“I love your son,” I say, forcing an even tone.
“Do you love him enough to step away from your throne? Few women have the influence you hold. Natesa says the prince respects you—he says you’re equals. Do you understand how rare that is? That’s a gift from the gods. You’d be a fool to squander it.”
She forgets I am not only the kindred; I am a Burner. My people will never accept me as I am. Even the ranis held captive in the palace were raised to despise my kind. I hid what I am from them, and I doubt I will regain their trust once they learn my true heritage. “When the time is right, I will step aside.”
Mathura clucks her tongue. “My son is a good man, but that’s folly, Kalinda. You’re a rani. You’ll always be beyond his reach.”
Gods alive, I hope Deven does not share her opinion.
Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he left without saying good-bye, why he hasn’t asked me to relinquish my throne. Maybe he’s afraid I won’t walk away.
More doubts worm into my mind. I sided with Ashwin about the rebels. But Deven understands loyalty and duty better than anyone else. He will think back on our disagreement and realize that I supported Ashwin for the sake of the empire. I just hope Deven forgives me for the hurt my choice is causing him.
Mathura adjusts her sari pleats. “I’m leaving for Janardan with Ambassador Chitt. I trust when I see you next this will be resolved.”
“It will be.” By then the war will be over, and Ashwin will have secured his throne and palace. I will be free of my obligations. Free to openly love Deven. And free to tell Mathura to quit meddling.
I will savor that day.
A knock comes at the door, and Indah lets herself in. She is followed by a balding man in a long indigo robe.
“Healer Mego has come for Kalinda,” says Indah. “We’ll leave you two alone.”
Mathura rises, stately in her grace. “Think on my words, Kalinda.” She bows to emphasize my standing as kindred and sweeps out of the chamber after Indah.
Healer Mego sets his basket down on the table, rolls up his sleeves, and examines me with pale-gray eyes. “Indah told me you were corrupted by a demon.”
I grapple with his verbiage. “Corrupted” sounds as though I have been irrevocably wrecked. “We don’t have long before I have to leave. Can you heal me?”
“All in due time.” He unpacks his basket and lifts his hands, palms facing me. “I need you to burn me.”
“B-burn you?”
“Don’t fret, child. Do as I say.” Healer Mego presses our hands together, our palms and fingers touching. His old hands are marginally bigger than mine and smooth as the inside of a coconut. His arms are covered in more hair than his head. “Go on.”
My fingers glow white-yellow with soul-fire. His flesh must be blistering, yet he does not wince or draw back. He fixates on my fingertips. As I push my powers into them, my fire darkens to greenish yellow, then a sickly jade, and then . . . sapphire sparks fly out.
I douse my powers and shrink away from the vanishing blue fire. The healer lowers his unburned hands.