“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says. He lays his big, warm hand over my hand.

I want more. I want his hands to cover my whole being. It is a selfish wish. A stolen dream. But I do not step back. I do not let go. My hand slides up to his shoulder.

Deven leans down. I can see my name on his lips, ready to ask me to step away. My own lips carry a plea.

“Ka—”

I press my mouth to his, sealing my name on his lips. His warmth spreads everywhere, dazzling my mind and aching straight down to my toes. My loneliness and my fears peel from me. His arms come around me, tentatively at first, and then they crush me against his hammering heart. I have never felt freer. I lift my hand to his cheek and stroke his jaw, skimming the thick, soft bristles. He groans, a low rumble in his throat, lighting my senses aflame. He is the sun and the stars in my sky. He is my light.

Deven releases me and steps back. “Kali, we risk too much.”

I choke on broken words. I should apologize, but it would be insincere. I am sorry for endangering us, but I am not sorry for kissing him.

“We need to go back.” Deven starts down the path with brisk strides. I follow a heartbeat behind, my limbs floating around me.

We go inside and reach my chamber door, and Deven faces me. “About what happened in the garden . . .”

“Yes?” My gaze drops to his lips, longing for their warmth.

“Kali,” Deven says in a pained whisper, “we cannot.”

I boost my chin. “I can do what I wish.”

“Not at the expense of your safety. I am asking you to, please, forget it.” His voice quavers. He is afraid for me. Afraid for himself. If I had any sense, I would be afraid too. I am fearful of many things here at the palace, but Deven is not one of them. Even so, I feel guilty enough that I cannot deny his request.

“All right.”

“It’s better this way,” he promises.

Looking into his eyes, I see the remembrance of our kiss, and the hurt of him asking me to forget it is too much. I leave him in the doorway.

Asha turns to see me come into my bedchamber. She is washing her face in the basin, her veil beside her and her face uncovered. My eyes widen at the red scars on her cheeks. She turns away and tugs on her veil.

“Forgive me, Viraji. It’s hot today.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Her veil must add to the miserable heat. I want to ask how she got her scars, but she keeps her head bowed, and I do not want to humiliate her further. “Would you please bring my meals here today?”

“Of course, Viraji.”

Asha scurries past me. I let her go, sorry for her embarrassment, and sit on the bed. I run my fingers over my lips. They no longer capture Deven’s warmth, but his taste clings to them like spring dew.

I drop my hand, a headache burrowing behind my eyes. I cannot face Deven again today, and I am in no mood to be social. Dining in the Tigress Pavilion would draw questions from the ranis about skill demonstrations, and I have no idea what I would do.

I take my sketchbook out of my satchel and draw. The meditative practice of scraping charcoal over parchment eases my headache and helps me think. I must stay composed in the face of my contenders at skill demonstrations. My sparring teacher taught us to maximize our strengths in the ring. Ki’s sister warriors were each known for having mastered one skill, like Jaya has done with the haladie. I wish that I had Jaya’s ability with a blade, but my weapon of choice is the slingshot, which will not intimidate anyone.

Asha brings me a lunch tray. I eat the fruit and leave the rest. She later brings my supper tray, lights the oil lamps, and again departs. In the twilight hour, I sit back and massage my tired hand.

The land-goddess stares up at me from the page. She stands within her misty jungle. A deadly dragon cobra is slung over her neck and shoulders, and she holds its diamond-shaped black head toward me. A crown of poisonous nightshade surrounds her head like a halo. Her straight dark hair falls like vines around her strong, feminine shape, both warrior and goddess. I stare into Ki’s knowing eyes, waiting for her to speak wisdom to my soul.

A warm shudder washes over me. I look across the chamber at the decorative bowl of colorful glass orbs near the hearth. Could it work?

I clutch my sketchbook to my chest and close my eyes. The remembrance of Deven’s full, velvety lips visits me in the dark. Relaxing into my pillow, I invite the memory of his kiss to stay with me through the night.

18

I wake with a start, beads of sweat rolling down my face, thinking that the palace itself is ablaze. First light streams in from the open balcony. My bedchamber is free of smoke and flames. I touch my face and find that I was mistaken. I’m on fire.

My satchel hangs on my bedpost. I reach for my tonic vial in the front pocket and notice radiance in my hands. I stumble to the mirror glass and gape. My face, arms, and chest are glowing. Dizziness grabs the sides of my head and spins me around. I slump forward, resting a hand over the comb on my vanity. The comb’s silver prongs curl and warp. I cringe away, my mind flashing back to the Burner bending the blade of Natesa’s knife.

