Sultan Kuval throws open the door and stomps in, Ashwin on his tail. I stay lying on my side, the toxic snakeroot binding my hands behind me, and stare up at them.

“You deceived me,” bellows the sultan. “She’s a Burner.” He spits my god-given powers at me, like I am the dead dragon cobra I flung at his feet.

“Kalinda isn’t dangerous,” Ashwin replies. “She’s Kishan’s daughter.”

“Kishan was an idealistic fool. He was always lecturing others about unity and the need for Virtue Guards. I will tell you what I told him—I have no place for Burners in my nation! Burners are soulless children of the Void.”

I have heard this slander before. Rajah Tarek twisted the truth of bhutas’ godly origins and told his people we were demons. That was a lie, yet Sultan Kuval is not condemning all bhutas, only Burners.

“Kalinda stays,” Ashwin counters, leaving no quarter for dispute.

“Then she must take the neutralizer tonic to suppress her powers.” Sultan Kuval tosses his hands in the air. “You saw what she did to the floor of my throne room. Burners are reckless!”

The neutralizer tonic is the liquid form of the noxious plant around my wrists. My nose scrunches in disgust, recalling the bitter tang of the concoction. I drank neutralizer tonic to reduce my fevers long before I knew the so-called remedy for my bhuta powers was toxic.

“Kalinda won’t poison herself,” Ashwin says, standing taller and towering over the stout rajah. “As a Burner, she is well matched to her opponents.”

The sultan expels an ugly laugh. “Don’t you see? Kalinda has conspired against us! She’s an informant for Hastin.”

“She disagrees with Hastin’s regime,” Ashwin counters. “She’s risking her life for a chance—only a chance—to defeat him.” But I am deceiving him. I haven’t told him that I killed his father. “Kalinda escaped sabotage and caught the most deadly viper in the Morass, a tremendous testament to her courage and skill. She will fight in the trial tournament.”

Sultan Kuval’s mustache twitches against his cheek, which is red from anger. “It’s your empire falling to ruins.” He glares down at me, as though he wishes to kick me like he would a disobedient mutt, and then storms out.

Ashwin kneels beside me. He undoes my bindings and flings the snakeroot across the room. His arms come around me, and he helps me sit up. I lean against him, a headache pounding against my temples.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. With bhutas as your competitors, the sultan and his court would have found out eventually.”

I rest my head against his sturdy shoulder. He stood up for me against the sultan, and he was brilliant. “Why does Kuval think Burners are demons?”

“That was his bias speaking. A Burner killed Citra’s mother.”

I release a weary exhale. “Indah neglected to mention that detail.”

“His wife’s death isn’t a subject the sultan likes to speak about.”

“I imagine not.” I have no hope of ever winning Sultan Kuval’s support, but he is not my primary concern. Now that my secret is out, it will not be long before word reaches the encampments. “What will our people think when they hear what I am?”

Ashwin wraps his arm tighter around me. “Burner powers are feared above all else, so you’ll be the contender favored to win. Our people will love you all the more and thank the gods for sending you.”

His answer is kind but unconvincing. “The Janardanians think I’m a monster. They fear me, but you don’t.”

“I do,” he whispers. “I fear the hold you have on my heart.”

“Ashwin—” I start to move away, but he holds me near him.

“You’re no monster, Kalinda. I’ve met a monster, and you’re nothing like him. I’m ashamed of Tarek, ashamed of how the rest of the world perceives the empire and me on account of him. But I am not ashamed of you.”

Ashwin’s soothing scent, aloe vera oil, invites me closer. He dips his chin nearer to mine, so our lips are only a dandelion’s length apart. Our sides press together, his warmth searing into me. His dark eyes turn liquid with affection, and his jaw softens with trust. He combs his fingers through my loose locks. “Your hair is like woven twilight.”

A recollection of Tarek’s intrusive hands stroking my hair slams me. Enough of this.

I push from Ashwin’s hold and rally the strength to stand. He rises with me, steadying me on my rickety legs and bare feet. He tries to pull me close, but I step from the circle of his arms and totter for the door.

“Kalinda?” Ashwin asks.

I do not stop. Tarek may be dead, but his memory lives on in my shadow. I cannot outrun him, but I have to try.

Ashwin calls after me again, his footfalls close behind me. I round a corner and see Opal hurrying our way.

“Prince Ashwin,” she says. “Brother Shaan needs you.”

Her urgency causes me to pause.

