“And you, Ambassador.” I watch Chitt go, curious what he stopped himself from saying. I never had a proper father—mine wanted nothing to do with his bastard son. Brac and I have always had that in common. I am not sure how I feel about that changing.
When I return to the terrace, a platter of fruit and yogurt dip have been set out, and Kali, Indah, and the admiral have gone. Princess Gemi is the only one left.
“You just missed them,” she says. “They took the kindred on a tour of the palace.” I start to leave to find Kali, but Gemi grabs my forearm and brushes a finger across my skin. “Stay and have dessert. You hardly touched your supper. You must be hungry.”
I am, in fact, starved. The threat of seasickness prevented me from eating much on the riverboat, and tomorrow, I will be back on the water.
Gemi wears a sly smile as she tops off my wine chalice. “Nush,” she cheers.
In Tarachand, it is rude to refuse a host’s offer of food or drink. Besides, Kali is safe with Indah and the admiral, and I have an unobstructed view of the breaker from here to keep an eye out for the raiders, should they try anything. Picking up my chalice, I return to the table and eat.
5
KALINDA
Shadows swathe my bedchamber. Natesa and Yatin are shut in her antechamber, their supper scraps left on the terrace, deserted beside a lit lamp. I envy their freedom to shut out the world and lose themselves in one another.
Deven has not yet returned. I did not want to leave him behind, but Indah and the admiral suggested they show me more of the palace, and I could not stand Princess Gemi a moment longer. She sat so close to Deven during supper she was nearly in his lap.
A warm gust grazes my ear, but a blizzard rages inside me. I gravitate to the lamp and lean over nature’s flame. My soul’s reflection takes form—a fire dragon. I study the small, serpentine figure for changes since the Voider poured his cold-fire inside me, but it gazes up as usual and awaits my command.
You’re a lovely sight. I reach for the fire dragon, seeking its warmth. I am not afraid of a burn or any other reprisal. Both of us are born of fire, though only one of us is the master.
My hand touches the flame, and the dragon recoils. Shh. I am fire, and fire is me. The dragon bares its fangs and then flies down into the center of the flame and vanishes.
The lamplight flickers in the breeze. My soul’s reflection has never retreated from me before. I suppress a shudder, the cold inside me seeming to snicker at my failed effort to elude it. What are my powers good for? Tarachandians believe I should be stoned or locked up. The sultan believed bhutas should be slaves. And the datu treats our gifts like sideshow displays. I did not master nature-fire or learn how to scorch and parch soul-fire to entertain people.
But I have always flouted convention. My fevers made me an outcast at the temple, and my disgust for Tarek made me an outcast at the palace. My uncommon Burner powers make me unusual even among bhutas. I was born a rogue. I am the daughter of a Burner and a rani. Two people that by all rights should never have fallen in love. I came into this world with a purpose, to finish what my parents began. The Voider can steal Tarek’s identity, our army, and our people, but he cannot take away my birthright.
I wave my hand, and the flame puffs out.
Darkness rushes in, and a heavy, burdensome premonition prickles at me. Someone is here. I draw one of the twin daggers strapped to my thighs and peer into my shadowy room. Out of the darkness steps a man not of flesh and bone. He consists of the vile parts that are left after a body decays. I throw out a heatwave and illuminate him.
“Tarek?” I whisper.
He shields his eyes. “Put out the light.” Tarek’s voice wrenches me out of my shock. I push more soul-fire into my fingers. He shies from the radiance. “I’ve come to warn you.”
“You’re dead.”