I scan the new passages in the book, seeing the full story for myself. I was taught that Ki established the Sisterhood, but the rest of the tale was never disclosed. “Why did the sisters tell us only part of the story? Why not teach us peace, like Ki taught the sister warriors?”

“I have often wondered the same.” Eshana watches the sparring wives with severe focus. “Whatever the case may be, the virtue of sisterhood has not been upheld as well as the tournaments.”

That may be so, but these ranis are established sister warriors. Their preparation saved their lives in the arena. “Does everyone here plan to challenge someone to a duel?” I ask.

“Any rani could try for first-wife rank, but Lakia has yet to be challenged.” Eshana smiles sadly. “Many practice to forget our past battles. We all bear scars.”

I study the women closer. Most scars must be deftly concealed by clothes and jewelry and their long hair. But as I look, signs of their hard-fought battles become visible below this flawless veneer. I spot faint scars on arms and legs. Even the impeccable Eshana has a scrape on her back, seen beneath her blouse and extending down, disappearing beneath the waistline of her silk sari.

A gong chimes across the courtyard. The ranis prop their weapons against the wall racks and then pass through a lattice archway bursting with vine flowers.

Eshana and I cross the patio with everyone else. As we walk past the weapons rack, I ask, “Have you mastered all of these weapons?”

“All the rajah’s favored four have. They are Lakia, me”—Eshana blushes—“and two courtesans, Anjali and Mathura. Mathura has lived in the palace almost as long as Lakia, since they were our age.”

Past the archway trellis, we go into a candlelit dining cove. Servants rush to fill chalices with wine. The wives kneel on cushions, congregating around knee-high tables stacked with lavish place settings and mouthwatering dishes smelling of turmeric and coriander.

Parisa beats us to a table. “Eshana! Viraji!”

Heads snap in my direction, and snatches of whispers fly. The comments I overhear pertain to my lankiness or plain looks. Nothing is said that I have not heard before, but the judgments still sting. The ranis’ flaws—their battle scars—are not at the forefront to be gawked at. But my lack of attractiveness cannot be concealed behind a sari.

Eshana sits beside Parisa, and I kneel across from them. They lean their heads together and speak in quiet voices, slightly set apart from the rest of the ranis. Is that how Jaya and I looked together? Separate in a hall full of people?

Hollowness carves out my center. Please let Jaya be safe. Even as I pray, the selfish part of me wishes she were here. I count the number of seats at the tables until the urge to cry goes away. I tally ten seat cushions at each of ten tables, but five of the tables have empty spots.

“Where are the rest of the wives?” I ask.

Parisa and Eshana are engrossed in their conversation, but the young woman beside me answers.

“Three ranis are with their infants in the younger nursery.” The young woman cradles her bulging abdomen. I slant away, having never seen a belly so huge. The temple had two nurseries, a younger one for babies and an older nursery for little girls, but no women with child. The young woman laughs. “I remember the first time I saw a pregnant woman. I thought she was as big as an elephant.”

I think that this young woman looks like a spider, all swollen stomach and skinny legs. But her face is pretty, and her dark hair is the shiniest at our table. “I’m Kalinda,” I say.

“Shyla.” She lifts her hand to show me her rank. “Wife eighty-one.”

“May I . . . may I touch your . . . ?”

She nods and rests my palm on her belly. A strange flutter raps my hand, and my eyes go round.

Shyla beams. “He likes you.”

“You know you’re having a boy?”

“No, but if it’s a boy, he will be thirty-second in line for the throne. Lakia’s son is the rajah’s heir, but you won’t see him. The brethren are raising him at one of their temples.”

I vaguely remember that it is tradition for noble heirs to be brought up by the Brotherhood. The brother responsible for training the heir to the throne later becomes the new rajah’s head counselor. Depending on how long Rajah Tarek’s counselor has served the Vanhi Temple, he may be able to answer questions about my adoption. If anyone can tell me about my family, the brethren can.

Lakia strides into the dining patio, her supple walk all swishing hips and hair. She stands at the head of our table and raises her chalice. Everyone hushes.

“Tonight we celebrate the arrival of the rajah’s final viraji,” she says. “Tarek has claimed Kalinda as his champion. She will defend her throne in what will be our final rank tournament.”

Nods abound. This marks a major point in history. After this, they will no longer have to worry about jockeying for rank in the arena. There will be no more battle scars. “The opening proceedings for the tournament begin tomorrow night with the declaration ceremony. Should Kalinda uphold her throne, she will join us as a rani. All welcome our sister queen. Nush!”

