His sadness hushes me. Though this is the closest he has been to his family in many moons, he cannot stop to visit them. Had I been paying better attention, I would have suggested he and Natesa meet his mother and sisters and rejoin us later. If Natesa had not distracted the guard long enough for Yatin to throw his haladie, we would be finished.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You did the right thing.”
Yatin slides an indirect glance at Natesa. “I’d do it again.”
As would I, and that worries me. I once told Kali that sometimes the only solution for peace is war. But we are not here to fight these men or change their minds about their leader. We have come for Brac and Opal. And the sooner we find them, the sooner we can run far away from the demon rajah and his army.
17
KALINDA
I meet Indah and Pons in the temple courtyard. Night is falling, and with it, the clear sky leaves an opening for the cold winds pushing in from the north. Much of the snow has melted away, and ice forms on the puddles that remain. Ashwin arrived ahead of me. From his hard-set jaw, he is still simmering over our encounter in the Claiming chamber.
Pons hands Ashwin his machete and says, “The rebels are waiting near the lake. They wish to meet you and the kindred alone. I cannot tell how many there are. At least one of them is a Galer. I received her request to meet you but nothing since.”
The rebel Galer must be redirecting the sounds of their movements to conceal their numbers, an uncomfortable beginning to our diplomatic engagement. I draw my dagger. “I’ll throw up a flame if we need you.”
Indah nods. Her powers will not be of much use to us in this cold, but she is still an adept healer.
Why am I thinking of needing a healer?
Because someone gets hurt every time we interact with the rebels.
Not this time. Tonight, we broker peace.
Ashwin and I exit through the gate. We turn away from our wing flyer by the road, into the chilly wind, and pass through the alpine forest. A figure waits outside the tree line, in front of the frozen lake. Even from a distance, I recognize Anjali, the warlord’s Galer daughter. She wears black robes with a red belt cinched at her waist. Her ebony hair is tied back in a long, thick braid. Anjali was one of the rajah’s top four favored women in his court, but she secretly worked for her father as a palace informant. Her winds swirl predatorily around her, a convex slithering of currents. We stop a fair distance away, and Anjali lulls her gusts. I sense within myself for my powers. My inner light is faint but accessible.
“Kindred. Your Majesty.” Anjali bows, her welcoming discordant with her smirk.
“We were expecting the warlord,” remarks Ashwin. Our exhalations shimmer in the air like silver plumes.
“My father is preoccupied with matters in Vanhi. As you’re aware, the demon rajah’s army is marching there.” Anjali’s intense dark eyes strike a balance against her oval chin, and her subtle curves are offset by a slim waist. “Our informants brought us disturbing news. Would you like to hear?”
“Tell us the message your father sent you to deliver,” I reply, annoyed at her meandering discourse. Like a sidewinder snake, Anjali waits until her opponents are distracted by her indirect weaving and then strikes.
“The demon rajah is growing his powers.”
“He doesn’t need to grow his powers,” I say. “He never tires.”