Long, low tables fill the throne room, lit by hundreds of fat candles. Tarek is seated at the head of a table set above the rest on the dais, surrounded by his favored four. He beckons me forward. I would rather dine with hogs, but I go to him. Benefactors, courtesans, and ranis cram around lower tables bowed with platters of rich dishes. I do not see Jaya or Gautam.

“Here’s my champion!” Tarek welcomes me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

I cringe at the stench of apong on his breath, but I sit cross-legged on the floor cushion beside him. Mathura smiles a distant welcome and puffs on her pipe, her cane propped against the table. Beside her, Eshana beams with a friendliness that nearly curtails my unease for joining their elite group. Anjali lounges on her elbow, eating bits of pineapple, and Lakia sidles up to Tarek’s other side possessively, unsubtle as always about her incapacity to share him.

Tarek selects a hunk of charred flatbread from a basket and lays it on my plate. “Eat, love. We’re celebrating you. This tournament, this feast—”

“This wine,” Anjali says, saluting me with her cup.

“Yes, everything is in the viraji’s honor.” Tarek tops off his chalice and drinks to me. I manage a small smile.

Lithophone players perform on the other side of the dais. A dancer moves between the tables with precise, balanced stances. Her hand gestures match the beat, and she stamps her feet in a fancy rhythmic pattern. Tarek taps his fingers in time and eyes the dancer like a hawk spying a mouse in a field.

Jaya is still nowhere to be seen.

Laughter carries up from the attendees. Fareeshah grins, her mouth full of food. Should I also relish this feast as my last meal? I stare at my untouched plate, the food growing cold.

After another course that I do not partake of, servants carry baskets stacked with wooden lots from table to table. My challengers pick a lot and compare fate’s hand with their neighbors. When all of the wooden lots are dispersed, my opponents will be sectioned into pairs for the duels.

A servant brings a basket to Anjali. She digs her hand inside and plucks out a stick. Smiling wide, she picks her teeth with the pointy end.

Tarek’s chuckles boom in my ear. “Come,” he says, inviting Anjali to his side. She squeezes in between us, and I gladly scoot over for her. “You duel tomorrow, my sweet?”

She pets the nape of his neck. “Afraid for me?”

“You? Never.” He kisses her forehead, blessing her with good fortune.

I am partly disgusted, partly intrigued. The rajah cares for Anjali, yet he supports her fighting to the death. And, remarkably, despite his not claiming her as his rani, Anjali adores him. Tarek plays more mind games than Lakia. His charm, his bravado, his affection. Are all of these women willing to die for one of his kisses? Or are they playing their part in order to survive? The rajah has set himself up like a god, but I do not fear his power more than the gods’. I cannot be the only one.

I tolerate the rest of the feast as I would a long day in the oppressive desert sun. Eshana tops off Tarek’s chalice, and Lakia and Anjali compete for his lap. I slip away. Only Mathura acknowledges my departure and then returns to smoking her pipe. Manas and Yatin wait for me in the corridor, but still not Deven.

Natesa comes out in the hall to meet me. “Kalinda, have you seen Jaya? I heard she was claimed by the general.”

I would never tell her where Jaya is after what Natesa did to her, but I stop myself from saying so.

The kohl around Natesa’s eyes is smeared, as though she has been crying. She holds her arms securely across her chest. “I just want to know if Jaya is all right. I know you don’t think I care, but I do.”

I am so startled by Natesa’s sincerity that I answer in kind. “I don’t know where Jaya is. I saw her with the general at skill demonstrations, but not since.”

Natesa frowns, her dark eyes troubled. I hardly recognize this fretful young woman. “Are you all right?” I say.

Natesa glances over her shoulder at two benefactors watching her from a table in the hall. “I’m fine.” She raises a surly lip. “Go back to your private wing, where you are left alone.”

My heart speeds up. “Natesa, I—”

“If I see Jaya, I will tell her you’re looking for her.”

Natesa returns to the waiting benefactors. They receive her with hungry hands and oily smiles. Natesa’s eyes glaze over when the men touch her, reminding me of how Jaya was acting beside Gautam. I swallow through a rough, dry throat and start off to my chamber, my guards tailing me. I try to leave Natesa’s concern for Jaya behind, but it lays a slimy coating all over my insides. I am worried for both of them.

At my doorway, I turn my teary eyes away from my guards. “Please tell Asha not to disturb me tonight.”

“Viraji,” Yatin says in his gentle burr, “do you need anything?”

