“Welcome, sister,” the ranis say. As part of their offerings, they kiss my knee to show they bend to my authority as kindred.

Tarek drinks beside me, draining a full chalice of apong. I want to slip my tonic into his cup, but I have to delay until I see the book. I do not like relying solely on poison. I want a weapon with a blade, a defense that cuts. I scan the tables for supper knives, but I see none. My hands curl in on themselves. Tarek must have learned from Gautam’s death.

The rajah twirls a finger in my hair. “Traditionally, the wife dances for her husband.”

I wore my mother’s bridal sari for him, I swore to obey him, but I will not dance for him.

“Perhaps the groom can dance for the bride?”

“Will it bring a smile to your face?” Tarek’s hand creeps up my knee.

My frown deepens in dissention. “Maybe.”

“Then I will try.” Tarek stands and invites his other wives to join him.

Parisa and Eshana rise and spin with him, clapping their hands to the beat. Mathura sits off to the side, with her bad leg resting on a chair, and smokes a hookah pipe. She does not come forward with a gift or to offer congratulations. I do not expect her to.

Natesa approaches my table and lays a veil at my feet. Yatin watches her from the doorway. I have missed him since he was reassigned. “For you,” she says of her gift.

“You’re still here.”

“So are you.” She eyes me curiously. “I have known you many years, Kalinda. You are not the type to submit to a man.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Natesa sits on the satin floor cushion beside me. “Tarek will not hand out pensions, so only a few of the courtesans have requested to leave. This life is not much, but most agree it is better to work in the palace than be destitute in the city.”

I should not be troubled by their decision to stay; most of these courtesans did not challenge me in an effort to improve their lives. But I loathe the idea of Natesa remaining a slave to the rajah’s men of court. “You could request to rejoin the Sisterhood,” I say. “They may make an exception for you.”

“That is another kind of submission.” Natesa plucks at a loose thread on her skirt. “I would like to open an inn, but women innkeepers are not respected. No one would come.”

“I would,” I say. Natesa’s eyes mist with tears. I lighten the mood by laying my leg on her lap. “Are you going to kiss my knee?”

She pushes my leg off playfully, her tears forgotten, and we laugh.

Tarek returns to our table and grins at me. “There’s that smile. Ready to go, love?”

My powers flare at the threat of being alone with him. I stomp them down with a nod.

Natesa hugs me. “Be careful,” she whispers. I force a smile of thanks, pretending that she congratulated me, and rise to leave with Tarek.

Ranis and courtesans toss out prayers as we pass by. Most utter pleas to the land-goddess, asking her to bless us with fertility. I counteract their wishes with a prayer of my own. Please, Anu, grant me the strength to end Tarek before he touches me.

Several guards wait outside the rajah’s bedchamber. We pause at the door, and one of them pats me down for hidden weapons. My pulse soars when the soldier’s hands rise to my bust, skimming the tonic vial.

“Ah, ah, ahh,” Tarek says, stopping the guard. “Save something for me.”

His other guards chuckle, and my face flushes hot.

Tarek and I step inside his chamber, and my powers instantly diminish to a sleepy ember beneath a dusting of ash. I eye the room for a weapon, but there is nothing useful. Even the oil lamps are of no help; they are tall and up high and too heavy for me to pick up and swing at his head.

I am relieved to find the velvet pouch with the lotion he gave me on the corner of the canopy bed, which is twice the size of mine. Behind the bed, from floor to ceiling, hangs a tapestry of Anu. The sky-god sits atop the sun, sharpening his blade of light on the sun’s rays. Opposite the bed, an immense balcony overlooks the desert night and darkened city skyline. The room and the view are stunning, but the person I am sharing them with would just as likely bruise my jaw as kiss my cheek.

“Would you like a drink?” Tarek says, pouring me a cup of wine from a serving tray on a console table.

I take the chalice and sip. “Won’t you join me?” I say.

He unbuttons his jacket collar. “I have had enough spirits tonight.”

I try for a persuasive smile. “It’s our wedding night. When better to overindulge?”

“I will indulge later.” Tarek skims a finger across my jaw. “The best is yet to come.”

I frown at my wine, and he steps over to his bureau. He pulls out a book and a small oil vessel, setting them by the drink tray. The brass vessel is small; I could easily slip it into my pocket. The book has an old, weathered leather cover with a waxen string binding. I dare not look at them long, but I know what they are: the Zhaleh, and Tarek’s collection of a thousand drops of bhuta blood.

“You enraged me in the dungeons,” he states without ire.

