She’s as stubborn as a ratel with a viper in its teeth. I look to Yatin to make her see reason.

“We’ll keep up, General,” he says.

I hate that title of command and what it meant to my father. If he were here, he would order Yatin, Natesa, and Rohan to follow him with no thought for their safety. I will not force them either way. “Your choice, but if you come along, I’m not your commander.”

“Understood,” Rohan replies, mustering a brave front. Still, his disappointment in not finding his sister drags his mouth down.

I asked him along. I put it in his head that we could find Opal and Brac, so I distract him from his concerns by asking him to help me drag the wing flyer into the trees for cover. Yatin and I also drop our swords there. Their size and weight will slow our pace. Yatin sulks back into the field, brooding about leaving his khanda behind.

Natesa offers him her haladie, a double-sided knife. “I still have daggers.”

“Thank you, little lotus.” Yatin bends his huge frame over her and kisses her nose.

Kali kissed my nose just two days ago. The memory pulverizes me. She made her choice, and it wasn’t me. I may need to get used to this feeling.

Our group takes turns whittling down our packs to necessities. Rohan is the smallest of us, even slighter than Natesa. As Yatin helps him tighten his straps, I slip goods from Rohan’s pack into mine and then regard the path left by the army. The flatland lies open ahead, beckoning us homeward.

I set off at a jog, and three sets of footfalls follow. My friends match my assertive pace, and we trek onward to our beloved empire of unforgiving deserts and unreachable mountains.

9

KALINDA

Freezing weather has come early to the Alpana Mountains. We fly in a steep climb over the powdery hills, the higher peaks obscured by soupy clouds. Snowflakes pinwheel around us. The white flecks land on Ashwin’s dark eyebrows and pale cheeks. We huddle together on the passenger plank, our teeth chattering out of sync with our shivering.

Pons guides us up, up, up, into thinner air. Indah burrows under a wool blanket, her eyes shut; she’s awake but barely tolerating our ascent. Our two-day flight has felt endless. I have never known a wintry depth this dreary. I cannot distinguish where the poisonous cold inside me ends and the bracing weather starts. Each pull of air drives icy spikes into my chest. A growing numbness dulls my focus and drags my eyelids closed.

“She must stay awake,” Indah calls to Ashwin over the wind. “Warm her!”

Ashwin wraps his arm around me, and I curl into his side. His body heat combats my chills and helps me withstand the pressing cold.

He lays his cheek against mine, and his voice rouses my senses. “You smell like moonlight.”

I lift my chin, and our noses bump. His soul-fire glows deep in his eyes, a well of captivating warmth.

Pull away. Don’t be enticed—

His lips graze my cheek. Heat blazes through me, starting as a spark and igniting to a blessed burn. The ice inside me melts, dripping away. I’m so close to feeling whole again . . . I press against him more snugly and slide my hands around his bare back, the bitter winds a distant force. His lips grasp at mine and bore past the last of my restraint. My return kiss writhes with need as Ashwin’s soul-fire blinds all else.

The wing flyer banks sharply, wrenching us apart, and I see the beacon atop the temple’s north tower. Home. The last time I saw this light, Deven led me into the forest to show me what I thought would be my final glimpse of Samiya.

The reminder of Deven sobers me. I pull away from Ashwin, sick to my stomach. I do not know how to stop wanting or needing him. Even now, while shivering once again, I crave a reprieve. But I have to fight the cold, if only to outlast the war.

Our wing flyer soars over the stone temple that clings to the great cliff. The courtyard is empty and the meditation pond frozen over, but the sparring circle has been cleared away of snow and ice for training. My last skill trial here was the first time I spilled blood. More memories of my childhood bombard me: the outer gate that locked us temple wards in and the rest of the world out; the meditation pond that I soaked my feet in on a warm summer’s day; the chip in the temple wall I fired stones at with my slingshot.

We descend to the courtyard and land in the sparring ring. I breathe in the trees and clouds, the crisp air filling me up. I have missed the wholesome scent of the mountains. Indah jumps down from the wing flyer and staggers for the corner of the courtyard. Halfway there, she bends over and retches. Our landing must have unsettled her stomach. I climb off after Ashwin and Pons and make a move to follow her.

Pons waves me back. “I’ll check on her.” He goes to Indah’s side and holds her hair up. An ache digs into my breastbone. No matter what Admiral Rimba has against them being together, they deserve whatever happiness they wish.

