Tarek waits for the commotion to settle and continues. “The Tarachand Empire prepares to enter a new reign of supremacy. Soon, I will be the most powerful sovereign on the continent. I swear to you our time of leniency will end. My first act will be to rid our great empire of the demons plaguing us. Then we will move on to the rest of the world, until we are free from bhutas once and for all!”

His people thunder their feet against the floor in approval, hammering fear into my chest. The Tarachand Empire has the most powerful army on the continent. So long as Tarek is at war with the bhutas within his borders, his resources are tied up. Exterminate them here, however, and he is free to expand his conquest elsewhere.

“Let the tournament begin!” the rajah shouts.

Men stationed in the towers strike the gongs, clanging them in unison. Through the lower gates, two courtesans march into the arena, armed with metal shields and helmets. They may choose to duel hand to hand, with staffs, or with blades.

A tournament official announces the challengers, Ameya and Shanti. Each woman thrusts her weapon to the sky when her name is called. I scarcely recognize them this far above, but their names are familiar. Ameya looks especially small. She is armed with a haladie, the double-bladed dagger. Wise selection. I doubt that she is strong enough to swing a heavier blade. Still, I do not anticipate her outlasting her larger opponent. I pray that she proves me wrong.

Asha explained the tournament rules this morning. Four duels will take place each day, starting with eight contenders battling in pairs. The four winners of those duels will then face off in a victors’ match. The last woman standing wins the finalist title for the day. This goes on for three days, and on the fourth day, the three finalists will battle me in a championship match. The odds sicken me. Only three challengers out of twenty-four will survive to face me in the arena.

“Faster,” Lakia snaps at the servant fanning her with ostrich feathers. Lakia does not fight until the last day either. She and her challengers will battle as the opening act for my match.

More servants fan the courtesans and wives below. Those contenders not slated to fight today sit forward in their seats. Soon it will be their turn. Any of the women in the arena could someday be their adversary, or mine.

The gongs ring, signaling the start of the duel. The taller, stronger fighter, Shanti, dives at her opponent. The little courtesan, Ameya, is nimble and spry. She dodges her opponent’s khanda and blocks blows with the haladie. Shanti slices the little one’s hand, and Ameya retreats. I want to shut my eyes and shield myself from the blood, but even though these women battle each other, they are challenging me. I will not be able to look away in the arena, and I will not now.

Shanti circles Ameya. My fingers curl down on the armrests of my throne. Ameya slashes forward, and her smaller blade grazes Shanti’s back. Shanti assesses her uncritical injury and then retaliates. Ameya evades Shanti’s blade, but Shanti anticipates her lateral move. Shanti swings back around and drives the sword into Ameya’s stomach. The slighter woman crumples like a paper doll torn down the middle, dropping in a bloodied heap.

Unshed tears burn my nose. I had anticipated it would be like this, but I am struck by the carnage, the horror, and the nauseating stench of blood rising up from the arena floor.

Lakia yawns. “I hope all your courtesans aren’t defeated so easily.”

“Yes, it will make for a tedious day,” Tarek replies, sipping his flask.

I cut them a glare. Ameya just sacrificed her life. She wanted freedom from being a courtesan so much that death was a better alternative. I want to shred Tarek’s pampered face with my nails, but I do as Mathura said. I absorb my hatred and let it feed me, transforming it into something bigger, meaner, uglier.

I will wait.

I will crouch in the dark until the time is ripe, and then I will eat Rajah Tarek alive.

Servants wheel a handcart into the arena and pile Ameya’s body onto it.

“Where will they take her?” I ask.

“Where do you think?” Lakia considers her painted nails. “The rajah has no use for her now. She’s refuse.”

Indignation snarls through me. “Her body must be prayed over before she’s laid to rest.”

“The gods don’t care about dead whores,” Lakia replies, bored.

“The gods care about honor and sisterhood, not this spectacle of death.” I lower myself from my chair to my knees and bow my head.

“Get up,” Lakia hisses.

“Not until I pray.”

“Kalinda.” Tarek’s voice is deadly low. “Sit.”

Hanging my head, I look through the slats in the banister at the lower balcony. Natesa peers up at me, her eyes teary. She must be thinking of her older sister, wondering if anyone prayed over her body.

I lower my chin and speak. “Gods, bless Ameya’s soul to find the gate that leads to peace and everlasting light.”

Below us, Natesa repeats the Prayer of Rest, and then Shyla speaks the blessing on Ameya’s soul next. Then Eshana and Parisa lend their voices. Idle chatter dies to a hum of shushed murmurs. The prayer ripples out to the other ranis, each bowing her head in respect. Every courtesan and rani, besides Lakia, honors the fallen young woman. A surge of pride pushes me to my feet, and I sit back down.