“Actually, yes. General Gautam claimed a new wife. I would like to meet with her. Please pass my inquiry along to her servants.”

I step inside my chamber and shut my door. The mountain of satin pillows entices me to my bed. I lie down, and the basket of challenges hovers at the fringe of my vision. I pinch my eyes closed. Perhaps if I pretend hard enough, I can imagine that I am home with Jaya in our chamber, readying for bed. But something shifts at my feet. I sit up onto my elbows and see a round lump beneath the bedcovers.

Keeping my gaze on the bulge, I slide off the bed. The lump extends out into a long, thick rope. I draw Yasmin’s dagger and force a steadying breath. Whatever is under my bedcovers was put there to stop me from setting foot in the arena. I throw back the blanket, sending pillows flying in a shower of silk.

A black snake coils up at the bottom of my bed, agitated at me for stripping away its cozy den. I greet the thin, venomous asp with the point of my dagger and inch away. The snake hisses. I hold still, heeding its warning. My dagger is too short to be useful. Another movement could incite the deadly snake to strike, but I have to try. I slowly step back. The asp opens its mouth and hisses louder, its translucent curved fangs ready to hook into my flesh.

“Don’t move,” I hear.

The Burner steps in from the open balcony and approaches the other side of the bed. The snake stays preoccupied with me, its dark eyes staring me down. The Burner sneaks up behind it and swings down with an ax, chopping the asp’s head off. Its tail twitches until death.

The Burner slides his ax into a leather sheath strapped to his back. I keep my dagger—although I have seen what he can do with his hands—and draw back. I consider shouting for my guards, but the truth is I have been expecting his visit.

He lifts the severed pieces of snake off my bed and tosses them into the hearth. He throws kindling on top of the asp’s corpse. “Someone wants you dead,” he says.

“A lot of someones.” I nod at the basket of challenges. “You’ll have to get in line.”

“We don’t want to kill you, Viraji. We want to help you.”

“We?” I ask.

He grins secretively. He is less menacing when he smiles, even attractive, but appearances are unreliable depictions of character. Rajah Tarek is handsome too.

“I found the book you left me,” I say.

“The warlord wanted you to have it.” He presses his fingertip to the kindling, and fire erupts. Flames chew the wood and consume the snake carcass. The Burner brushes off his hands and straightens. He is less bulky without the dark cape, ropy—like a starved wolf. From his pocket, he withdraws the tonic formula and my last remedy vial.

“You went through my satchel!”

“You should find a better hiding place.”

He tosses the formula into the fire. I lunge after it, falling to my hands before the hearth and dropping my dagger. The fire devours the paper in seconds. The Burner kicks the dagger, and the blade spins out of my reach under the bed. He holds my tonic between two fingers.

“This contains two types of poison. Haven’t you wondered why it hasn’t killed you? You took it this morning, and yet here you are.”

I push to my feet. “You’ve been watching me.”

He waves aside my accusation. “The point is you’re alive. Your powers burn off the tonic before it poisons you. That’s why you must take it every day or your temperature flares.”

“I don’t have powers. I have fevers.” Even to me, my argument sounds weak.

“You don’t take poison every morning because you’re frightened of fevers. You’re afraid of what you could be—of what you could do—without it.”

My face falls, hearing my fears voiced so succinctly.

The Burner’s gaze softens. “I understand what it’s like to hide, but you cannot suppress who you are forever. You will build immunity to the poisons, and your powers will turn on you.” An image of the bent comb fills my mind, and my mouth goes painfully dry. “We can help you, and we can help your friend escape the general.”

“You know about Jaya?” I whisper.

He smiles and comes closer. “We will discuss the terms of our bargain once you agree to stop hiding.” He leans into my side, his breath hot in my ear. My pulse ratchets higher. “So few of us are left. The first time I saw you, I thought you were a mirage, but here you are, fire burning in your veins.”

My chest swells with longing. The Burner is like me. All my life dangerous fevers have separated me from others. Never before have I met anyone with my same condition.

He sets my last tonic vial on the bedside table. “You don’t have much time. You must raze before you run out of tonic.”

I pick up the vial before he changes his mind and throws it into the hearth too. Razing, whatever it is, may be my only protection from my fevers. But why would the Burner and warlord help me?

“The tournament starts tomorrow,” I say, hedging.

“There is still time for you and your friend.” The Burner strides to the balcony and looks back, his honey eyes luminous in the moonlight. “I will return tomorrow night for your answer. For the sake of you and your friend, consider our offer.”