Her parents had died, choking. Div was alive, barely, his body a ruin. He would be bedridden for the rest of his life. Investigations had begun, for her mother had been an army commander and women of her rank did not die quietly.
Jaya did not have the courage to tell the investigators that her motherspat on the name of Ravence. That she had called the king a liar, a fraud. She was a Yumi, proud and unflinching, left to serve a king who could not protect his own woman.It is shameful, she had said.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered to Div when he awoke.
“There’s nowhere else to go,” he said. “You have to find those bastards.”
“Div—”
“No, Jaya! Ma and Papa deserved more. Where is your honor? Where is youranger?” And on the last word, his voice broke, hot and fierce and hurt.
“Where is it?” he said, softer now.
She clutched his hand as Akaros watched. “It’s here. I’m sorry, Div.”
When Div slipped back into sleep, Jaya turned to Akaros. She did not see disappointment in his eyes, like in the others’. There was only an emboldened recognition, wordless and powerful. She felt struck, as if seized by lightning, her senses sharpening to a singular point, a shared understanding of like meeting like. A feeling of weightlessness tickled her stomach.
He held out his hand.
“Let us help you.”
She took it, anchoring herself. The loneliness within her awakened into something wolfish and wicked, all angles and teeth and hunger. Never mind the community that shunned her. Here was someone who knew of her hunger and had his own to share.
“We start with the one who struck the match.”
Jaya entered the Black Scales’ makeshift command center and found her toy immediately.
“What did you think of it?” she asked as she ran a finger over the metal lotus.
“Unnatural yet brilliant,” Chandi replied, not meeting her eyes. She was looking past them to the Butcher, who stood to the side of the room with a stunned expression, as if he could not yet believe what had happened. Akaros was directing Arohassin agents into the room, telling them to place this machine here, that panel there, no, you idiot,there.
Jaya watched Chandi, Chandi watched Samson, and Samson watched them all, unseeing.
“Did you not tell him?” Jaya asked.
Chandi did not reply.
If Chandi felt guilty, Jaya had no sympathy for her. They had spoken earlier through encrypted messages. It was the commander who had accepted their invite. Their arrival was not a surprise, and yet Chandi wore guilt in the softness of her jaw, in the way her eyes darted from Akaros to Samson. She called to a Black Scale, the master of arms, but he ignored her as he whispered in Samson’s ear. Chandi rocked back on her heels, quiet.
“There’s a saying among us gamemasters,” Jaya said. “‘Every move is binding until the sands stop churning. But the gamemaster sees all and finds the path unwinding.’”
Chandi’s eyes slid to her. “Are you telling me that I need to accept the bed I’ve made?”
“You saw the path through the sands, Chandi. Surely your general won’t punish you too long for it.”
Chandi laughed, short and brusque, like a dull hammer striking a metal bowl. “You don’t know Samson Kytuu, then.”
The Butcher detached from the wall and marched to the center panel. His stride was efficient, exact. All his focus, all his energy, wired into precise movements that could, at any moment, transform into a strike.He’s a fighter all right, she thought with a sudden, breathless giddiness. Gods, it had been so long since she had spun up a game with proper challengers. She wondered how quickly he’d adapt to her rules. How soon he’d break beneath them.
Akaros was already sitting, waiting. Jaya smoothly folded into a seat beside him.
“So, you’re the gamemaster.”
Jaya turned to the speaker, a raven-haired woman with leather gloves and henna tattoos spiraling down her arms. She tapped a metal lotus. “And I’m guessing this is part of your gameplay.”
Leather gloves, vine henna tattoos, Sesharian hair streak—her heart stuttered a beat as Jaya recognized the woman. “And you must be the vishkanya. I’ve heard about you and your sisters. There were fifteen of you, weren’t there, hand selected by Jantari intelligence to become assassins? Tell me, is it true you must drink poison and an antidote every day to keep your touch deadly?”
“An old wives’ tale.” Visha’s lips twisted as if she tasted something foul. “The poison the Jantari forced me to digest will last me a lifetime.”
