Brother Shaan speaks up. “We must contest this line of questioning. We didn’t bring the kindred here so you could interrogate her.”
“Our apologies,” replies Vizier Gyan. His flat offer of remorse is meant to appease Brother Shaan’s protest on my behalf. The vizier does not extend his apology to me. “The kindred is the only member of Rajah Tarek’s imperial court who escaped the insurgency. We must establish how and why she was spared.”
They suspect I might be a traitor.
But I am.
I scatter the thought before guilt lands on my expression. “I’ll answer.” I level the vizier with a cool stare. “I didn’t see Hastin in the palace on the night of the attack.”
Vizier Gyan leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Did you see Rajah Tarek’s body?”
Brother Shaan lifts his hand to gain the council’s attention. “The kindred lost her husband on her wedding night. Upon fleeing the warlord, she searched for Prince Ashwin and came here to join him. Her devotion to the empire is undeniable.”
No one contests him, though the council’s blatant disapproval of my fleeing Vanhi remains evident in their frowns.
“One last question.” Vizier Gyan returns his meddling stare to me. “Where is the Zhaleh?”
Finally, a question I have rehearsed an answer for.
“I don’t know,” I say, reciting the reply I practiced with Deven in case the rebels caught me. “Tarek had it for years. The book must still be in Vanhi.”
“Very well,” the sultan clips out. “Vizier Gyan, proceed with the other matters.”
The vizier aims his disgruntled glowering face at me, instead of at the sultan, for cutting his interrogation short and then tugs down his long sleeves in preparation of the shift in topics. An emblem is sewn onto the lapel of his uniform jacket, the land symbol. Is he a Trembler?
Prince Ashwin’s even voice sounds beside me. “What news do you have, Vizier?”
“I have the latest report on the encampments,” he replies, shuffling the parchment papers before him. “Conditions are holding, but we are receiving more refugees every day. We’re working to improve their access to clean water and expand the dining tents.”
“When can Prince Ashwin and I visit the camps?” I ask.
“Your presence will slow our improvement,” replies the vizier. “It’s best you stay away for now.”
I startle at his brusqueness. “You mean we cannot see our people?”
“Your people are safe,” interjects Sultan Kuval. He folds his hands across his ample belly, his movement too controlled for his testiness. “I’m feeding them, housing them, and protecting them. I will continue to leave my borders open and care for them for the duration of the tournament. You may visit them then.”
After the tournament? I came to Janardan to shift the people’s devotion from me to the prince. How can I do that if I am not allowed to see them? I open my mouth to object, but Brother Shaan shakes his head at me. I clamp my mouth shut and wait for the prince to protest on my behalf. He fiddles with the gold cuff around his wrist and says nothing.
The rest of the meeting is more of the same, Vizier Gyan telling Prince Ashwin what to do and the prince acquiescing. My anger raises by the moment, but I hold my tongue until we are dismissed; then I grab the prince by the arm and drag him out of the war room. Brother Shaan follows close behind, Opal a few steps after him.
“What’s the matter with you?” I hiss in the prince’s ear. “You need to stand up for our people.”
“I cannot offend the Janardanians,” he answers, his expression perplexed. “We need their aid.”
“The sultan wishes only to help himself,” I say louder, not caring who hears me. My powers reignite as soon as I am away from the potted poisons. I pull back from Prince Ashwin before my temper inadvertently singes him. “He’s taking advantage of you.”
“We have to make concessions,” he replies, his surety weakening.
I slow my pace and stare at him. The prince’s imperial rule swallows him up, like he is wearing a uniform that is too large. I cannot understand how I mistook him for Tarek.
“Good gods.” I step away, understanding why Brother Shaan lied to bring me here.
The fate of the Tarachand Empire has been left to a naive, sheltered boy.
“Kindred,” Brother Shaan says softly, “may I have a word?” I nod, defeat falling through me. Without a strong rajah, the empire is lost. “Opal, please escort His Majesty back to his chambers and rejoin us.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Prince Ashwin asks, glancing from Brother Shaan to me with an unblinking gaze.
“No, Your Majesty,” Brother Shaan replies. “I need a word alone with the kindred. I’ll return shortly.”
The prince lowers his shoulders, disappointed that we have left him out. Brother Shaan loops his arm through mine, and we stroll off into the gardens. Brother Shaan waits to speak until Opal returns.
“You see now why we need you,” he says.
Frustration shortens my strides. “The sultan has Prince Ashwin by the gullet, and the prince is all too happy to hand him power.”
“Be patient. Ashwin is more capable than he appears.”
Opal trails a couple steps behind us. A slight breeze kicks up as she twirls her finger at her side.
“We may speak without danger of being heard,” says Brother Shaan.
Opal must be using the wind to divert the sound around us, giving us the privacy to talk without another Galer overhearing.
“Before coming here,” Brother Shaan says, “Prince Ashwin wrote a letter to each sovereign requesting military aid. He anticipated the sultan would be self-serving and try to profit off of our circumstances, and Kuval did exactly that. Within hours of our arrival, the sultan tried to persuade Ashwin to take Princess Citra as his rani. The prince would have been forced to accept, but the letters he sent to Paljor and Lestari prevented Kuval from strong-arming him. The trial tournament may not be ideal. Ashwin is giving up diplomatic power in exchange for aid. In the end, the empire will be vastly different than it is today, but the prince feels the distribution of power is best in the long run. He is doing all he can to establish allied relationships that have been neglected for years.”
I sink down on a bench beneath a neem tree that overlooks the green-brown river and the domed roofs of the city. Staring out at this foreign land, a part of me understands Ashwin’s uncertainty. The first days outside of the temple, I longed for home. I still crave the cold nights of Samiya and for Jaya in her cot beside mine. The world of men is endlessly challenging, and the prince has entered it as a ruler of a warring empire.
“Your prince needs you, Kalinda,” Brother Shaan says quietly. “Imperial blood runs through your veins, and you know what it is to earn your throne.”
Do I? I fought my throne every step of the way.
“Ashwin is doing a kindness, leaving this choice up to you,” Brother Shaan states, implying I should be grateful. “By law, he can compel you to compete.”
I lift my chin at the word “compel,” a more tactful way of saying the prince can force me against my will. “What law?”