My eyesight adjusts, and I make out the shape of Brac in front of us. The tunnel opens to an enormous underground shaft. Bits of light from the city above filter through slim openings in the high ceiling.

“What is this place?” My voice bounds off the walls and comes back to me.

“The last of the turquoise mines,” Deven replies. “Several passageways lead down here, though they are mostly forgotten. Veins of turquoise run throughout the rock along the banks of the underground river. Many of those veins have since dried up, and the mines have closed.”

Our path turns onto a ledge along the riverbank and up a sheer incline. Something shiny catches my eye. Along the wall, scraggy streaks of robin’s-egg blue gleam through the dirt, the remains of a turquoise vein. We walk uphill long enough to tax my legs, right up to a wooden door. Anything could be on the other side.

“Viraji, once you step through the door, there is no turning back.”

Brac means I cannot go back on our bargain, but I am more concerned about the Razing than I am about what the bhutas have planned. The thought of being bled roils my stomach.

“Kali,” Deven says quietly, “are you certain this is what you want?”

Hesitancy paralyzes me. I am frightened of what I can do without my tonic, but I am also afraid of what will happen if I do not raze. My gaze skips from the door to Deven. “What if Brac is right about me?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Kali.”

“I am worried.” I will not let him dismiss this as an extension of his own squashed feelings for his brother. “This could reveal me to be a bhuta.” He flinches at the word. “You hate them. You cannot ignore that.”

“Certainly he can,” Brac retorts.

Deven hurls a glower at his younger brother and then refocuses on me. “I don’t hate bhutas. War demands allegiance. I had to pick a side, and I chose the empire. That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about the people who matter most to me.”

Brac scowls at his feet.

Deven pauses, reaching for the right words. “I know what it’s like to run from who you are. I tried that when I joined the Brotherhood, but I was meant to be a soldier.”

“Exactly my point,” I say. Concern makes my voice scratchy. “If I’m a bhuta, that would make us—”

“Enemies,” Brac says, confronting Deven with an arched brow. “It isn’t too late to turn back. The viraji can carry on without you.”

Whether in defiance of his brother’s suggestion or in support of me, Deven answers without faltering. “No.” He brushes my cheek with the whisper of a touch. “I am with you.”

I wish that his promise were for always, but he is risking everything to be here tonight. I cannot ask for more. I fasten Deven’s hand to my cheek, soaking in his strength for as long as I have it, and I say to Brac, “I am ready.”

Brac grumbles something indecipherable and opens the door. We step into a stone stairway lit with torches. The corridor leads upward to a cloth draping the exit. Brac lifts another strategically draped tapestry and waves for me to go first. I pass through the hidden archway into a chapel. Elevated ceilings tower above me. Massive painted murals of the gods color the walls with scenes of the Beyond, and a tranquil meditation pool with crystal-blue waters gurgles at the front of the room behind the stone altar. The layout mimics the Samiya chapel so closely that I question if the tunnel took us under the mountain and up to my home.

Brother Shaan rises near the altar, where he was kneeling. He must be the person Brac said that Deven could trust. “Viraji, we have been waiting for you.” Brother Shaan smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re courageous to come here.”

“I’m terrified,” I whisper.

“What is courage without fear?” He greets Deven with a friendly handshake. “Brother Deven, this is a surprise.”

Deven hastily releases his hand. “I could say the same. How long has the Brotherhood been assisting the warlord?”

Brother Shaan deflects the accusation with a gracious smile. “We assist those in need. Bhutas, beggars, and soldiers alike.” He waves me forward. “Come along. They’re waiting.”

We follow the elderly brother from the chapel, down steps to a small chamber laid with cool bricks. A man and a young woman rise from chairs, but the strangers do not hold my attention for long. In the center of the room rests a table covered with a pristine ivory sheet. Near the opposite wall, on a shorter wooden table, I spot a set of gleaming surgical knives.

“We weren’t expecting you, Captain,” says the older man. Sunshine has browned his skin to cracked leather and bleached his hair snowy white around his ears. His jaw has a hard edge, and a formidable intelligence is reflected in his ebony eyes. This is a man I would not wish to meet in other circumstances or cross in any circumstance.

The young woman beside the man considers me with quiet scrutiny. I search my memory for her, but we have not met.

Deven’s hand grips the hilt of his khanda. “Where the viraji goes, I go.”