Gods’ virtue, no.

I stumble back to my bed and lower myself to the floor. Handling my satchel as little as possible, I dig out a tonic vial. The glass heats in my hand. I pop the cork, and it burns to ash in my palm. My pulse thrashes in my ears. I press the vial to my quivering lips and down the last of the tonic.

Panting, I extend my hands in front of me. The radiance slowly fades, and I slump against my bed. Everything I know about myself disintegrates, like the cork did in my hand. No normal person glows or bends silver combs.

I press my fists to my stinging eyes, and tears slip out. Healer Baka must have known. I bite my teeth down on more tears, my chest swelling with anger. Why did she not tell me? I spent years in a sickbed, yet she never uttered a word. She should have done more than send me here with a formula. She must know what the rajah does to bhutas. She must know what will happen if I am caught.

Shoving away my tears, I stare at the ashes on my palm. Great Anu, what do I do? I have one vial left, enough tonic to last me through the tournament, but then what? I rub my palm clean on my skirt. I cannot do this. I cannot win the tournament and be a . . . What am I? Demon or half-god?

My gaze flies across the chamber to Bhuta Origins, stashed on the bookshelf. I push myself to my rickety legs and fetch it. Sitting cross-legged before the empty hearth, I start at the beginning of the book and thumb through the pages. The same phrases shout out at me. Half-gods. Godly powers. Children of Anu.

In the middle, the chapters break down bhuta abilities by name. I skim over each power, certain phrases hooking into me. Aquifiers possess healing waters. Tremblers hold indomitable strength. Galers hear the secrets of the wind.

I pause on the chapter about Burners.

Burners possess Enlil’s mighty fire. Some even share the fire-god’s golden eyes, though not many. Burners raze the good and the bad, clearing a path for new growth and learning. They are the rarest bhutas, and their powers are the most crucial to control and contain. In their early years, Burners’ flare-ups may be mistaken for fevers. Many inaccurately regard Burners as sickly, and if overlooked, their abilities will smolder until self-destruction. As such, many die before they reach maturity.

I slam the book shut, hands and head shaking. Mistaken for fevers. My gaze rests on my last tonic vial. Their abilities will smolder until self-destruction. At the end of my dosage, my bones feel as though they are on fire. I never considered that they actually were.

Questions strike my mind like lightning bolts. I reopen the book and read on, searching for an answer I fear I already know.

Deven comes for me not long afterward. My face and hands are washed, and I have hidden the ruined comb under my mattress. Though I am still, my mind churns like the base of a waterfall.

“Brother Shaan has come to meet with us,” Deven says.

My strained muscles feel fragile, but I am ready. I drop the book into my satchel, and we set out.

The chapel is on the lower floor of the main palace, tucked into a quiet niche. Deven opens the door, and I step inside. Brother Shaan is bent over in prayer before the altar, where dried herbs and flowers burn, a sacrifice to the gods. His white hair mimics his light robes, his reedy frame stooped from decades of kneeling in adulation.

Deven removes his turban, a sign of respect. His freed dark hair curls at the nape of his neck. I have not seen him without his turban. I try not to think of his wavy tresses as I kneel on a cushion near Brother Shaan.

“Let the sky lead me, the land ground me, the fire cleanse me, and the water feed me,” I say.

Deven kneels on Brother Shaan’s other side and recites the same Prayer of Protection.

“Brother Deven,” says Brother Shaan, “it’s a rare man who is suited to kneeling in prayer and hefting a sword.”

“Brother Shaan, you remember the viraji.”

“Congratulations on your Claiming,” says the brother. “Healer Baka and I are old friends. She was a midwife before she became a healer and was working in the palace when we met. She sent a carrier dove with a message that arrived just before you did to inform me of your arrival.” Brother Shaan’s gaze bounces between Deven and me. “I was intrigued by your message. How may I assist you?”

I slide my hand into my satchel and pause. Bhuta Origins is not a book I should possess, but I would not be here if Deven did not trust Brother Shaan. I hand him the book.

His eyes flare open, and he skims his hand over the cover. “Where did you find this?”

“A Burner may have left it for me.”

Deven straightens in my side vision.

“Do you recognize the title?” I say.

“I used to read texts such as this in the temple vestry,” says Brother Shaan. “I thought they had all been destroyed.” He thumbs through the pages, stopping on the drawing of Anu bestowing the bhutas with his light. “But the truth has a way of shining through the dark.”

“You once had books like these in the temple?” Deven says, tilting his head. “Why?”