Deven picks at his red rice, avoiding my gaze. After my forward behavior while we were alone, I cannot blame him. He must think that I am a dolt. I would leave him be, but I am interested to hear about Vanhi from a native.

“Have you been to the Turquoise Palace?” I ask.

“Many times,” Deven says. He does not elaborate.

He does think I’m a dolt.

“Deven and I met at the last rank tournament,” says Manas. “Remember, Captain? It was the opening match. The kindred had her opponent in a headlock—”

“I remember,” he says. Perhaps it is the firelight, but it looks like Deven is blushing.

The kindred is the rajah’s number one wife. Rajah Tarek’s current kindred is a legend. She and her older sister were claimed from a Sisterhood temple together. They were the rajah’s very first wives. “What happened?” I ask.

Manas leans forward. “The kindred took a knife to her opponent’s throat and sliced her clear open.” He draws his finger across his neck—as if I needed a demonstration. “The kindred is undefeated. She has been Rajah Tarek’s number one wife longer than any other and is fully devoted to him.”

I have difficulty swallowing. Even with additional training, defeating tournament veterans such as the kindred would be impossible. I wonder what Manas would think if I told him that I do not care to wed the rajah. In fact, I do not care for Rajah Tarek at all. I expect that my honesty would not be well received. Manas clearly admires the rajah and the kindred.

Deven stands. “That’s enough for tonight. Viraji, I will escort you to your carriage.”

The other soldiers stand and bow. I set aside my bowl and bid them good night. Deven and I walk away side by side.

“My men are taken with you,” he says.

My chin ticks sideways at his disapproving tone. “They’re very welcoming,” I say.

“They’re good soldiers, but you’re the viraji and the rajah’s champion. You should keep your distance.”

Priestess Mita taught that a woman who is unfaithful to her intended is punished by the gods, but I have not been disloyal. “I merely had supper with you,” I say.

“That’s enough to invite trouble,” Deven says as we reach the carriage. He faces me, his brows turning in. “Manas was once Rajah Tarek’s personal servant. If he or any of the other men should mention your friendliness toward us to the rajah, we could all be disciplined. Severely.”

Deven does not appear to be threatening me, but still I ask, “Will you report me?”

“You know I won’t.”

His eyes hint at a secret we share: the moment in the lower level of the temple when he did not inform on me to the rajah. Or perhaps he thinks of our time together in the woods. Only now do I realize how dangerous it was for him to go off alone with me. Why would he take that risk?

Perhaps he considers that pacifying me is part of his duty, but he was kind to me before the Claiming, when I was only a temple ward.

My breath stalls. This is who he is.

Back at the campfire, Yatin yanks away Manas’s stump, and the younger soldier topples to the ground. Yatin’s deep chuckles mingle with the other soldiers’ laughter.

Deven smiles at his men. “This group of baboons isn’t worth being punished over.”

I am not so certain. Their company is skies above Natesa’s, and I am less homesick in their presence, especially Deven’s. I remember how close we were the other night. His warmth brightened my whole world. Seeing him has helped me forget the miserable hours I have spent inside the carriage, but I will not endanger him or his men.

I look down and mutter, “I will keep my distance.”

“Thank you.” His warm smile squeezes me breathless. He turns to leave and then stops. “About the rank tournament Manas spoke of—I only attended to watch a competitor.”

I do not understand why it is important to distinguish himself as someone who did not want to attend, but I nod. “Did she do well?”

“No.” He smiles regretfully and returns to his men.

Watching him go, I open and close my fists, grasping for a tangible explanation for his changing moods. If I were to sketch Deven’s heart, I would draw a labyrinth of secrets. A puzzle that I will not be solving tonight.

I step inside the carriage and stop short. Natesa looks up from a hand whetstone, where she is sharpening a dagger. A dagger that she took from the temple.

“I’m not going to kill you, Kalinda. You would be dead already if that were the case. I will wait for the tournament. So don’t go snitching to the captain about my knife.”

I sit across from her, my gaze tight on her blade. “The tournament?”

“Any of the rajah’s courtesans may challenge you. We all have a chance to duel for your rank, kill you, and claim your spot as the final viraji.” Her lips twist in an ugly smile. “Including me.”

My mind tallies the number of my possible opponents. The rajah has hundreds of courtesans. “What about the ranis?”