The man tips his head back and assesses him for several long seconds. “Then you are welcome.”

His invitation to stay does little to relax Deven. He stands ready to draw his sword if the lamplight so much as falls askance on one of the resting daggers.

“Viraji, this is Hastin.” Brother Shaan introduces the warlord with a pleasant, diplomatic smile. He shows the young woman the same courtesy. “And his associate Indira, an Aquifier. She has come to assist with the Razing. If you would please lie down, we will begin.”

“No.” I lock my knees. “First, I must know the terms of our agreement.”

Hastin’s gaze roves over me with explicit interest, equal parts exploratory and calculating. A fractional smile purses his lips, and he picks up the chair Indira vacated and sets it before me. The warlord sits back down in his chair, waiting for me to join him.

I drop into the seat in front of him. Sweat dampens my palms. Whatever Hastin asks of me, I must do. All I have left are prayers—that whatever he requests, the gods will give me the strength to accomplish, and that if the task offends them, they will have mercy on my soul.

“Our agreement is founded upon a single request. You may state your conditions after you agree to our terms.”

“Which are?”

“We require only one thing.” Hastin tips up his chin. “We wish for you to kill the rajah.”

I stare openly at his calm face. He wishes for me to do what?

“I cannot kill Tarek.” I hear my answer and think back to the amphitheater today when I wanted to do just that. But that was a far-off desire. “I’m not an assassin. Hire someone who is trained.”

“We don’t need an assassin. We need you.” Hastin clasps his hands in front of him. “Tarek is almost never alone. He shares his nights with several women at a time and is under constant heavy guard. The only time he is alone with someone is on his—”

“Wedding night,” I whisper.

Hastin nods once. “As the rajah’s final bride, you will be the last person ever alone with him.”

I clutch the seat of my chair. Hastin is truly asking this of me, not one of Tarek’s warrior wives who has proved herself in the arena, not a bhuta who can sneak around the palace—me.

Everything makes sense now. When the bhutas attacked my carriage, Brac let me live so that Hastin could use me. They spared my life so that I would take the rajah’s.

Hard laughter fills my throat. I have not yet won the tournament and secured the throne, but they are so desperate to end this war that they are already asking for my help. Or perhaps I have it wrong. This is not about ending the war. This is about what started it.

“You’re after the Zhaleh.” I throw my arms wide. “Come and find it! Flatten the palace. Burn it. Flood it. Do what you must to take back your book.”

“And risk destroying the Zhaleh?” Hastin asks archly. “We’ve looked for it everywhere. The rajah has hidden it well.”

“Send someone to force it out of him.”

“We cannot wait any longer. The rajah plans to invade the sultanate of Janardan and hunt down bhuta refugees. Janardan’s army is smaller and weaker. Their people grow tired of harboring our families. They will hand them over to avoid war. Rajah Tarek expects us to stand in his way, but he will not anticipate you.” Hastin sits forward, demanding my full attention. “You must win the tournament and wed the rajah.”

His use of “must” tugs my chin sideways. I will not win the tournament for Tarek or for Hastin. But I still need his help in freeing Jaya, so I tread forward carefully. “I suppose you have a plan for how I am to win the tournament.”

“Your powers will secure you the throne.”

Again, he thinks too much of me. They have yet to establish that I am one of them. “Let’s say I agree to your plan,” I say. “If I use my powers in the arena, the whole of Tarachand will see.” I shake my head, having expected more from the warlord. “Tarek will kill me. Nothing will save me, not even the memory of his first wife.”

Pain passes over Hastin’s eyes at the mention of Yasmin, but the raw emotion leaves so promptly that I question if it was there. “Brac can teach you how to employ your powers so no one will know you used them.”

Brac nods his commitment to train me, should we arrive at a bargain.

At this point, I am inclined to walk out of here and never look back. I want to help Jaya, but Hastin is asking me to battle to wed the rajah only to risk my life to kill him. He seems to think that I will do anything to save my friend, but Jaya would never ask this of me. She would tell me to find another way, one that does not depend on the warlord’s word.

Deven rests his hand on my shoulder. His calm, direct voice smooths out my knotted nerves. “What will happen after Rajah Tarek is dead?”

“Prince Ashwin will inherit the throne, and we will insist that he reinstate a bhuta council—Virtue Guards—as in the olden days. Bhutas will hold their rightful place in power and ensure that this catastrophe never happens again.”