Another predator I would rather not run into. I follow him back into the trees without argument. Soon the trail widens, releasing us from the vine-strangled tree trunks and bristly weeds. Tiny lights sparkle in the distance. As we near the end of the path, a large grouping of white tents comes into view. Ashwin extinguishes the torch in the dirt, and we stop behind a teak tree.

Janardanian guards armed with machetes patrol outside a waist-high blockade around the camp. Within the fence, torches burn every ten paces or so, lighting the tight rows of tents. Mosquitoes congregate near the torches like clotting clouds.

Our people are everywhere. Some mill about, while others sit on the dirt ground outside their tents. Many are so thin I can see their angled cheekbones and the knots in their spines. All are in need of several good meals. They have little furniture, and what they do have is run down. The stench of refuse from overfull latrines wafts off the tented city.

My pulse echoes hollow in my ears. This is worse than the poverty in Tarachand. Tarek was not a generous ruler, but at least he did not pen them in like livestock.

“How many are here?” I ask.

“Last count was five thousand.” Ashwin’s guttural whisper teems with condemnation. “Sultan Kuval said he was caring for our people. But this . . . this is inexcusable.”

I swallow the bitter tang of regret. Ashwin understands now why he cannot trust the well-being of his people to anyone else.

He pushes away from the tree, his movements jerky from anger. “Brother Shaan said the second encampment is north of here.”

We stick to the underbrush to avoid the guards and skirt the camp. The encampment goes on and on, endless tents and people. Ashwin pauses to frown at two lookout towers stationed at the south side. The people are locked inside the camp with no defense. What threat do they pose? We move on to the end of the camp. Across from the main entrance, a dirt wall encircles a second smaller compound.

“This must be our military internment camp,” Ashwin says, more weary now than outraged. “Our soldiers reside here.”

“Are all of the refugees sorted into one of the camps?”

“That’s the Janardanians’ protocol. The sultan demands it.”

A warning crawls inside me. Deven and the others may have arrived by now, or if not, they will soon. What if they were brought here instead of to me? I whisper to Ashwin, “Did you see Opal before we left? She said Brother Shaan needed her.”

“I was with Brother Shaan. I didn’t see her.”

My gaze zips to the high walls of the military compound, my alarm expanding. Opal lied. Maybe she did not want me present when my party arrived. I draw my dagger and slip out of the underbrush.

“Kalinda!” Ashwin reaches for me, but I tug from his grasp.

I sprint across the clearing to the military encampment. A soldier on watch spots me and rings a gong. I peek through the slots in the gate to the compound but see only tents and guards within.

“Deven!” I call. “Deven!”

Janardanian guards block the gate. “Move away,” one orders.

I try to look past him. “You may have detained my guards.”

Across the way, people in the civilian encampment notice the disturbance and peer at me over the chest-high bamboo fence.

“Deven!”

My shouts prompt a hum of low voices . . . “The kindred.”

The guards shuffle agitatedly. They recognize me now too. My revered name flies across the camp behind me and lures more onlookers. In moments, people press against the bamboo fence.

“Kalinda!” Natesa shoves her way to the front of the crowd.

Hearing her, I swivel around and start for the other camp. Janardanian guards block my way, stopping me in the clearing. I could throw them back with a heatwave, but everyone would see my powers.

“Put down your weapon,” says a large guard.

I drop my dagger. He kicks it from my reach and tries to seize me. I wrench away from him. “I laid down my weapon, but I am not defenseless. I can work that curious crowd into a mob in seconds. Release my friend, or five thousand people will be upon you.”

The large guard who disarmed me, a bhuta commander by his yellow armband, presses his lips into a hard slash. Cords of muscles twang at his neck. I hold my stance, unmoving in my demand. At last, he signals to the guards at the far gate, and they release Natesa.

She pushes through the armed men. “Kalinda,” she says, grabbing me to her. “We told them you were expecting us, but they wouldn’t let us see you.”

“Where are the others?”

“All of us were too heavy for Rohan to carry, so Mathura and Brac stayed behind in Tarachand. They’re coming by foot.” Natesa points at the compound. “They put Yatin and Deven in there.”

I face the bhuta commander. “Release my guards.”

“I cannot do that, Kindred. Tarachandian guards must remain under watch.”