Natesa sharpens her knife with meticulous calm. “The kindred may challenge anyone she wishes, but she won’t bother with you. None of the wives will. They can improve their standing only by challenging a higher-ranking rani.”

Relief sweeps away some of my worries. I will not have to battle the rajah’s warrior wives. “How often do they hold tournaments?” I say.

“As often as the rajah claims a bride. The most I remember was six in a year. My father went to one. My mother fell ill soon after we arrived in Vanhi, and she sent my older sister and me to fetch him. Father pulled us out of the amphitheater before we got a good look at the arena, but I remember it stank of piss and blood.” Natesa’s mouth turns downward. “He caught my mother’s illness, and both of them passed away.”

I am sorry for her, but beneath my sympathy lies a twinge of envy. She knew her parents, whereas I cannot remember mine. Still, I do remember when Natesa and her older sister arrived in Samiya. Not long after, her sister was claimed as a courtesan.

“What happened to your sister?” I ask.

“Why do you care?”

“If she’s in Vanhi, maybe you will see—”

“My sister is dead.” Natesa runs the blade over the stone so hard that sparks fly. “Priestess Mita received word last year that she died in childbirth. She had no burial. No one cares for the courtesans. The wives receive all the respect.”

“I’m sorry.”

Natesa looks up at me, her gaze hard. “Don’t be. I will not live my sister’s fate.” She slips the dagger into a leather strap around her calf and lies down with her back to me.

My engagement gift has become a gilded cage. For two days, I have respected the captain’s request to distance myself from his men, but I cannot stand to be locked inside this carriage with Natesa any longer. While she reads away the hours, her knife hidden the gods only know where, I agonize over how she plans to defeat me in the arena—slit my throat, gut my belly, stab me in the spine. Whatever method she chooses, it will not be merciful. I have to get away from her.

After we make camp at the end of the day, I gather my sketchbook. “I’m stepping out.”

She lifts her gaze from her reading. “Going to make eyes at the captain again?”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I need to relieve myself.”

“Are you planning to pee on your sketchbook?”

I glower at her and step out under the mild night sky. The soldiers gather around a campfire, finishing supper. Deven’s back is to me. None of them notice me as I sit on the carriage footrail and open my sketchbook. The glow of the campfire reaches my page, and fresh air frees my mind. I touch my charcoal to paper, and my hand flies with ease.

The water-goddess takes shape. Enki hovers over the sea, her wavy, dark hair swathing her body like cascading water. She wears a shell necklace and a short skirt, and she wields a staff with three prongs at the top. Her slim waist curves out to full hips, balanced by strong shoulders and legs powerful enough to withstand any tide. Enki exudes sexuality and strength. She is as steadfast as the moon and would not be threatened by Natesa.

“Are you ready to turn in?”

I look up to find Deven standing over me. Time has slid through my fingers. No one remains at the fire. Everyone else has gone to bed.

Deven sits beside me on the carriage footrail. “Enki, the water-goddess.”

“You know the gods?”

“Very well. I studied the Parijana faith with the brethren for a time.”

I gape at him. The brethren oversee the Sisterhood temples and provide new wards to bring up for the Claiming. They have no equivalent rite; only girls are reared for that ceremony. Their temples are where general congregations worship. Like the Sisterhood, serving in the Brotherhood is a lifelong calling. I have never met a member of the brethren, let alone someone who renounced his duties.

“Did you swear an oath of celibacy?” I say.

Deven’s lips lift slightly. “Yes, but my vow was negated when I left.”

I flush, realizing I have asked another improper question. “How did you come to be a soldier?”

“My mother is a courtesan, and my father is a benefactor. For bastards like me, it’s either the army or the Brotherhood. I thought I would spend my life with the brethren. They were my place of peace. But the gods had a different path for me.”

A lump forms in my windpipe.

“You understand what I speak of, Kalinda.”

He says my name in three pieces, Ka-lin-da, each syllable as precious as the last.

I do understand. The path the gods have set forth for me is vastly different than the one I want. “Do you begrudge the life you’ve been led into?” I say.

“I fought becoming a soldier. My father is an army officer, a hard man who respects little other than his own importance. I thought I could hide from the part of me that stems from him, but being in the Brotherhood taught me to accept my path. I wanted to be a soldier more than I was afraid of becoming my father. Being like him was never my fate.”