Light rain lays a thin vapor over the forestland. We trek on, and the commander mounts his horse and paces us. I am certain I do not recognize him. He was not in the military encampment in the sultanate. But Yatin and I have served with many soldiers, and he could identify either of us. Or even Natesa if he frequented the rajah’s courtesans’ wing.

In short order, we unite with a lumbering ammunition wagon, and our horse team slows to a plodding walk in the long line of wagons and soldiers.

The commander rides up to my side. I pretend the rain bothers my eyes and fixate on the muddy ridges on the ground. “Where did you and your men hail from?” he says.

“South. We heard word of the imperial army marching and came to join you.”

“The southern outpost was abandoned last moon,” he replies, fists firm on his reins.

I correct my statement as smoothly as possible. “We rerouted to Iresh and followed the troops.”

The commander rides alongside us for several tense steps, evaluating my group. His attention carries over to Natesa. She leaves her chin down. He looks past her to Rohan and then lingers on Yatin’s sturdy bulk. “Do you have experience leading your men?” he asks me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I do not miss Natesa’s lips twisting dryly. “Sir?”

“These other soldiers have been hauling the catapult since Iresh. You and your party will take over.” He excuses the current team of soldiers, and they advance with the troops on foot. “You’ll lead this horse team and catapult the rest of the way to Vanhi. Don’t slow us down.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

The commander taps his heels against his horse’s flank and trots to the wagons ahead.

Natesa shifts to walk next to me. “That was unexpected.”

“Not really,” I answer. “The first rule of successful soldiering is to make yourself indispensable. No one will look twice at us so long as we follow orders.”

“How will we look for Opal if we’re stuck watching this big hunk of wood?” Rohan grumbles. Natesa had rolled up Rohan’s sleeves so the ill fit of his jacket was not so apparent, but the imperial army uniform still drowns him.

“We’ll search at night,” I say. Rohan mutters, his strides short and agitated. “Trust me, Rohan. I know the army. We’re safe so long as we keep our heads down and do our work.”

Yatin grunts in agreement, but we both remain on guard and keep our weapons close. Our small unit fans out, Natesa and Rohan upfront. Yatin walks just ahead of me, patting his pocket every tenth or twelfth stride.

“Do you mean to give her that ring or go mad worrying that you’ve lost it?”

Yatin hikes up his trousers, which are roomier since he lost girth. “She wouldn’t accept it.”

I double-step nearer to his side. “What? Why?”

“She wants to meet my mother and sisters to make certain they approve of her first.” He scratches his beard. “I told her it would be some time before they met, but she’s decided.”

Traditionally, Yatin would meet with Natesa’s father to discuss the wedding, but her parents are deceased, so she can make the arrangements herself. A strong rapport with his family must be important to her, but I would wed Kali regardless of whether I had my mother’s approval.

Our speed stays consistent as the day wears on, and we soon surpass clambering wagons and catapults. Once we reach the center of the ranks, I slow to uphold the pace of those around us. A mediocre position in the marching line will draw less notice our way. My feet already hurt and my back aches, but I ignore my protesting body and settle into the familiar monotony of military obedience.

15

KALINDA

The Claiming chamber is locked from the corridor, so I enter an adjoined room around the corner and close the door behind me. The cold, gray inspection chamber that is used for the first stage of the Claiming ritual is empty.

Circling the hollow area lit by wall lamps, I feel gooseflesh spread up my arms. Here in this very spot, the other recipients and I stood nude before Healer Baka for evaluation of our physical health, a practice to determine whether we were fit to be shown to the benefactor.

An inner door leads to the next chamber. Near it, on a table, is a pot of henna. The sisters used the henna to draw the mark of Enki down our spines. The single wave represented that we were in submission to the most fearsome benefactor who had ever visited our temple.

I am tempted to throw the pot and shatter the memory of Tarek’s arrival, but I pick it up and cradle it close. I once carried the mark of the kindred, dyed in henna on the backs of my hands. The number one was a symbol to all that I was the rajah’s first wife. Tarek may have avowed that I will only be remembered in association with him, but I earned my rank and nobility despite him.

And it all began in the next room.

On a whispered prayer for courage, I open the door to the Claiming chamber. The lamplit cave of a room is smaller than I recall but just as chilly. A mosaic of blue, white, yellow, and red swirls across the tile walls. A muslin veil hangs from ceiling to floor. In front of the veil, the red line on the ground is the same, chipped and worn. I set my toes on the painted mark. I stood here blindfolded while Tarek slunk out from behind the veil and first imposed his touch on me.

