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I ignore the taunts. After a while I give up trying to escape. I count the mice and listen to the other prisoners snore.

There’s no point in running away. The person I need to kill is here.

A lone stripe of moonlight illuminates my cell, and Mount Hanum’anya’s fearsome silhouette fills my view. I try for the hundredth time: Ukar?

Silence. Then—

Go to sleep.

I inhale a sharp breath. Not Ukar.

Hokzuh? I say, cautiously.

A beat. Go to sleep, he says again. You’ll wake the others…and they need their rest.

He sounds tired. I wonder how long he had to stay at the dinner after I left. I wonder why he is here, sleeping in a dirty cell, when he is Meguh’s great champion.

The queen, I say. You said she’s the real ruler of Shenlani. Did you know she’s—

What were you thinking, attacking the queen? he asks brusquely, cutting me off. If you want to live, stay away from her. Now go to sleep.

What do you know about her—

Go to sleep.

He severs our connection, and I let out a frustrated grunt.

I lie down. Anger winds itself around my chest, constricting each breath. But the dragon has a point: I need rest to heal my injuries. I need rest to face tomorrow.

I close my eyes. “A fierce little thing, isn’t she?” Angma had said.

Tomorrow, I will show her just how fierce I can be.

Gadda help me, I will burn this whole island down if I must.

* * *

I am not alone when I wake.

Two young servants hover over my body. They’re so close I can smell betel leaves on their breath, the sandalwood oil on their skin. A brush tickles the side of my neck, cool and wet as it traces up my cheekbones. They’re painting me!

“What are you doing?” I try to bolt up, forgetting the chains that shackle me.

I snarl and punch and kick, but the servants are braver than most. Probably having been instructed upon pain of death to ignore my struggles, the girl avoids looking at my face and concentrates on her work, and the boy glances nervously behind him, at the guards supervising this spectacle.

Iron cuffs lock my ankles together, so I prop myself up on my elbows. The servants changed me into a garish costume while I was sleeping. Around my arms are vines fresh from the rainforest, and there are wooden beads in my hair, which has been plaited and coiled above my temples. As a finishing touch, I’ve been fitted with a headdress inlaid with gilded serpents.

“There,” says the girl, sweeping a cold stroke over my shoulder. The paintbrush is damp with bright yellow ink, and I can only imagine what horror she’s made of me. “Finished.”

I glance down. Stripes! Of all the ways she could have vandalized my skin, she’s painted tiger stripes on my arms. Desperately I try to rub the paint off, but the prison guards yank my chains until my arms fall to my sides.

The boy holds up a wooden box and opens the lid. “A present from Queen Ishirya, for your first fight.”

It’s another mask. I don’t know what happened to the one Meguh gave me yesterday, but this one looks like it was made with far greater care. The surface is smooth and shiny, the edges covered with rich ruby snakeskin. Its touch makes my skin crawl.

“What is this?” I demand.

“Your battle attire,” replies a new voice.