“Nush!” They salute me with their chalices and drink.

I salute them back, and Lakia sits. Cups lower, and bowls of food are served. Voices and clinking silverware take over the night. The dishes smell delicious, but my stomach is too upset by Lakia’s announcement that the declaration ceremony is tomorrow to eat.

“You should try something.” Shyla piles a serving of chickpeas on her plate.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“I am, but I don’t have much room left.” She pats her belly.

“How long until your delivery?”

“The midwife says any day now.” Shyla chews on a stalk of palm heart. She is missing two fingers on her left hand. My mouth turns papery as I try not to stare at the stubs near her knuckles where her fingers used to be. “I may miss your tournament. Pregnant women are exempt from fighting, and with the baby coming . . .”

Her concern helps me muster a smile. “I am certain it cannot be helped.”

Beside us, Parisa and Eshana quit chatting and focus their attention over my shoulder. “Oh, he’s an eyeful,” Eshana says in her not-so-quiet whisper. “Where do I know him from?”

I turn and see Deven waiting near the door with his hands tucked behind him and his head high. He really is a treat for the eyes.

“That’s Mathura’s son,” replies Parisa.

“She told me about him.” Eshana’s admiring tone grates my ears. “Mathura wasn’t exaggerating about his handsomeness.”

I go still, my mind running.

Mathura is one of the rajah’s favored four.

Deven’s mother is a courtesan. General Gautam is a benefactor.

The rajah shares his courtesans with his court. Deven went to the rank tournament to watch his mother fight.

Mathura is Deven’s mother.

Why did he not tell me? Whatever the case may be, I doubt that he has come here to talk about his parentage. He would not set foot in the Tigress Pavilion uninvited without a good reason.

Nearly everyone at our table has noticed his presence. I rise and go to meet him. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

“You asked me to tell you when I heard news about your friend.”

My stomach reels. Jaya.

“Captain Naik,” Lakia calls from our table, “you’ve interrupted our supper.”

Deven steps fully into the light. “My apologies, Kindred. I came to deliver some news. A bhuta was spotted near the palace walls.” Utensils ting, and voices halt. “Soldiers are searching for him now.”

Lakia leans her head in an exaggerated tilt. “How good of you to alert us and check on our safety.”

My lungs squeeze tight. Despite Deven’s reassurance that I am safe in the palace, the Burner has him spooked.

“Please forgive the intrusion, Kindred,” Deven says as he bows. He whispers to me, “I will be outside.”

Parisa and Eshana have their heads tilted together when I return to the table. Upon my arrival, they separate, and Eshana looks me over. “You know your guard well.”

I shirk their questioning glances and pick at my food in silence. Within minutes, a handful of ranis finish their meal and leave the table. I excuse myself with them. Shyla bids me good-bye, and Parisa and Eshana lapse into whispers. My senses crackle, aware of Lakia’s thinned eyes gazing at my back.

I leave the pavilion through the door I came in. Deven waits for me in the empty corridor.

“What did you hear about Jaya?”

“Gautam did not claim her.”

I clasp my hands close to my heart. “Thank you.”

Jaya is safe in Samiya, and with the rank tournament luring the benefactors to Vanhi, that is where she will stay.

Deven’s smile weakens, and I remember the other reason he came. “Was it the Burner who was spotted?” I say.

“Yes. He escaped again, but a bhuta sympathizer was detained for helping him flee.” My insides twist, remembering how close the Burner came without my noticing. Deven grips the hilt of his sword. “The sympathizer was coerced into revealing a bhuta hideaway in the city. Soldiers are headed there now.”

I do not know what he means by “coerced,” but I doubt that Rajah Tarek asked politely. “Are you going?”

Deven stares out the arched walkway. Mynah birds caw to one another, their melodic calls echoing in the shadowed garden. No more than a crescent slit, the winking moon offers scant light. “I’m an imperial guard now. My place is here.”

“Then why did you refuse to become an imperial guard the first time you were asked?”

Deven leans against the arch column. “A year ago, I was part of a military caravan transporting the rajah when bhutas ambushed us. A Galer’s high winds swept away the others, but I tied the rajah and myself to a boulder. Only we survived, and Rajah Tarek offered to promote me to imperial guard. I took a position as captain in the army instead.” His voice thickens. “I left the Brotherhood and became a soldier to be nearer to my younger brother. He, Yatin, and I trained together. Yatin wasn’t with us during the ambush, but my brother was. After I secured the rajah, I tried to go back for him, but he was already gone. I have been searching for the bhutas who killed him since.”