All at once, I am blind again. I crumple to the floor and hug the henna pot close. Gods alive, how many girls were claimed here? How many shook in terror and shed tears? The gods had a hand in my Claiming, but how many others can say the same?

Sobs wrench out of me. I cry for Jaya, Natesa, myself, and every other ward whose future was stolen in this chamber. For how long I weep, I do not know. But my inner winter emanates into the tile floor, muddying where my misery ends and the poison begins. Finally, spent, I lie in the dimness, too heartsick and frozen to leave this tomb of innocence.

Footfalls echo through the open door, compelling me to push myself up.

Ashwin fills the doorway. He takes in my swollen eyes and red nose. “Pons told me you were here.” He enters the Claiming chamber and turns his attention to the room itself. He runs a fingertip across the colorful wall that is too cheerful for the terrible ritual held here. At the veil, he reaches for the cloth but withdraws before touching it. “I’m sorry I disagreed with you in front of the priestess. My deepest apologies for giving you the impression that I would retain the Claiming. But I wish you had discussed your motives with me before announcing your intentions. I would have approached the priestess with you, Kalinda. We could have told her we wish to do away with the Claiming as a united front.” His levelheaded explanation negates my anger, for Ashwin is not the true source of my umbrage.

“I didn’t think you’d understand.”

He stares at the chipped red line on the floor. “I’d like to try.”

I, too, want him to understand why he can never repeat his father’s actions. “Tarek claimed me here.” Devoid of tears, I am plain in my recounting. “I was blindfolded and naked. He . . . he touched me.” Ashwin’s gaze sharpens to daggers, and I amend. “My hair, mostly. The rite took only a minute, but it was the longest of my life.”

“A minute is too long to be humiliated and terrified.” Ashwin crosses the room and sits beside me, one knee against his chest. “The wards are safe. With the war, no benefactors will come to claim them.” He leans his shoulder into mine. His touch is daylight in this miserable place. “I’ll change whatever you wish about the temples. I depend on your judgment, especially now . . .” His voice collapses to a whisper. “I’m afraid my decision to unleash Udug will be our ruin.”

I grip his knee. “You had to do it.”

“I still brought this war upon us. Because of me, we may have no future. I need you . . .” He shakes his head and starts over. “I beg of you to trust me.”

“I didn’t mean to exclude you. I trust you. I do.”

Ashwin toys with the gold cuff on my wrist, his gold cuff. He curls his fingers around my arm, and his thumb grazes my pulse. His caress smolders into me, lessening the constant cold, and I sink into his body. His mouth steadily lowers to mine and he says, “You came into my life like a star, the answer to all my wishes.”

He rubs his lips lightly over my own. Heat sparks between us. I lift my chin, yearning for more. He clutches at my waist, and delicious warmth sears into me. My mind goes fuzzy, like I am stretching out in a pool of sunlight.

This feels so right.

No, more than right. Necessary.

I drag him closer. Ashwin inclines me back, lowering me to the floor, and presses his body against mine. I splay my hands across his shoulders, and a vision overwhelms me.

Ashwin and I live in the Turquoise Palace. We sleep in late and stay up into the night. We take our meals in his private atrium and rule our people from twin thrones. I bear him an heir, a son, a Burner who will someday rule the empire justly and with compassion for his people, an example set by his father. Ashwin loves his son as much as he loves me. He defers to me in all things and honors me before his court of wives and courtesans.

I am his singular favorite, his kindred and only love.

The strong image is irrefutable. But it is not mine. The palace looks different than I remember. A fine duplicate but missing details that authenticate the vision. The vivid picture transitions.

Ashwin and I are entangled in the sheets of an enormous bed. He wants more heirs. He wants me.

“Marry me,” he whispers against my lips.

His hand slides up the back of my tunic. Before I can stop the vision from returning, we are in a bed once more in my mind’s eye. Ashwin’s hand creeps higher, tugging up my tunic, both in the Claiming chamber and in the palace. I want him to stop, but I am locked in two realities.

No.

I’m not in the palace, and this is not my dream. My dreams always include Jaya and Deven.

Always.

He kisses across my cheek, down my neck. “Marry me, Kalinda. Be my kindred. Fulfill my heart’s wish.” He nibbles at my throat. I push him away and leave my hands against his chest to prevent him from coming closer. His complexion is flushed and his lips damp. His hooded eyes still project the dream that played inside my head.