosquitoes. I need to warn Kali about the vizier’s interest in the Zhaleh, but I cannot chance sending another bizarre message Gyan can easily decode. The prince’s suspicions about the sultan were correct. Regardless of the tournament’s outcome, I doubt Sultan Kuval will allow Kalinda, a Burner, to retain her throne and free us.

The only way my men and I will escape this prison is by fighting our way out.

24

KALINDA

I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of ragged breathing. A startling awareness barrels down on me. I am not alone. My bedchamber is dark, my doors to the balcony closed. A soupy thickness clots the air. The darkness presses down upon me like an iron curtain.

Something brushes past the side of my bed. My heartbeat hammers inside my skull. When Jaya appeared to me underwater, she was light, true, and warm. This is the antithesis—a pressing, cloying chill. I experienced this pervading despair one other time, in Ki’s throne room.

I slip my hand under my pillow for my daggers. Whatever is here exhales across my face. Its breath smells of rubble and ruin, loss and sorrow. The scent permeates my senses, squeezing my heart and spinning my mind into places I never wanted to return.

I am blindfolded in the Claiming chamber.

Rajah Tarek inspects me, a predator circling his prey.

An invisible force tugs at my hair. I grasp one of my daggers, but the backs of my hands burn, and I drop it.

Don’t test me, love, says a voice directly over me.

The words are Tarek’s, but the tone is different, a raspy hiss.

“Who are you?” I ask shakily.

Its breathing stays over my bed, blowing the scent of charred rubble across my cheek. Your husband. Have you forgotten me already?

Two blue eyes appear above me, burning like azure flames. I twist to reach my daggers, and when I turn back with blades drawn, the malevolent presence has disappeared.

I collapse against my pillow. Fears expand like a paper lantern inside me, strangling the remnants of a scream. I can still smell ashes and the char of burned skin.

And Tarek’s spirit lingers, like an invisible chain forever linking our souls.

I hold myself still and grip my daggers close. They cannot cut the dark, but having them pressed over my thudding heart provides a comfort that almost convinces me I am safe.

The next morning, I receive instructions from Opal to go alone to the south gate of the tiger paddock. Natesa has been gone since I woke—she is probably off doing laundry—so I dress in my training clothes, braid my hair, and run out the door.

Raindrops sprinkle on my head as I turn down the dirt path. Citra and Indah wait for me at the gate to the paddock. Sultan Kuval stands off to the side, scowling at my late arrival. No one else is here but us.

“Today,” he begins, “you will face a deadly opponent of your choosing in a test of fortitude.”

“Is the weather part of the challenge?” Indah asks, holding out her palm to watch the raindrops patter on her skin.

“This is the start of the wet season, so you can thank Anu for the weather,” the sultan replies. “As this trial is about fortitude, you may use your weapons, but you may not rely upon your powers.” He holds up a vial of neutralizer tonic, water steeped and boiled with poisonous white baneberry and snakeroot.

“I won’t take that,” I say, repelled by the memory of the vile drink. I am not too keen to ingest anything Kuval would give me either.

The sultan’s lips spread in a cutting smile. “You may concede the tournament and leave at any time, Kindred.”

He’ll never give up, will he? I widen my stance to prove that I am staying.

“I’ll drink it first,” offers Citra. She takes the vial from her father, swallows a swig, and passes it to Indah.

Indah sniffs the tonic and wrinkles her nose. “How long will the dosage last?”

“The effects will fade by tomorrow,” answers Sultan Kuval.

Indah sips her part. I watch her closely for an adverse reaction, but she appears unchanged. She passes the vial to me.

I have not taken neutralizer tonic since I came into my powers. But seeing as the sultan gave the same vial of poison to his daughter and Indah, I drink my portion. I grimace at the bitter flavor, and immediately, my soul-fire shrinks, hunkering down like a cowering pup.

“When the gong rings, you will all enter the paddock and separate to find a package left for you—you will know yours when you see it. Retrieve your package, and deliver it through the gate near the tower at the far side of the paddock within ten minutes.” The sultan lifts the door lever. “Be on watch. My tigers haven’t fed in days.”

The sultan’s vague instructions acerbate my nerves. How are his tigers opponents of our choosing? I never volunteered to fight a man-eating cat.

A gong rings across the way, and the sultan opens the gate. I cannot see any spectators or tigers in the rain-soaked flora. Citra is the first inside, followed closely by Indah. I go last, and Sultan Kuval shuts the door on me, rapping my heels. Though he cannot see me through the fence, I glare over my shoulder at him and then face the rainy forest. My competitors are gone.

Ten minutes. Plenty of time to become a tiger’s meal.

I creep through the underbrush and promptly lose sight of the fence. Raindrops glisten off everything, pooling at my feet and drenching my thin clothes.

A shriek nearby sets my hairs on end. I follow the sound about fifty paces and stop. Citra stands before me with her machete drawn, confronting a huge orange-and-black-striped cat.

The tiger growls and paces before a banyan tree. Above them, a girl hangs upside down from the branches. I blink to see her better through the rain. Citra’s sister Tevy has been tied up in the tree. She is gagged, soaked, and shivering. Citra has to pass by the tiger to reach Tevy. I draw my blades and step forward to help her and her sister.

The tiger growls at me.

“Go away, Kalinda,” Citra snaps.

I leave my gaze on the large cat. “I came to help.”

“This is a competition, you dolt. Find your own package.”

The sultan’s instructions return to my mind. Find a package left for you—you will know yours when you see it.

My heart shrinks. If Citra’s package is her sister, could mine also be someone I love? Praying Citra can help Tevy before the tiger helps itself to them both, I back away and run. I leap over roots and fallen logs, searching for anyone or anything familiar. I would call out, but what name should I shout? Is my package even a person?

As I am forced to circumvent a bamboo thicket, I come upon the far gate. A four-legged observatory tower butts up to the fence line. High above me, the spectators watch, a leafy roof shielding them from the rain. Ashwin sees me and scratches his nose . . . and continues to scratch. What is he doing? He’s pointing west. That must be where I can find my package. Gods bless you, Ashwin. I revolve and sprint back into the trees.

Time flows like sand through my fist. I sprint the width of the paddock, my side aching. I spot the west fence through the foliage and slow. The trees thin to a grassy expanse, and in the middle, I spot Natesa kneeling, tied up and gagged. Nothing else is around her.

I step out of the trees. She shakes her head. At the same time, something hisses near my feet.

A dragon cobra bedded down in the high grass to escape the rain. A dozen more snakes hide from the weather in the protective grass between Natesa and me. The closest dragon cobra lifts its head and spreads its flat hood. You will face a deadly opponent of your choosing. The sultan meant the deadly thing we took from the Morass. I should have realized his meaning when I saw Citra with the tiger. But, gods’ virtue, how can I defeat these vipers without my powers?