“Your father would be ashamed of you, Kalinda,” Hastin says. At my narrowing gaze, he says, “Yes, I know you’re Kishan’s daughter.”

I glower at him in thanks for yet another deception. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know to agree to our bargain. Everything has a price. The question is, are you willing to pay?” Hastin’s expression hardens to granite. “Kishan kept a journal,” he says. “I will give it to you in exchange for the Zhaleh.”

My breath snags in surprise. My father.

“The final passages were written during his time with Yasmin. He speaks of her and the child she carried.”

My heart overflows with yearning to read what my father wrote about me and my mother.

Hastin tilts his head back with a knowing smile. He has something that I want very, very badly. “Tell me where the Zhaleh is, and the journal is yours.”

“Kali?” Deven’s voice carries a caution.

I should not bargain with the warlord. I cannot trust him. But I want that journal.

Anjali tips her ear, listening to far-off noises the rest of us cannot hear. “Father . . . soldiers.”

“Kalinda, do we have a bargain?” asks Hastin.

Pangs of longing to know my parents run deep, but Hastin has manipulated me at every turn. I cannot allow the fate of the empire to teeter upon his word. “No,” I say.

Above us, Manas and a host of imperial guards pour into the cavern.

“Change her mind,” Hastin says to Anjali, and then he faces the oncoming soldiers and stamps his foot. Upon impact, the cavern walls quake. Rocks drop in succession from the ceiling, crushing several guards.

Anjali pulls out a chakram disk and aims the blade at Deven. My vision channels to red-hot rage. I throw my hands open and cast my inner fire at her. A blast of heat shoves Anjali and Indira off their feet.

“Go!” I yell to Deven.

We leap into the chilly river and swim downstream side by side, each stroke moving us farther from Hastin. Then, without warning, the current changes direction. Clutching each other, we are dragged back toward land by the water’s almighty fist. There, Indira stands in the riverbed up to her shins. She is directing the riptide.

Behind the Aquifier, Anjali whips up a wind and sends it tearing toward the soldiers. A cyclone picks up a handful of guards and lifts them high, high, higher—and then drops them. Their terror-filled shrieks sound over the gushing waters. They hit the ground, and there is silence.

My toes touch the silt river bottom. Deven stands beside me. I hold fast to him, and we fight the pull of the water, but our legs are stone. The sediment begins to disappear beneath us, drawn away by the current, and we are lured closer to Indira.

Manas runs down the riverbank and hits Indira from the side, throwing her to dry ground. The Aquifier loses her dominance over the river, and the water relaxes around us. Deven and I swim to deeper waters. The river resumes its ancient course, and we are carried away until the soldiers and the bhutas are out of sight.

The cavern opens to gray skies, and the waterway pushes us through the city and to placid waters in the desert.

“Deven! Kali!” calls Brac.

Deven and I meet him on the shore. We splay on the wet sand, teeth chattering and limbs wilted. I rest my head on Deven’s chest and match my breathing to the cadence of his sturdy heartbeat. My anger against Manas eases with each weary breath. I never want to see him again, but I will be forever grateful that he helped us get away.

“We have company,” says Brac.

I sit up on my elbows and see a caravan approaching in the moonlight. An imperial guard leads a procession of four camels; two veiled women ride atop one. My worries flee when I recognize the guard.

Yatin dismounts his camel first and then helps Natesa down. She greets me with a fierce hug. “Mathura invited me to come.”

“I’m glad she did,” I say to her. I smile at Yatin. “Good to see you too.”

The burly soldier grabs me in his arms. “Ribs,” I croak, and he releases me with a sheepish blush.

Deven helps his mother dismount. Brac shuffles over to them, his head down. Mathura’s eyes gloss with tears.

“Mother,” Brac says, “I wanted to tell you—”

Mathura rests her palm against his cheek. “Brother Shaan told me everything.” She draws Brac in for a hug and then reaches for Deven and wraps one arm around him. “My boys. I’m so happy you’re all right.” She kisses their cheeks and holds them tighter.

Deven’s arms come around his mother and brother both. I smile a little to myself, pleased to see him united with his family.

“How did you know to meet us?” I ask Yatin.

“Brother Shaan warned Mathura of the attack after the wedding. I helped her and Natesa sneak out of the palace. I remembered the tunnels and thought you would take the river out.”

“You did well,” Brac says when he comes over to us. He claps Yatin on the back. “You’re even bigger than I remember, old friend.”

“And you’re smaller,” Yatin replies, smiling.

A slight quake shifts the sand beneath us, and then the overcast sky booms an echo of fury. Unease dispels our brief reunion; the warlord will be after us soon.

Deven eyes the gathering clouds. “We’ve lingered long enough.” He helps me onto one of the spare camels and climbs in front of me.

Brac, the satchel containing the Zhaleh slung over his shoulder, climbs onto the fourth camel, and our caravan ventures into the desert. Flashes of lightning brighten the sandy terrain. I look over my shoulder at the City of Gems. Thunderclouds encircle the hilltop, swathing the palace’s ivory walls in darkness.

A dry wind pelts my face with coarse sand. I loop my arms around Deven’s waist and press my cheek to his shoulder blade. We place our backs to the threatening storm and follow the jasmine moon across the dusty dunes.