My angry voice strikes out at him. “You can keep your thanks and tell me this—did you order me lashed?”

Prince Ashwin pushes back with a stern frown. “Does it matter if I did?”

“It matters to Kali.”

Redness crawls up his throat. My actions are insubordinate. Skies, I could be lashed again for my belligerence. But to my amazement, the prince’s expression tempers with sympathy. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. It was not done on my command.”

His regret humbles me to a place of reflection. Good Anu, I think I believe him. “Then who gave the order?”

“I don’t know.” His face sharpens with aggression. “But I promise when I discover who it was, they will pay.”

The prince slips out, and the glowing lantern he left does little to cast away the shadows of my uncertainty.

15

KALINDA

Darkness smothers me. The air is thinner and enclosed inside the ruins. I lie on my back and stare into nothing. I cannot see my hand in front of my face.

My hand.

I push my powers into my fingers. They cast a pale glow, uncovering walls strangled by vines and an uneven rocky floor buckled with tree roots. After getting up, I wrench a dry root free. I cup the top of the wood and shove my powers into it. A small flame sparks. I blow on the flame, and my breath caresses the new embers into a blaze.

The torchlight brightens the caved-in entry. The rock pile is too high and packed thick, well within the doorframe. I have to find another way out.

Extending the torch in front of me, I hazard my way into the ruins. The floor slopes, leading me into the trenches. Every few steps I pause and listen for sounds above my thumping heart. Water drips nearby, but the rowdy jungle noises are absent. The corridor breaks off into dark doorways. I choose the path in front of me over and over again, maintaining a line. I lose track of time, but at least an hour, maybe two, passes before I enter a large room.

Torchlight opens up the area, which has not seen sunlight in a long while. Moss blankets the floor, and fungus sprouts from rotten branches. The ceiling is so high I cannot see it beyond the circle of light.

The hairs on my bare arms bristle as I cross the cold room to a wall mural. The land-goddess stares out at me. A gigantic dragon cobra swathes her strong shoulders. Ki is magnificent, nearly the whole height of the great chamber.

The mural continues, transitioning from thriving jungle foliage to a scene at a mountaintop. Jagged peaks with snowy tips and gray rock fill my sight. The depiction of the Alpanas—home—chokes me with longing. On the top of the summit, perched like a bird of prey, is a blue-black snakelike monster. Below it, legions of warriors shoot arrows at the beast. The great serpent blows fire into their ranks, burning them to ashy silhouettes. The mural is lifelike, and as an artist I admire the painted detail. I close in on the sinister serpent, the First-Ever Dragon. The demon Kur is rarely depicted in portraits, but I remember once seeing a sketch of his blue-black scaly form.

Deep breathing rings out behind me.

I spin around. “Who’s there?”

The echo of my voice answers, and then silence, broken only by my drumming pulse.

Turning my back to the wall, I cross carefully to the center of the room. Four stairs lead me up a dais. The circle of my torchlight brushes against the base of a throne. I approach the old stone chair, bringing the light nearer. The back of the seat is fashioned into the head of a dragon with its jaw open, poised to devour its occupant. The rest of the dragon’s serpentine body winds around the heavy feet. This was Ki’s throne. I can imagine her ruling from here, deep in the heart of the jungle she dominates. But why does a dragon decorate her place of power?

Ki’s throne room is belowground, where her territory meets the demon Kur’s. Perhaps Ki came here to visit Kur, and the story of their being lovers is true. I cannot think of another reason why she would rule from a throne shaped into the symbol of a demon.

Breathing sounds again, closer.

I thrust the torchlight out in front of me. “Show yourself,” I demand shakily.

The air stirs behind me. Nothing emerges from the blackness, but the hairs on my body rise. Something lurks in the dark. In the Void.

In front of me, behind the throne, two blue eyes blaze. I cannot see what they belong to, but they smolder with a fire that is strange to mankind. They are more darkness than light, like what remains after a star collapses.

The rank marks on the backs of my hands burn. Wincing in pain, I nearly drop the torch, but I maintain my grip on the light. Whatever creature dwells in this shadowed lair burned me—and it is not of this world.

I force my knees to bend and my feet to move. I back up and follow the wall around the chamber. All the while, the blazing blue eyes watch me. Behind the dais, a doorway leads to an antechamber. I crest the threshold and run. My footfalls resound off the walls and come back to me, as though I am being chased. I push myself faster. The antechamber empties into a corridor. Then another. The hallways weave endlessly, and soon the floor inclines. I climb into warmer air and pause for a breath. I see no signs of the soulless creature following me, but I press on.

Before long, exhaustion drags my pace, and my torch burns low, near to extinguishing. No, don’t go out. I will never find my way out of here without light. I scan the ground with the dying torch to find its replacement and see dead roots near a short alcove. I crouch over the roots and wrench on the loose wood.