Tarek leans toward me and taps my knee, his tone quiet. “Have a care, Kali. You do not wish for me to tire of your boldness. I still find you amusing, but that could quickly change.”

I shrink away from him, my insides boiling. Only Tarek would view a prayer as rebellion, but I need not show my support for the defeated challengers again. My message has been felt by his court. Those who perish in this tournament are not refuse. They are our sisters.

Gongs ring in unison, followed by a tournament official proclaiming the start of the second duel. Witnessing the bloodbath of the next two duels does not get easier for me; however, Lakia’s smile widens with each passing death. One less woman with whom to share her husband.

At midday we pause for a meal. I wave off the food tray, too nauseated to keep anything down. The dirt arena floor, once brown, is splattered with blood. When the time comes, I do not know how I will find the courage to add to the gore.

When the midday meal finishes, Anjali is summoned with Cala for the fourth duel. Tarek remains relaxed in his throne, displaying no worry for the youngest of his favored four. The gongs ring, and Cala lunges. Anjali dismembers Cala’s arm in the first blow. Cala sinks to her knees with an agonized yell. Anjali silences her with a clean blow to the heart.

Tarek claps loudly, and Lakia scowls at him. I cringe away from both of them. Seeing Anjali fight, I am certain she could defeat me. Someone with her skill would not need to stoop to sabotage. A different courtesan slipped the asp into my bed, and with four competitors already dead, I may never know who.

The four winners are called out for their final match of the day. All save Anjali bear injuries from their earlier battle. Selfishly, I wish for their speedy deaths and a swift end to this butchery.

A rapt silence blankets the crowd. The gongs boom, reverberating down to the marrow in my bones. The attacks commence. Tired arms swing heavy blades. Pained grunts carry over hushed spectators. The first challenger defeated falls, awakening the spectators’ voices. Then a second fighter is downed. There is more frantic applause. Only Anjali and Shanti remain.

Tarek sits forward, his gaze fixed on Anjali. His favored courtesan paces around her opponent, but she is limping, and her khanda is lowered. Anjali is losing strength. Shanti swings at her. Anjali dodges and kicks Shanti in the kneecap. Shanti drops to the ground.

I wince, and the audience roars. Anjali brandishes her sword, swinging it flagrantly for all to see, and then stands over her injured opponent and drives the blade between Shanti’s eyes. It is a ruthless triumph that petrifies me to the soul.

22

I fend off Tarek’s wandering hands and sloppy kisses during the return procession to the Turquoise Palace. He is all hands when he is drunk, but his reaction time is slower. I abandon him at the howdah and run off through the crowded courtyard into the palace ahead of my guards.

The corridors fly by in a haze. I burst into my room, ready to scream or sob—or both. Deven turns from my balcony, where he was watching the procession arrive, his eyes brimming with compassion. Finding him waiting for me unlocks the fear I have held in all day. Warm tears trickle down my cheeks. He opens his arms, and I fill them, crying against his shoulder.

“I watched those women die, and I did nothing.”

He rubs my back, his caresses as soft as his voice. “They chose to fight.”

My tears flow faster. His being right does not change the mark their deaths have made on my heart. The palace walls thin around me, and I can feel the Beyond. I am aware of my tender mortality, how close I am to the divide between life and death. Deven holds me until my sorrow runs dry.

I wipe my damp cheeks. “I thought you had changed posts.”

“I thought you wanted me to.”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.” I told Mathura that I would remind Deven that I am the viraji, but he knows who I am, and he is still here. I lay my cheek against his solid chest and savor him, his sandalwood scent a precious comfort.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there today,” he says. His gentleness unlooses more of my tears. “Jaya’s sorry too. I spoke to her while you were gone. She’s lodging here in the palace.”

I look up at him, my heart lightening. “You saw Jaya?”

“I stayed behind to search for her.”

I throw my arms around his neck and hold him closer. “Thank you.”

Deven eases us back toward the wall, out of the open. “It isn’t safe, Kali.”

“It will never be safe.” After a day of biting my tongue, I revel in the lack of constraint, and my words tumble out. “I cannot forget our kiss.”

Deven draws me behind the silk draperies, secreting us in a cozy cocoon. My hands remain fastened to his shoulders. “I cannot forget either, but I don’t want it to be like this, with you smelling of him. I don’t want to watch over my shoulder, terrified that every moment I’m with you will be my last. I want you to myself, Kali.”