Ashwin hastens past me to Opal. “What is it?” he asks.

“Civilians in the encampment have fallen ill.” Apprehension furrows Opal’s brow. “Some of the ailing aren’t expected to recover.”

I nearly double over from guilt. I helped Hastin take over Vanhi and run these people out of their homes. They are here, and falling ill, because of me. “I’m coming along,” I announce.

Opal’s gaze sweeps to me. “My apologies, Kindred, but the sultan has insisted that you stay away from the encampments.”

So Sultan Kuval did hear our people chanting my name. “I’m here to offer my support to the prince. I’d like to go, if he’ll have me.”

Confusion lingers in Ashwin’s expression from my hasty exit moments ago, but he dismisses his hesitancy with a perfunctory nod. “Kalinda will join us.”

Opal fetches me another pair of sandals and then carries Ashwin and me down to the encampments on her wing flyer. The afternoon sun warms the humid air, and the wind rushing over me wicks away the sweat beading across my upper lip. We land and go to Brother Shaan, waiting for us near the entry gate to the civilian camp.

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing. “Five dead after dawn, another two this hour.”

Ashwin mashes his lips together. “When did the sickness start?”

“Yesterday, but it’s spreading quickly. The healers believe the local mosquitoes carry a scourge. Our people aren’t accustomed to the strange climate.”

I arch my chin to see inside the camp. Sick tents have been set up away from the main housing. People swing fans, shooing away the bugs, yet the insects hover like vultures waiting to feed off a sky burial. The ailing people fill the sick tents and lie on bedrolls around them.

“I need to go in and offer my condolences to the grieving families,” says Ashwin.

A Janardanian commander blocks the gate. “No one may go in or come out, Your Majesty.”

Ashwin takes a charged step forward. “My people are dying.”

“Those are my orders.”

Ashwin digs his thumbs into his tear ducts, collecting his frustration. The same anger burrows in my bones. I will snap if something is not done.

“Can we pass out lemon-eucalyptus oil to ward off the insects?” I ask.

“We’re in short supply,” replies Brother Shaan, “and collecting the resources to concoct more ointment would take a fortnight. The trial tournament will be over by then.”

I watch the residents swaying the fans. The breeze brings coolness to the clammy heat but also disturbs the hovering mosquitoes. “Can we station Galers around the camp? A constant draft could push the bugs away.”

“I don’t have approval for that,” the commander says.

Ashwin drops his hands from his face. “Do it.”

The commander holds the prince’s defiant stare. A warning passes from Ashwin to the soldier, silent but tangible. The commander shifts away and murmurs to his men. A bhuta guard with a sky symbol on his armband whips up a wind, summoning a hearty gust that sends the mosquitoes off to the jungle.

Ashwin chops out orders. “Brother Shaan, you’ll oversee the camp in my stead. I’ll speak to the rest of the guards about setting up shifts for the Galers.”

The prince marches to the guardhouse. I am astonished that the Janardanians are heeding his commands. Perhaps they fear the illness will spread to the city. Or maybe they are beginning to view Ashwin as a legitimate ruler.

A group of refugees meanders over to the fence to stare at us.

“Opal told me you revealed your powers,” Brother Shaan remarks.

I turn my back to the onlookers. “Do the people know?”

“They will soon. When they do, I’ll tell them it’s a rumor started to defame you. That should give them time to adapt to the idea.”

I twist my fingers in the pleats of my skirt. “I don’t like lying to them.”

“They must prepare for what’s to come. No matter who wins the tournament, Ashwin will wed a bhuta. His children will be bhutas. The next heir to the Tarachandian throne will be a bhuta.”

“So long as it isn’t a Burner,” I mutter.

Brother Shaan lays a consoling hand on my shoulder. “Undoing their prejudice will take time. Have patience and faith.”

Faith will not undo my actions. I glance at Ashwin to ensure that he is still out of hearing range. “Why didn’t you tell the prince how Tarek died?”

“Your support gives Ashwin the confidence to rule, and he gives you hope for a peaceful empire.”

“Your being right doesn’t justify lying to us.” I pull from Brother Shaan’s grasp. “You should have told me when the rest of my party arrived.”

“I meant to tell you later that night. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Deven would get hurt.” Brother Shaan’s remorse files down the sharpest edges of my anger. “I wanted you to have time alone with the prince. Both of you were wounded by Tarek. Only you can truly understand how deeply. You have every reason to trust each other.”