“They teach the origin of the Morass.” Ashwin sweeps the light over the ancient drawings. “Would you like me to read you the tale?”

“Can you?” Runes are an ancient language, rarely taught or spoken in Tarachand.

Ashwin answers by beginning to read. “Long ago, when the world was new, Abzu, the freshwater-god, was the first deity, the begetter of all. Soon after Abzu came Tiamat, the saltwater-goddess. Abzu and Tiamat met at the horizon, and when their waters intertwined, Tiamat birthed Anu and Ki.”

Abzu and Tiamat are not deities I worship. The sisters taught me to pray to the sky-god Anu; his consort, Ki, the land-goddess; and their children, the fire-god Enlil and the water-goddess Enki. Though I have heard of Abzu and Tiamat, our temple studies did not focus on the primeval gods.

Ashwin lowers the torchlight and continues. “Anu sought to possess his father’s glory and become king of the gods, so he killed Abzu and usurped his lordship. Enraged by her son’s betrayal, Tiamat birthed the First-Ever Dragon and filled the creature’s body with fiery venom. Together, they made war against her son. Armed with the arrows of his winds, Anu, the god of storms, fought Tiamat and the dragon. Anu cut through the channels of Tiamat’s blood and made the north wind bear her body away into secret places, creating rivers that ran into the salty seas. From her ribs, Anu crafted the vault of sky and land, and from her spine, she sprouted the Morass.”

I rub my chilled arms. “What happened to the First-Ever Dragon?”

Ashwin scans the wall but finds no more runes. “Doesn’t say, but I once read that another name for the demon Kur is the First-Ever Dragon.”

Demons and dragons are one and the same?

A foreboding wind flickers our torch. “We should move on,” I say. We carry onward down the tunnel, more cautious than before. “Who taught you to read runes?”

“My instructor, Brother Dhiren. I wasn’t allowed to go outside or train with the other apprentices, so Brother Dhiren filled my days with lessons.”

I try to picture Ashwin as a child, buried in books instead of playing outside, and my heart squeezes. When I was younger and suffering from fevers, I was often alone. Then I met Jaya. She was a torch in the dark, brightening my world.

“Where is Brother Dhiren now?” I ask.

“He passed away.” Pain Ashwin lacked when he spoke of his parents jams his voice, a sadness that stems from losing someone he loved. He speeds up his pace. “It should be sundown by now, and we still have a ways to go.”

I walk faster, mulling over our conversation. Nothing Ashwin has told me about himself has caused me to doubt him. In fact, his disapproval of his parents and affection for Brother Dhiren are endearing. I do not dislike Ashwin, but I am not ready to trust him yet either.

9

DEVEN

The sunlight under the door weakens to pale silver. Footsteps approach, and the door swings open. I squint at the dusky sky; weak as it is, my eyes still sting in the twilight.

“You may come out now, Captain,” says Vizier Gyan.

I push away from leaning against the wall. Days of traveling without much food weaken my knees, and I weave a step as I exit the hut. Vizier Gyan waits with guards. One of them holds out a whip, the other a sword. I force my face to granite.

Vizier Gyan links his hands behind him. “I’ve spoken with the soldiers. They informed me of your prior accusations. Do you admit to conspiring with the bhuta warlord Hastin and betraying Rajah Tarek?”

Be humble. I draw in a shallow breath. “Yes, sir.”

Vizier Gyan’s staid expression does not change. “I reported my findings to Prince Ashwin. He has no room in his army for traitors. Fortunately for you, he is more lenient than his father. He said if you confessed he would spare your life and deliver a less severe sentence.”

“Does the kindred know I’m here? What did she say?”

The vizier pauses at my unanticipated inquiry. “She’s in accord with the prince. Neither will excuse treachery.”

Kali sided with Prince Ashwin? Something must have happened between them. He could be exercising his first rights to her and forcing her to comply with his wishes.

“I want to see the kindred,” I say.

“You have no rights here, Captain.”

“I understand, but when they arrive, if you would please let me speak—”

“Neither the prince nor the kindred will attend your punishment. They have more immediate affairs that require their attention.”

Kali isn’t coming. I stiffen my jaw, locking down my frustration. Prince Ashwin is keeping her away from me. Why has he not come? He should be here to order my sentencing, not hiding behind the vizier. “What affairs?” I chop out.

“Sultan Kuval is hosting a trial tournament,” explains Vizier Gyan. “Each of the four sovereigns will select a contender to compete for a chance to wed Prince Ashwin. He wishes for Kindred Kalinda to represent Tarachand against the opposition.”

