Ashwin opens his mouth, but no words come. He reaches for his cuff, and his finger brushes my palm. My need for him hurts so badly tears spring into my vision. I pull back, and his chin falls to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The door opens. Sarita sees my watery eyes and averts her gaze. “Kindred, the Lestarian woman asked me to find you and the prince. She said for you to meet her and the baldish man in the courtyard.”
Indah would only summon us for one purpose—the rebels must be close. Sarita watches us from the corner of her sight. Ashwin’s hair is still mussed and his tunic offset. Sarita is too innocent to conclude what we have been doing here alone, but I have a clear memory and suffer the ensuing guilt. I should have guessed my connection with Ashwin was contrived.
“That will be all, Sarita,” I say.
She hesitates in the doorway. “I’d like to go with you when you leave.”
The complication of another person on our journey is too much to consider now. “I’ll think on it. Thank you.” She exits the way she came. “We should go.”
The prince still will not look at me.
“Ashwin, please.”
He tips up his head, his eyes frigid. I risk my willpower and edge closer. Tempting soul-fire wafts off him, physical solace within my reach, but I hold myself taut.
“I’m still with you, Ashwin. You have my loyalty through whatever comes next. I know you’ll give the empire your all.”
“Don’t patronize me. I may be younger than you, but I’m not a child.” He tugs down his tunic jacket, a meticulous gesture Tarek was known for. “You may still be kindred, but this is my empire, and the gods will hold me responsible for what comes next.”
Ashwin storms out, his footsteps sounding like Tarek’s the day he walked into my life and flipped my future upside down. Rajah Tarek was a vengeful man, turned hard-hearted after the woman he loved, my mother, jilted him for my father. But I am not my mother any more than Ashwin is his father.
I pick up the henna pot I left on the floor, dip my finger into the sticky paste, and paint the backs of my hands. Soon enough, the henna will dry and flake off to reveal the mark of the kindred. Then Ashwin will be reminded that my fate is also tied to what becomes of the empire, and he will see that I will continue to fight to make certain that the most important aspect of his heart’s wish comes true.
Ashwin will be the next rajah. That is the only destiny I will accept.
16
DEVEN
Late into the afternoon, the plodding wagons spread out. The weariness of the day strings us apart and heavies our steps. Long trails of men wind from the woods and descend into the lowlands, where the air thickens with the dank scent of wet land. The sky opens to unstoppable stretches of blue over verdant grasslands. Men toil in the rice fields and the higher wheat fields, both crops recently planted for the coming winter.
Though I scrutinize every wagon and group of soldiers we pass, I have not seen or heard anything about Brac or Opal. The farther we walk, the more my premonition festers that they are in danger.
Ahead, our troops trudge through a village. Our catapult is one of the last to pass through the roadways lined with ramshackle huts. Yatin was raised not far from this area. His widowed mother and two eldest sisters worked long days in the fields while he and his other siblings kept house.