Page 36

Slowly, I sink into the wooden tub. Although the water is only lukewarm, it scalds the burns and scrapes on my skin. I grimace through the pain. It’s a sign that I’m healing. Already the welts on my arms have evened out, and my bruises have faded to a brownish yellow.

I scrub myself clean, taking extra care with my left ankle—where the Serpent King bit me seventeen years ago. The bite festered for days, turning my veins green. Adah wouldn’t pay for the local doctor to look at it. Secretly, I think that after seeing my face he was hoping I’d die.

But my ankle healed, even if my face did not. Today, the skin is smooth, except for two puncture wounds. Only in my dreams does it ever hurt.

The old priestess awaits with ointment for my burns. Her face is so wrinkled I cannot tell if she’s smiling or frowning, and she squints at my approach.

The ointment smells strongly of turmeric, and it stings. For both reasons, I cringe. “Don’t move,” she warns. “It’ll hurt more if you do.”

I grasp my knees, holding myself still. Her fingers steadily smear medicine across my arms, and I hope I don’t have any open cuts. Even if she is one of Dakuok’s priestesses, I would hate for my blood to burn through her skin and possibly kill her.

“It was brave,” she says, talking to get my mind off the pain, “what you did for your sister. You were nearly killed.”

As if I need the reminder.

“Is Oshli here?” I ask, changing the subject. He’d want to say goodbye to Vanna.

The priestess ties the skirt around my waist, makes a neat bow on the side. “His father has asked him to help put the marketplace back in order, after today’s proceedings. He’ll be away the rest of the afternoon.”

My chest goes tight and old resentments flare. Find him, I mean to say. Tell him that Vanna’s leaving. But I don’t. I owe Oshli nothing.

I put on my mask, and when the priestess isn’t looking, I tuck my paring knife back under my skirt. We’re finished, and I follow her back to the front of the temple.

Channi? Channi, where are you?

At the sound of Ukar’s voice, I perk up. He doesn’t sound far.

I’m in the building past the courtyard, I reply. Wait there. I’m coming.

I quicken my pace, but just ahead is Dakuok, waiting in the main prayer room, under the shadow of Gadda’s statue. When he spies me, he flashes a wide smile. Tea stains yellow his teeth, and from how red and puffed up his cheeks are, I can tell that he’s about to say something self-important.

I try to sidestep him, but he offers me a thin handful of joss sticks, and gestures for me to light them with the candle before the altar. The smell is spicy, a waft of cinnamon and jasmine and smoke. I open my mouth to catch a fresh breath.

I doubt Dakuok will take my refusal well, but still I say, “Prince Rongyo is waiting for me.”

“The prince is a good, religious boy. I’m sure he would allow you to pray one last time with your father’s shaman.”

Gadda’s enormous shadow looms over me. He is bald, as he is in every statue, with a kind, toothless smile under his beard and a round belly. For a god of mercy, he hasn’t been very merciful to me. No wonder I’ve never liked him much. Still, my curse is not his fault, so I bow three times, stab the joss sticks into the burner, and turn to leave.

Dakuok’s priests, appearing from the chamber’s anterooms, block my exit. They’re muttering words of enchantment, and though they are third-rate sorcerers at best, I can feel the wards they’re putting up around the temple to trap me inside.

I tense. “Let me go. The prince is waiting.”

Still kneeling before Gadda, Dakuok chuckles. “I will never understand your sister’s attachment to you.”

“Let me go,” I repeat.

“You nearly incited a riot, Channari,” says Dakuok, as if I could forget. “You must understand that Vanna can’t have you at her side while she is queen. What will the prince’s people think? No, your destiny lies elsewhere.” The candles behind him flicker as he rises from his prayer. “Fortunately for you, Channari, you have your own buyer.”

I hate how he keeps saying my name. But I hate most of all that he has my attention. “My own buyer?”

It’s the reaction he wants. He watches the muscles of my arms go taut as the truth sinks in. And stings.

He sneers. “Did you really think your father would let you live in the palace with Vanna?”

I don’t answer. Adah is cruel, but he wouldn’t sell me. Not like this…. Would he?

Run, Channi! Ukar cries from the distance, but his warning barely registers.