Another godsforsaken tournament.

“Did she agree?” I ask.

“As far as I’m aware, she’s competing.”

My stomach collapses in dismay. I do not want to believe him, but, regretfully, this makes sense. Kali loves our people, and blames herself for their recent suffering. She will compete in another tournament to protect them from a foreign queen and more hardship.

The vizier swivels around, and his guards drag me behind him to the quad. My fellow soldiers line the open area, facing a post staked in the center. Manas’s glare burns into me as I pass. His acrimony is nothing new—he turned me in for treason back in Vanhi—but his lack of concern for me demolishes any remaining memories I have of our friendship.

I am led to face the post. The guards tie me to it, strapping my hands above my head. Another guard uses his machete to rip the back of my shirt open and finishes by tugging it off. Clammy air rushes over my skin.

Vizier Gyan calls to the men—my men. “Prince Ashwin won’t tolerate traitors. Nor will Sultan Kuval provide refuge to dishonorable guards. Captain Deven Naik has confessed to treason; hence the prince has granted him mercy. He will not lose his life but will receive thirty lashes.”

I rest my forehead against the pole, my insides cramping. Thirty lashes will rip me apart. I have seen men fall to pieces after ten.

The vizier approaches in my side vision with the whip. I widen my stance and bend my knees to avoid fainting. Bracing my forehead against the pole, I hold myself for the first strike. Vizier Gyan counts down.

“On my mark. Three, two, one . . .”

Pain slashes across my back. My shoulders bunch in recourse, sharpness ricocheting down my legs. I brought this upon myself.

Before I can recover, the snap of the whip comes again.

“Two.”

Another hit, deeper and more painful than the last.

“Three.”

My vision grays at the fringes. I have to anchor my mind to something or I will float away. Where is Kali?

“Four.”

I cry out, an unbidden groan, and then grip my teeth together. I will not dishonor myself with another sound.

“Five.”

Gods, grant me strength. I wish I could rescind my guilty plea. I wish I could scrub clean every mistake I have made.

Eight more hits, and my knees slacken. Agony pushes past my resolve to endure. My weight sinks against the pole. I cannot lift my head. More strikes, and the vizier’s counting fades to a distant call for justice.

More pain. More darkness.

My knees thunk to the ground. Forgive me, Anu. Forgive me. I do not cry out, but my heart weeps for absolution. I am a soldier. I swore my life in service to the Tarachand throne.

The damned whip strikes again.

I am a traitor. I fell in love with the rajah’s queen. I betrayed my calling, and the gods will have their wrath.

I remain on my knees, refusing to coil into a ball. I honored my duty to protect Kali. I gave my life to her. She is my rani. She is my ruler.

Another vicious hit. Blood seeps across my back and down my chest.

Kali is the Tarachand throne. And I . . . I will always be a disgraced guard. If she knows I am being punished, if she did side with the prince, I cannot fault her. Our dream was a fool’s wish. From the start, she belonged to the empire, first as a temple ward and now as the kindred. She must think of the good of Tarachand above all else.

Above herself. Above me.

I curl into my knees, my strength shredding away. The vizier counts on dutifully. Each lash scores into my soul . . . until, finally, I am broken.

10

KALINDA

Ashwin and I step out of the tunnel into sticky air and the persistent night calls of creatures hunkering in the dark. Predatory plant life walls us in, gray-emerald shadows partially blocking the starry sky.

“Brother Shaan said there’s a path,” Ashwin remarks. He walks to the thick trees with the torchlight. My fingers hover over my dagger as we search for a trail into the Morass. He notices my hand near my weapon. “Expecting a monster to jump out?”

“Can you guarantee me one won’t?”

He expels a breathy chuckle. “Here it is.”

A narrow path has been scored into the jungle floor, hardly wide enough for a rabbit’s trail. I draw my knife and step into the darkened trees. I pause and listen intently. Branches rustle around me, and animal noises quit or carry away, but the awareness of something watching me prickles at my scalp. I have heard clouded leopards, porcupines, and macaques call this jungle their home, none of which I would like to disturb.

Ashwin joins me, our shadows cast by the torchlight. “I’m glad I didn’t make you that guarantee,” he says.

“Watch your step.”

I lead the way with my dagger and slash at spiny ferns. Up and down, the trail weaves through underbrush alive with zipping insects. We duck under great boughs, lunge over heaving tree roots carpeted with orchids, and come to a murky waterway. The mirrorlike surface burns the fiery reflection of our torch. My feet splash along the bank.

“Stay away from the water,” Ashwin warns. “The Morass is home to crocodiles.”