The battle ring.

The armorer shuts the gate behind me and lowers the lever, locking me inside. A sob tangles in my throat, but screaming is useless.

Anjali is the first in the battle ring. Fareeshah stalks in after her, followed by Natesa. The women are dressed like me, only in black. Their bodies are toned and powerful. Their faces are sculpted with aggression. As I face off with these established warriors, every lurid tournament battle I have watched floods back to me. I know what to expect, yet I jolt when the gongs clang.

Anjali pivots and engages Fareeshah. I thought that they would all turn on me, but Anjali successfully draws Fareeshah away with her, swords clanging. This leaves me Natesa.

“I have waited a long time for this,” Natesa says, slashing forward.

I parry her thrust. “We don’t have to fight,” I say. I lift my shield, and her sword connects. The vibration jogs up my arm. I back out of the chalk ring, drawing her farther away from Anjali and Fareeshah. I raise my voice above the cheering of the spectators. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Only one of us can win, and it will be me.”

“There is another way. Concede and I will see that you have your freedom.” She scoffs and swings. I block and lean in. Our blades bang together. “Trust me. I can save you.”

“I can save myself.”

Natesa pushes off my blade and rounds at me fast. The tip of her sword catches my forearm. My skin rips open, and blood streams down to my cuffed wrist. I retreat, willing away the screeching pain. I had anticipated that Natesa would be the hardest to convince. She hungers for the safety and security of my throne.

Across the way, Anjali and Fareeshah shuffle to and from each other. Fareeshah tries to get past Anjali, but Anjali blocks her. She is keeping Fareeshah away from me. Anjali is on my side, but I cannot do this without Natesa.

Natesa treads closer. “Let’s end this, Kalinda.” She knows that she can best me in skill and strength.

I will parch her if I must, but I do not want to compel her into peace. I pray that she is changed, that she will see that we can finish this without violence.

I toss aside my sword. “I won’t fight.”

Her face contorts into fury. She hits me in the face with the side of her shield. “Pick up your sword!”

I take off my shield and my helmet, casting them aside.

“Defend yourself!” She kicks me in the stomach. I fall, cradling my aching middle. From my peripheral view, I see that Tarek has left his throne to stand at the edge of the balcony. The crowd grows uneasy, cheers switching to murmured agitation. Natesa kicks me in the back, pushing me toward my fallen sword. “Pick it up!”

“No.” I look up at her, my chest heaving. “You are the only sister I have left.”

Her eyes register an emotion between hatred and love. Familiarity. Here, where every woman fends for herself, that camaraderie is precious.

I kneel before her, stripped of my armor and weapon. “It’s me Tarek wants. Concede and I will protect you. I swear on the gods you will go free.”

Anjali screams. I look past Natesa to see Fareeshah wrench her sword from Anjali’s upper thigh. Fareeshah lifts her khanda in a killing stance. I rise and charge her before she finishes Anjali off.

“Stop this! We don’t have to fight! We can band together and save all our lives!”

Fareeshah turns her attack on me and hacks at my neck. I stumble backward to avoid her blade and trip over my discarded helmet. I land hard on my backside, my sword far from my grasp.

Fareeshah laughs. “You’re a worse fighter than I was told.”

I speak past the panic gripping my voice. “Lay down your weapon, and I vow I will protect you with my life.”

Fareeshah lifts her khanda over her head. “What life?”

Her blade drops at the same time that she hurtles forward from the impetus of a sword driving through her chest. I peer past her, expecting to see Anjali, but it is Natesa who wrenches her khanda from Fareeshah’s back. Fareeshah drops to the arena floor in a cloud of dust.

A frantic onrush of applause erupts at the first defeat of a finalist. Natesa levels her sword at me. I go perfectly still and stare down her bloody blade.

“You swear I will have my freedom?” she asks.

“On Ki and every sister warrior who has ever lived, I swear it.”

Natesa’s sword remains trained on me. My breaths rasp, stinging my lungs. She lunges and stabs her blade into the ground, missing my knee by a finger’s length, and raises her arms to the spectators.

“I concede!” Natesa yells.

Anjali clambers to her feet, favoring her wounded leg. “I concede!” she also yells.

They wave their arms at Tarek high in the imperial box. I rise, supporting my injured arm and struggling to regain my breath. The audience’s clapping peters out, changing to outraged shouting. The gongs call for order, and Tarek motions for quiet.