Something hisses.

I freeze with my arm outstretched. A black snake lifts its head level to my face and spreads its neck ribs into a flat, wide hood. I recognize the viper’s diamond markings from the popular depiction of Ki. A dragon cobra.

The torchlight goes out.

Gods above.

Another hiss pierces my chest. Darkness conceals the cobra, but it is near. I slowly pull back my arm. Resting both palms on the ground, I brighten my fingers to a glow. In the dimness, I distinguish the shape of the serpent before me, coiled to strike. I dare not reach for my dagger while in its striking distance.

Ever so slowly, I shift my body weight from my arms to my knees. The dragon cobra stands higher and waits for me to move again. For an excuse to strike. Venom hides in its fangs. Another sort of danger hides inside me.

I push more light into my hands planted on the ground. The dirt around them smokes, and the cobra recoils from the awful burning smell. I quickly grab the snake behind the head. The viper’s jaws unhinge, opening to bite, and its body whips against my arm. I scorch its neck, pushing in the full heat of my powers. Its leathery skin around my hand turns dry, and the cobra’s body slackens. I drop it and withhold my inner light. Shadows sink through the world.

It’s dead. It’s gone.

I wait for my heartbeat to calm and then light my hand with my powers. The cobra lies still before me. Beside it, an ember burns in the dirt where I created the smoke. The small light is not intimidating like a campfire or a full flame, but it is still nature-fire, born of me. I scoop up the ember in the dirt, cradling it in my palm. I can sense its light fading. As I am fire, and fire is me, I am responsible not to let it go out.

I call to the ember with my powers, not pushing but singing and coaxing. Come to me. Bring me your warmth. Show me your light.

The ember brightens. I call to it again, encouraging it to grow, and a flame juts up. I pull away the rotted branch and touch the end to the tiny flame. The fire licks at the wood hungrily and soon feeds.

I gawk at the torchlight. I controlled nature-fire.

The cobra’s corpse lies at my feet—the something deadly I need to complete the skill demonstrations. After setting aside the torchlight, I cut off the snake’s head with my dagger so no one can tell I scorched it to death and then sling the viper’s body over my shoulder and set off with my torch.

I follow the sloping floors up for a long while. Exactly how much time has passed since I was locked inside the ruins, I cannot say, but my feet and legs ache from walking. The vines grow thicker and greener along the walls. Roots burrow across the ground. I lunge over one and slow to inspect the wall they tunneled under. A crack zigzags across the solid stones. I lower my face, and fresh air kisses my cheek.

At last. I drop the dead cobra and prop up the torch for light. I kick the crack in the wall hard. A handful of pebbles crumble, widening the fracture. I plunge my blade into the crack and pry off more stones, working until the fissure grows to a hole the size of my fist.

Dusky light filters inside. I slam my elbow into the wall, and the crater expands. Still, it is not big enough. My legs quake with exhaustion. Perspiration drips down my back and face. My fatigue implores me to rest, but this is the way out.

Beyond this wall is Iresh. Beyond this wall is Deven.

I search for something hard and pick up a stone. Using it as a hammer, I beat the outlet, opening the gap as wide as my hips. I toss the dead cobra out the hole and pull my upper body through. A sharp edge slices my underarm. I ignore the pain and wiggle out to my hips. One final shove, and I fall outside, panting. Lying on my back, the sky lightens before me.

Dawn has passed. I am out of time.

No. Citra will not win.

I push up to my knees. The jungle looks the same in every direction, so I climb atop the temple ruins and explore the skyline for the palace’s golden dome. Like a coin glinting in a pond, it appears in the sky. My whole body aches, but I have a ways to go yet. I scurry back down to the ground, toss the dead dragon cobra over my shoulder, and hike east.

My late arrival to the Beryl Palace, filthy and blood speckled, garners me an armed escort from a pair of entry-door guards to the throne room.

The hallways are fragrant with the scent of mango rice, a local breakfast dish. My stomach grumbles in hunger. I will eat after I finish this. The guards stop before the grand entrance to the throne room. Sultan Kuval is speaking to the full hall. I march inside without an invitation. My powers remain with me as I pass through the threshold. Unlike the war room, the throne room is not lined with toxic plants. When I am halfway down the main aisle, the sultan pauses midsentence. Ashwin is seated opposite him on the dais. He sees me, and relief shoos the worry from his expression.

My competitors are lined up along the west wall with their “something deadly” from the Morass. Tinley holds a basketful of poisonous white currants. I cannot fathom how Indah managed it, but she blindfolded and tied down a crocodile longer than a fishing boat, at least sixteen hands long. Behind Citra, fettered to a stone pillar, a full-grown tiger prowls the length of its short chain. The striped cat growls when I pass. I avoid Citra’s hot glare and put on a smile just for her. She did not think she would see me again.