Deven has yet to look away from the river. I consoled him the best I could last night, but Brother Shaan was his mentor. Some losses leave behind holes that cannot be filled.
Accepting Indah’s arm, we let Deven mourn in peace.
Lying on a cot in the wheelhouse, I feel Indah’s powers flow over me like tepid streams of water. She lets go of my temples, her expression tight. My hour-long session has not gone as expected.
She cleans her hands in the washbasin. The fresh scents from her healing waters, coconut and white sandalwood, waft off my skin.
“Well?” I ask.
“The bone in your leg has knit back together, and the sword wound on your side has closed to a faint scar.”
Both injuries were sustained during my duel in the trial tournament, but they are not what concerns us. Before our escape from Iresh, the Voider, a corporeal demon set free from his prison in the evernight, breathed his poisonous fire down my throat. Despite Indah’s efforts to cleanse me, his powers still slink icily through my veins. Not even a pain blocker, Indah’s rare ability to suppress hurt for a short time, allays the cold.
I close my eyes and search inside myself for the single perfect star in my vision. The ever-burning light is the source of my Burner powers—my soul-fire. No mortal or bhuta exists without this inner radiance. I locate the star but its vivid light is hazy. “I see a greenness behind my eyelids.”
“That’s from the demon’s powers.”
“Can you get rid of them?”
“I don’t know how,” Indah replies, helping me sit up. “In a sense, your soul is frostbitten. If the injured parts were an extremity, I would recommend amputation, but as the damage is internal . . .”
“You cannot amputate my soul.” I finish with a strained laugh, though I find nothing humorous about my memory of writhing on the ground in agony, tormented by the slow, torturous burn of the demon’s cold-fire. The initial anguish has abated, but it left dark stains inside me, like tarnished silver. The Voider’s powers would have destroyed me if I were not one quarter demon. All Burners descend from Enlil, a bastard son of the land-goddess Ki and the demon Kur. I suppose I should appreciate my ancestry. But I am not grateful. Not at all.
Indah’s golden eyes reflect her worry. “I’ll find you a more experienced healer in Lestari. In the meantime, save your strength and powers.”
I have had no need to call upon my Burner abilities since I battled the Voider. But what will happen when I need them? I suspend my concerns. We are nearly to Lestari, the imperial city of the Southern Isles. I can hang on until we arrive tonight.
Pushing to my feet, I test my weight on my bad leg; no pain hisses at me. Indah offers me her arm, but I pick up my cane. “I’ll be all right on my own.”
I shuffle out the door, mindful of the gentle sway of the ship. Several steps later, I rest in a sunny patch of deck. The brightness warms my skin, but the inner hoarfrost will not yield.
“Does Indah know you’re out here alone?”
I swivel toward Natesa and link my arm through hers. “I’m not alone. You’re here.”
“Let’s walk.” She tugs me from the banister, and we stroll around the outer deck. Her hips swish, swinging her braid like a pendulum, though not on purpose. Natesa cannot suppress her curves any more than I can change my skinniness.
As former rivals in my rank tournament among the rajah’s wives and courtesans, for a time we could not stand each other. Natesa and my other competitors fought to gain a better life in this world of men. Only I won the rank tournament. My second victory in Iresh’s trial tournament secured my throne as rani of the Tarachand Empire. I competed against four female bhutas in a series of contests designed to test our powers. My prize is to wed Prince Ashwin as his first wife, his kindred. I respect Ashwin, but marriage to him hardly feels like a reward.