“What is the meaning of this?” calls the rajah.

“My opponents have conceded!” My voice barrels across the oval arena and up into all three tiers. “They have withdrawn their challenge.”

“This is true?”

Anjali and Natesa answer as one. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Lies!” Lakia rushes from the floor-level entry behind us. “The viraji promised them riches and favors if they forfeit.”

“Participating in the tournament was their choice,” I counter. “They challenged me according to their will, and with that same will, they concede.”

From afar, I see Tarek calculating the impact of this unexpected finale. The people desired a champion who would demolish her opponents. I have retained my title by default, but I have still won. The tournament is over. Tarek has what he wants. He has me.

“The challengers stepped forward,” he says, “and they may step down.” Tarek’s false tone of apology hints at glee. He is glad to move forward with our wedding. “Since there are no other challengers, this concludes the tournament. The viraji is our rightful champion!”

Spectators cheer and boo. Those who favored me winning are satisfied, but the rest grumble their disappointment.

Anjali limps to me and swings her arm over my shoulder. “You’re a dolt.”

Natesa loops her arm around Anjali’s waist, supporting her other side. “A brave dolt.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” I say, resting against them.

Natesa leans forward, looking past Anjali. “Just keep your word.”

“I will.” I am amazed that Natesa conceded. Right up until she sank her blade into the ground, I was certain she would kill me, but her time as a courtesan has softened her.

The refuse cart rolls past us to collect Fareeshah’s remains. Regret for her and the other courtesans who died here scratches me raw. I bow my head and offer the Prayer of Rest. Natesa and Anjali join in, and we finish praying together. I glance up at the wives and courtesans watching us from the terrace. This is the start of a new sisterhood in Tarachand.

Natesa and I help Anjali hobble toward the gate. We make it only a few steps before a voice calls out.

“I challenge the viraji to a duel!”

32

A blanket of stunned silence falls over the amphitheater.

Lakia storms into the center of the battle ring and repeats her declaration. “I challenge the viraji to a duel!”

Her voice drives a spear of dread through my heart. Usually Lakia does not bother with her husband’s lesser-ranked women, but she let her pride override her caution once before, when she challenged Mathura. That battle ended in Lakia’s triumph but left the courtesan lame. I had thought that my securing the throne might draw Lakia back into the ring, but now that it has, I question my ability to see this through.

The spectators stomp their feet in support of prolonging the tournament, but I cannot tell if Tarek’s mind is muddied enough with apong to allow me to fight. Lakia wants me gone from her husband’s palace, and her desire is so strong that she is willing to risk her rank as kindred. I have no doubt that she challenged me with full confidence that she will defeat me, as she did Mathura. Lakia plans to win, maintain her rank, and be rid of me for good.

“You wish to fight my viraji?” Tarek calls down to his number one wife.

“As kindred, it is within my power to challenge any wife or courtesan to a duel.”

“And it is within the viraji’s right to decline,” Tarek reminds her.

Mathura could have declined the kindred’s challenge, but she did not. Neither will I. “I accept,” I exclaim. “On two conditions. The kindred and I will battle hand to hand—no weapons—and if I win, your courtesans may go free.”

Lakia calls out her reply. “I agree to those terms, but I have my own condition. If the viraji loses, your courtesans die.”

I curse her under my breath. Tarek was already planning to kill the courtesans, but this way, he can murder them with the backing of every spectator here, and I will wear the blame.

The rajah’s courtesans cry with outrage. They do not know that Tarek already aims to be rid of them. I look for Mathura in the group of those protesting and find her staring at me in silence. She is too far away for me to read her expression, but I pray that she knows that I will defend her life.

The rajah raises his hand for quiet. His infuriated courtesans are the last to hush. Natesa and Anjali hold on to me as we wait in tense silence for his decision. Tarek’s vanity at having selected me as his champion has been compromised by the concession of my contenders. The only way to confirm that he chose a warrior befitting of the status of Enlil’s hundredth rani is for me to shed sufficient blood this day, but he may not want to let me compete now that he has me locked in as his bride.

“You have my support,” he says, lowering his arm in finality. “The battle ends when one of you concedes.”

Panic crowds in around me. I am to battle the kindred. Great Anu, I hope I made the right choice.

Tarek returns to his throne, and Natesa and Anjali press close to my side.