A petite, hunched old woman occupies the open temple doorway. An oil lamp illuminates Priestess Mita’s wizened face and gray hair. I can feel the weight of her glower from here. She does not know why we have come; she simply has never liked me. She favored Jaya. I should have known my returning as a rani still would not win her over. Ashwin starts for the priestess, and after a weary sigh, I go too.

“Rajah Tarek?” Priestess Mita whispers.

Ashwin flinches, as he does every time someone mistakes him for his father.

“This is Prince Ashwin,” I correct.

Priestess Mita dips into a bow. “Pardon my error, Your Majesty. Where is Rajah Tarek?”

“He was killed,” Ashwin answers levelly. He bore no affection for his father in life and is not hypocritical in his death. His aloofness is in part to shield me, for I ended Tarek’s reign. Ashwin is one of the few people I entrusted with the truth of his father’s demise.

“My condolences.” Priestess Mita ends on an awkward pause while examining my trousers. “We’re honored you’ve come home, Kindred Kalinda. Who are your companions?”

I glance across the courtyard. Indah has finished retching, and Pons is walking her slowly over to us. “Indah and Pons are visiting from the Southern Isles.”

The priestess straightens from her hunch. “Foreigners?”

“Friends,” Ashwin amends. “They’re welcome in the empire.”

We leave off that they are bhutas. Priestess Mita still believes Tarek’s warped fallacy that bhutas are soulless demons of the Void. She does not know I am a bhuta, or a Burner, the rarest and most feared of my kind.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Priestess Mita recognizes her rudeness at leaving us out in the cold. “If you would please, I’ll escort your party inside. We reserve the lower floor of the temple for honored benefactors. Our wards live separately on the upper floor. You understand that we must protect our daughters’ innocence.”

I seal off a flare of anger. Protect them for what? To stand naked and blindfolded in the Claiming chamber before a strange man—an honored benefactor—and let him look them over like prized sheep?

Seeing my grinding jaw, Ashwin takes my hand. “We understand,” he says. But does he? “Thank you, Priestess.”

She sniffs, dismissing my show of temper, and leads us down the stairway alongside the cliff to the lower entrance. Indah and Pons catch up as the priestess ushers us inside. I scarcely viewed the benefactors’ chambers the day I was claimed, but they are not as lavish as I recall. At the time, the gold-leaf furniture, silk draperies, and brass lamps were extravagance beyond my imagination. My own quarters were cramped and plain, the colors drab as the stone walls encasing them. Now that I have experienced true affluence and luxury, I notice the patched holes in the draperies, the flaking leafing on the dinged furniture, and the faded bedspread and stringy tassels. These accommodations are far below the prince’s privilege.

Ashwin smiles at the priestess. “This will do nicely.”

“Do you have a room for us?” Pons asks. Indah leans against him. I was wrong about her being queasy from the flight. She must have fallen ill.

Priestess Mita scowls at them. “Though we’ve never allowed outsiders to stay here, we’ll make an exception for the prince’s companions.”

I step forward to defend my friends, but Pons answers. “Your hospitality is appreciated.”

The priestess snubs him with nary a glance. “Kindred, your companions must remain out of sight from our temple wards.” She means Pons and Indah. She cannot keep me locked down here. “As should you, Your Majesty. You’ll find everything you need in your chamber. One of our sisters will bring your meals. When would you like the recipients of age shown to you?”

“Shown?” Ashwin questions.

“He hasn’t come for a Claiming,” I snap. On the temple floor above us, girls of all ages, from infants to eighteen-year-olds, train to become whatever their benefactor claims them for. The girls of age are shown to the benefactor so he may select those he desires.

Priestess Mita’s confused gaze bounces to me. “Then why have you come?”

“The prince wanted to survey our temples,” I say. “I offered to accompany him.”

“But you didn’t bring our supplies.”

“No,” I start hesitantly. “We weren’t aware you’re expecting a delivery.”

“We haven’t received goods or necessities in over three moons. Surely the brethren must know of our shortage. I’ve sent them several letters.”

The Brotherhood temples send a supply caravan every other new moon. They must have stopped once the rebels infiltrated the imperial city. With the empire in disarray, the Sisterhood temples have been forgotten. The Samiya temple is the farthest away from Vanhi and the most secluded. They must be running dangerously low on reserves. Except for a garden that is now snowed over, the sisters and wards are dependent upon the generosity of benefactors, who provide food and clothing in exchange for the privilege to come and claim wards.

“We were unaware of your circumstance,” Ashwin says. “I’ll remedy your shortage of supplies in haste.”