Why must we bury the dead in the rain? The Trembler guards could excavate a grave with the crook of a finger. But that would be too easy, and they are entertained, watching us labor.

Gradually, the hole deepens. I shovel alongside Manas and the other two men until the grave is finished. We lean our shovels against the outer wall, and a guard orders us to drop the bodies.

The deceased are wrapped in bedrolls, their stocking feet sticking out, since the guards stole their boots. I imagine Yatin’s big feet hanging out of a bedroll and scrub away the miserable thought. I wish I had the power to heal him, but at least an Aquifier is tending to him. He will be all right. I repeat it to myself, He will be all right.

We roll the first body to the rim of the grave, sliding through the slick mud, and push the dead man over the edge. He hits the bottom with a splash. The next two men land with empty thuds that hollow out my chest. We reach the last man, and I recognize Eko’s shape under the blanket. Manas stands back to wipe his face, wet from rain and tears. The rest of us heave Eko into the hole.

The guards command us to leave the grave open. I suspect the vizier anticipates the illness will claim more lives. The four of us stare down at our dead comrades in silence. I am the highest-ranking officer, and so it is my duty to offer a prayer.

I recite the Prayer of Rest while the others bow their heads. “Gods, bless our comrades’ souls that they may find the gate that leads to peace and everlasting light.” At the closing, Manas sniffles. On impulse, I add, “And let Eko know, wherever he may be, that he is missed.”

The gong rings for midday meal. I squint up through the rain at the nearest tower. It’s noon; shift change. The Galer on duty will swap places with a new one. Both men will be preoccupied for a couple minutes while the previous Galer gives his report.

The men set off for the dining tent, but Manas lingers at the grave site.

“I’d like to speak with you,” I say.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Gods, grant me patience.

“I’m trying to prevent us from losing more comrades. Please, Manas. We don’t have long. The guards will be eavesdropping on us again soon.” He does not lash out with a rebuttal—progress?—so I go on. “I’ve been monitoring the guards and the gate. I have a plan to break out, but I need your help organizing the men.”

“Why do we need to break out? The prince said we’ll be released after the trial tournament.”

“That’s what Sultan Kuval told him, but I don’t think the sultan means to let us go. Think about it. Would you release your enemies’ soldiers into your imperial city?”

Manas goes quiet. I am taking a risk, confiding in him. The vizier’s informer could be another prisoner in camp. Manas could be reporting to Vizier Gyan for Hastin, but the chance is slim. Manas hates bhutas. I cannot picture him serving one.

“When the time comes to leave here, we’ll have to work together,” I say. “I cannot do this alone, and if you back me, others will too.”

“What if Kalinda wins?” Manas asks. “Aren’t you afraid of her, of what her Burner powers can do?”

“I fear her the same way I do the gods—out of respect.” Manas scowls at my explanation. He cannot separate his emotions so easily, but for this to work, he will have to try. “Helping me is helping the prince and Kalinda. Can you accept that?”

Manas returns his attention to Eko’s body and answers with reluctance. “Tell me your plan.”

“We need weapons, not those measly staffs, but blades. We’ll start by disarming the bhuta guards right before their shift change. Fewer are here then, and they are tired.”

Manas frowns at me. “How will we overpower the bhutas?”

Bearing in mind that this shift change is nearly over, I speak quickly. “The last tournament trial is tomorrow. I wager the duel will draw a big crowd, including Janardanian soldiers. The vizier will most likely cut back on the guards here, leaving fewer men to call for help. While the tournament is going, we can overwhelm the guards, gain access to the guardhouse, and open up their small armory. We’ll use those weapons to get out the gate. I saw a larger weapons bunker between the two encampments. Once we break it open, we’ll have all the khandas we need.”

Manas rocks back on his heels with an incredulous look. “Then what?”

“We get our people and march out. They’re better off heading back to Tarachand than dying here.”

A guard without a yellow armband comes into view near the tents. Fortunately, I recognize he is a Trembler, although I am certain a Galer will be back on duty momentarily.

“You there,” the guard shouts. “You’re missing midday meal.”

I speak to Manas from the side of my mouth. “Remember what I said.”

As I stroll away, he shoves me in the back.

“Liar,” he seethes. I reel around to face him, hurt tearing through me. He shoves me in the chest harder and pushes me back a step. “You think you have friends in the palace, but no one cares you’re here. You’re nothing to the kindred. Nothing.” His malice winds me. Manas leans into my face and snarls. “Prince Ashwin should have whipped you to death.”