“Forgive me.” My voice emerges scratchy. “I was distraught.”

A storm brews in his eyes. “Over him?”

“Over my friend. May I earn your forgiveness?” I lift my chalice. “Let us drink to a new beginning.”

“A thoughtful gesture, but no.” He flashes a predatory grin. “I wish to be lucid for my night alone with you.”

I smile faintly. He has rendered the tonic hidden in my bodice useless by not drinking. I need time to think. My gaze falls on the lotion that Asha left on the bed. I pick up the velvet pouch and show it to him. “Your gift.”

Tarek leaves the Zhaleh and the oil vessel and returns to me. He lowers the shoulder of my blouse. My heart drums in warning. “Ginger lavender. Yasmin’s favorite.” He bends and kisses my collarbone. My repugnance is so strong that I nearly swallow my tongue. He relieves me of my chalice and drops his voice to a husky drawl. “Would you like help undressing?”

“I—I can manage.”

I slide behind the dressing screen and resist the urge to beat the barrier with my fists. What an infuriating man! Tarek has been a drunkard nearly every day I have been here, but now he will not take even a sip. I breathe slowly, willing myself to reorganize my thoughts. As fortune would have it, his lotion has supplied me precious time to think. With shaking hands, I open the pouch.

The small ointment bottle Jaya gave me falls out. My contingency plan.

Holding up the ointment bottle, I replay what Jaya told me about the poison. A single dab on her lips gave Gautam a headache, but she also suffered the effects. Her ointment must be more potent than my tonic, but I have never been exposed to this toxin, so I cannot say how it will affect me. Perhaps if I rub it in my hair before Tarek touches it . . .

I open the ointment bottle and dip one strand of my hair in it. The poison immediately changes the color, fading the strand to fair blond. I grind my teeth in frustration and pluck out the hair. I cannot spread the ointment in my tresses without Tarek noticing.

My gaze falls to the jar of lotion. If one dab of the ointment is harmful, the whole bottle could be lethal. Quick as can be, I pour the ointment into the lotion, mix it in with a makeup brush, and reseal the jar.

“Are you certain you don’t need a hand?” asks Tarek.

“Almost done.”

I discard my mother’s bridal sari, blouse, and petticoat and then unwind the bandage around my sore ribs. I stash the unused tonic vial inside my clothes and step out from behind the screen with nothing but the lotion jar.

Tarek has removed his jacket and tunic. I am disturbed yet pleased to see him bare chested. We must touch skin-to-skin to transfer the poison.

He saunters over to me, his gaze eating up my nakedness. I would be ashamed of using my body to entice him, except that I am his wife. I feel no dishonor in exploiting his weakness for flesh. On behalf of every woman he has terrorized, on behalf of my mother and Jaya, on behalf of myself—I will end his reign.

Tarek strokes my hair. “You are exquisite.”

I struggle against the urge to cover myself and open the lotion jar. He sniffs the sweet scent and smiles a boyish grin. He scoops up a generous handful and smooths it down my back. The toxins tingle as they bleed into my pores. If Tarek notices the warm sensation, he does not say so. He moves on to my arms and then my chest, covering the henna markings with the oily lotion. He reaches my torso and slides his hands gently over my injured ribs. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, sucking my teeth against the flare of pain in my side. My bare arms seek his skin, and our chests press together. The lotion is slick between us as more of it transfers to him.

Tarek kisses below my ear. “You smell like paradise.”

He buries his face in my neck. My vision blurs, and my heart thumps as fast as a rabbit’s. I can feel the poison slithering inward, branching out into my veins. But I am not afraid. Death has snapped at my heels for weeks. Should the gods will it so, it will be a relief to pass into the Beyond.

Tarek lifts me and carries me to his bed. He lies tucked behind me, cradling me to him. I feel his lips on my neck as his hands explore the length of me. Sweat beads along my spine. With each inhalation, my lungs constrict.

Did Jaya know that it would come to this? She was always one step ahead of me. I would not doubt that she foresaw that my path would lead me to this end.

A midnight wind ruffles the balcony curtains. Growing light-headed, I incline toward Tarek. We lie pressed together, the lethal lotion spreading between us. His fingers stroke my hip, his steady caress in rhythm with my banging temples.

Tarek’s breaths run ragged in my ear. He clutches my hip with sudden force. “What have you done to me?” he says.

I do not answer.

He rolls me onto my back and presses me down. Redness blotches his face and neck. “What have you done?”

A sheen of sweat covers his forehead. His gaze loses focus and then sharpens again. His eyes stretch in understanding.