I hasten into the courtyard. Jaya picks up the two potted plants she brought out for a spot of sunshine and cradles them against her sides. Priestess Mita hustles us through the dark temple entry. Smoke curls laced with sandalwood rise from the ever-burning incense sticks stationed in the corridor to lessen the mustiness. The priestess passes us lit oil lamps.
“What were you doing outside the grounds?” For a short, shoulder-hunched woman, her authority could make a mountain tremble.
I brace against her scowl. “Jaya was helping me practice for skill trials.”
“What did you see on the road?”
“Nothing.”
Her nostrils flare. “Is that true, Jaya?”
Jaya lowers her eyes. “Yes, Priestess.”
The priestess’s gaze cools. She believes Jaya over me. Last year, the priestess caught me trespassing in the north tower. I was tired of being bedridden, and I often sneaked up to the restricted observatory for fresh air. I tiptoed up there unseen for years, until she came upon me in the stairwell one night. The tower door has been locked since, and Priestess Mita’s trust in me has been stowed away with the key.
“Jaya, go to supper,” orders the priestess.
My friend sends me a hesitant glance and then leaves, her lamp lighting the way down the corridor.
Priestess Mita pins me with her stare. “You know better than to leave the temple grounds, Kalinda,” she says. Then her voice turns careful. “Are you content here?”
“Yes, Priestess.”
This is my home. I would scale the highest peak of the Alpanas to protect it, but, given the opportunity, I would do the same for another look at the lead soldier. I tip my face away from the lamplight to hide my flush.
Priestess Mita clucks her tongue. “Focus on your lessons, your sisters, and your devotion. Of the five godly virtues, which do the gods esteem above all else?”
“Obedience,” I mumble. I do not add that I doubt that the gods intended us to be stripped of all but one choice. Then again, when it comes to the Claiming, none of us have any choice at all.
“You will do well to remember your place here,” Priestess Mita says, shooing me along as she leaves to greet the arrival party.
I stare at the closed door at the temple entrance after she goes. I could open it a crack and steal one last peek at the men, but I know that it was fortunate that Priestess Mita did not punish me. I do not want to tempt her further.
My lamp lights the way toward the dining hall. My footsteps resound through the corridors of the building, where teachings about the Claiming are as old as the foundation. Long ago, the temple was instituted by the land-goddess, Ki, as a refuge for female orphans, ranging from infants to young women. Like all Sisterhood temples of the Parijana faith, it operates solely on monetary endowments from benefactors. But the benefactors’ generosity is not without cost. They can travel to any Sisterhood temple and claim a ward—to be their servant, courtesan, or wife.
I quicken my step. I do not want to be claimed for any of these positions. I do not want to be claimed at all. Most daughters cannot wait to leave this remote fortress, but they will leave here only if they are claimed to live whatever life a benefactor dictates for them. I would rather stay in Samiya and serve the gods than leave and serve a man.
Chatter from a hundred girls spills out of the dining hall. I pause at the doorway and scan the knee-high tables for Jaya. She is sitting with the other daughters our age, including Falan and Prita. Jaya motions me over to an empty floor cushion next to her. Sarita and Natesa sit across from them at the same table. I force away a frown and kneel beside Jaya. Falan and Prita smile a hello and return to their quiet chatting.
“Bamboo Girl,” Natesa mutters.
Sarita snickers around a mouthful of rice. I pick at my food with my fingers. I do not wish to take on their tired insults about my awkward height and skinniness.
Jaya leans into my side. “Are you all right?”
I shrug and poke at my watered-down curry. I want to talk about the golden carriage, but not in front of the others. I would rather that our rare glimpse of the outside world stay between us.
Priestess Mita enters the dining hall with an orderly line of sisters trailing behind her. Falan and Prita stop talking, and all eating halts across the hall. The sisters line up at the front of the room. Jaya tenses beside me, and I wipe my hands, no longer hungry. Our leaders rarely interrupt mealtime.
“Daughters, I have marvelous news.” The priestess presses her hands together, as if in prayer. “A benefactor has arrived for a Claiming!”
Most of the girls, even those too young to be a recipient of this rite, gasp with delight. Priestess Mita allows the outburst, smiling proudly. I seek out Jaya’s hand beneath the table and clasp her chilly fingers in mine.
The priestess strides our way to address the girls of age. Twelve of us kneel at two tables. Our blue saris are identical, the shade of obedience and submission, deference and conformity. That is where my similarity with the other girls ends. My gangliness sticks out among their compact curves like a pin stuck into a basketful of thread spools.
“By request of our honored benefactor, tomorrow’s skill trials will continue as planned,” says the priestess. “They will take place in the courtyard, where the benefactor will watch anonymously from the north tower observatory.”
Resentment ignites low in my belly. I want to duel for my own sense of accomplishment, not for a benefactor’s entertainment. I do not care to gain the benefactor’s favor.
Priestess Mita paces the length of our table, her words deliberate and her steps measured. “You will be given the choice to spar with a staff or a bladed weapon.”
Jaya squeezes my hand so hard that my fingertips tingle. Because my chronic fevers have held me behind the other girls, I have not trained with bladed weapons. We learn to slash and parry with steel after we master the staff. I am more than fair with a slingshot, but it is not considered a respectable weapon in the ring.
“We want each of you to look your best when you are shown,” Priestess Mita says. Her smile contains an edge of warning. “Be mindful not to leave too many marks on your opponent.”
I look askance at Natesa smirking. Everyone knows that she wants to leave the temple and become the wife of a benefactor. If she had a choice, she would fight against the weakest girl to increase the appearance of her own skill, and it is no secret that I am the weakest girl.
2
Winter’s chill soaks into the temple’s ancient bones, dampening the shadowed corridors. Jaya and I leave the dining hall in silence and return to our bedchamber. We change into our nightclothes and brush out our braids, and then Jaya tends to her pots of seedlings, and I cozy into my cot with a sketchbook. Our nightly routine is effortless, comforting. I refuse to think that this evening’s could be our last.