“Break it up,” the guard says, tugging us apart.

“Stay away from me,” I order Manas, my voice unsteady, and then stomp ahead of him into the tents.

I slip between two tents and wait for my heart to stop exploding. I am a fool for confiding in Manas. This is the last time I let him betray me. Seconds later, he swaggers past and pretends not to see me, but a smirk graces his lips.

That son of a scorpion. He did not turn me in. He is on my side. His outburst was to throw off the guard. Still, his accusation that Kali does not care for me tore deep. Why hasn’t she come to see me? Is it true she is fighting to wed the prince? Or is she firm in her conviction to free our people?

Movement on the hill draws my gaze upward to soldiers altering the rank board. The second trial must be through. The guards take down Kalinda’s name, leaving Citra’s and Indah’s.

I blink rapidly, my optimism stuttering to a halt. Anu would not let Kali lose. Her fate is to save the empire. I sent her away so she could fulfill her godly purpose. She cannot lose.

Other men notice Kali’s name has been stricken from the rank board, and their murmurs fan out through camp. Not knowing she is a bhuta, they express concern for their kindred. They know, like me, that Kali would not lose without giving everything she has to the competition.

Great Anu, let her be safe.

The devastated voices around me mount, the sound of hundreds of hearts collapsing all at once. I lower my chin, flexing my jaw muscles against rising tears. The Janardanians have stripped away more than Kali’s name. They have stripped away our hope. The foreigner who wins the throne will not care for the good of our families.

“Captain Naik, your presence is requested in the sick tent.”

Two guards wait before me. My chest crowds with panic. I can only think of one reason why they would call me to the quarantined area.

I hurry past them. First Kali and now Yatin? The gods would not be so cruel.

At the far end of camp, more sick tents have been erected and roped off. The white canvases are marked with deep-red crosses stained into the side with black currant juice. A man in a long blue tunic and shortened trousers waits outside a tent for me.

“Captain Naik,” the stranger says, “I’m caring for Yatin. He’s asked for you.”

The healer opens the flap, and I duck inside. Improvements have been made since I was last here. Lanterns hang from the overhead bamboo poles, and mosquitoes swarm the lights like snow flurries in a blizzard. The tent is packed with men lying on floor mats. The sick cough and shake with chills. I crouch down over Yatin while he sleeps. Sweat coats his forehead.

“I’ve made him comfortable with a sedative,” the healer explains. “He’s young and robust, but he’s very ill. You should be prepared for either outcome.”

I can think of two outcomes, recovering or perishing, but I will only accept the first as Yatin’s fate. The healer sets a basket of supplies down near us and goes to check on another patient. A familiar vial nestles within the basket—the neutralizer tonic that blocks bhuta powers. The healer carries it with his remedies. I do not think. I pocket the vial and then take hold of my friend’s hand.

“Yatin.”

“Deven,” he rasps. He sounds as though the desert is lodged in his throat. I reach for the ladle in a nearby water bucket and trickle a drink over his lips. Yatin opens his clenched hand to reveal a small silver object. “Give this to Natesa. Tell her I wish . . . I wish she could have met my sisters—” He breaks off in a coughing fit and drops the ring.

I pick it up and examine the lotus flower design on top. I cannot bring myself to consider the circumstances that would cause me to give Natesa the ring for Yatin. I push it back into my friend’s palm. “Give it to her when you’re better.”

Yatin holds the ring out, his arm quivering from the exertion. “Please. Just in case.”

My nose burns with restrained tears. If I take the ring, it will make this real. And this cannot be real. “You hold on to it. It’ll remind you what’s waiting for you when you’re better.”

Yatin closes his hand around the lotus ring and rests it over his heart. Wheezing on shallow breaths, he rolls his head to the side and rests. Yatin is strong, but what if the illness is stronger? What if his purpose is finished in this life and he is needed in his next?

His fist remains fastened around the ring. I am thankful that he has a tangible dream to hang on to. My thoughts pull in, recalling my own dreams, the life Kali and I envisioned together. What a dolt I was to let her believe I gave up on that, on us.

The healer signals from the door; my visiting time is spent. I pat Yatin’s arm in parting. As I exit the tent, I slip my hand into my pocket. I have no pretty ring to hold over my heart, but I have the neutralizer tonic. I fasten my fingers around the vial and contemplate how this poison will help me get to Kali.