I put on my haughtiest voice. “They’re my personal guards. I’ll watch over them.”

Janardanian soldiers wave the people in the civilian camp away from the fence. Some obey, but most stand their ground. I threatened a riot, but I do not want any of them hurt.

“I take my orders from the vizier,” says the commander. “No one is allowed in or out without authorization.”

“I’m your authorization.” Ashwin strides up to the guards’ line of defense. “Commander, bring us the rest of the kindred’s party.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” says the commander, bowing. “My orders come from Vizier Gyan. No one may enter either camp without his permission.”

“Those are my soldiers,” Ashwin says louder, with more backbone than I thought he possessed.

Natesa gapes at Ashwin in disbelief. “That’s the prince,” I whisper to her.

She shakes her head slightly to dispel her shock at his resemblance to his father. Our onlookers comprehend that their prince stands before them, and their muttering starts anew.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” replies the commander, “but those men deserted their posts. They’re cowards and traitors.”

Ashwin steps up to him, radiating authority. “According to your reasoning, I too am a traitor. Do you believe I’m a coward, Commander?”

“Prince Ashwin,” Princess Citra calls from above. She and Opal soar down on a wing flyer and land nearby.

“Who’s that?” Natesa asks me.

“Princess Citra,” I say lowly. “She’s all beauty and, as far as I can tell, no heart.”

The princess struts up to our group and snaps orders at her soldiers. “This spectacle will end now. Return the refugees to their tents.”

The guards corral the bystanders away from the fence and back inside their temporary quarters.

“She stays with me,” I say, stepping in front of Natesa.

“Refugees aren’t permitted inside the palace,” Princes Citra replies with icy contempt.

“Kalinda requires a servant she trusts, Your Highness.” Ashwin follows up his statement with a deferential nod. “Surely you must understand.”

Princess Citra offers him a mild smile. “I appreciate your consideration for the kindred’s comfort, but my father’s decrees are final.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to disobey your father.” Ashwin accentuates his charming good looks with a conspiratorial smile. “This would be between us. I would consider it a personal favor.”

Princess Citra sidles closer to him and skims a trimmed nail down his arm. “I suppose the kindred may retain one servant.”

“What of my guards?” I ask.

The princess’s attention slides to me. “They’ll remain here.”

“I’m not leaving without them.” I raise my hands to employ my powers, but some of the refugees still watch from inside the camp. My people cannot know I am a Burner, or I will lose my influence to help them. As much as it pains me to leave Yatin and Deven, I do not see this quarrel ending in our favor.

I retrieve my dagger from the dirt and sheathe the blade. “We’re done here.”

Princess Citra loops her arm through Ashwin’s. “Ride with me back to the palace?” she asks, dripping sweetness. After a swift glance at me, he agrees. She tips up her nose in victory, and they stroll to the wing flyer where Opal waits.

“Kindred, I’ll have your servant escorted to the palace,” the commander says.

Natesa bristles at being called my servant, but I am in no mood to pacify her. I go to the wing flyer and climb on opposite Ashwin and Princess Citra. Opal’s summoned draft elevates us into the night sky. Looking down, I quickly memorize the layout of the military camp.

My throne is a noose around my neck. I must be careful that what I do next does not trip the trapdoor.

Ashwin escorts me back to my chambers. As soon as the door shuts, I step up to him. “You aren’t the naive boy you put forward, are you? I saw you with those guards. You have mettle when you want it.”

He waves aside my recounting of his bravado. “I’m whatever my people need.”

“Your people need a leader. Release Captain Naik. He’s the reason I escaped Vanhi.”

“I have no authority here.” Ashwin holds up his empty hands. “This isn’t my land. I cannot release him or anyone else until after the tournament.”

“You haven’t even tried,” I growl.

Ashwin edges nearer to me. “I’m not blind. You care for this Captain Naik.” He reads my answer in my defiant gaze, and his voice softens. “Should you win the tournament, I’ll free you from your wifely rank.”

“You lie.” I dare not trust the prince’s tempting offer.

He comes right up to me, our eye level equal. “I was bold tonight because you were there. I’m a better ruler with you beside me. But if you compete in the tournament and win, I vow you’ll no longer be a rani unless that’s your wish.”

“You’ll let me go?”