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A silken purr makes the walls vibrate. At first it’s barely perceptible—a drone beneath the chanting. “It’s just the wind,” Rongyo says, trying to calm everyone down.

Then the purr escalates into a growl. What’s most unsettling about it is that it does not stop for breath. Soon the crowd realizes that it belongs to neither human nor beast.

But demon.

Rongyo has only a ceremonial sword, with more beads and tassels than sharp edges. He cannot protect Vanna. Nor can his soldiers and bodyguards. They are ill equipped to fight demons. They are barely equipped to fight me.

While everyone else speculates on the source of the growling, I scan the temple. I take in the three anterooms in the back, the wide pillars, the beamed ceiling. I note the statues of Gadda and Su Dano and watch their eyes to see if they move.

A hulking shape steals across the anterior wall of the temple, concealed by clouds of smoke. I don’t see her, but I can smell her. Hers is a scent I would recognize anywhere.

I clamp my hand over Vanna’s mouth, holding her still. Then I change my mind and cover her eyes so she can’t see what happens next. In three beats, the tiger fells two royal guards, slitting their throats with her claws before they can swing their swords. The air goes taut, and the chanting stops.

“Step forward,” the tiger speaks. Her voice is deep and viscous; it clings to the air and makes the walls tremble. “Family of the Golden One, show yourselves.”

I pick out the sound of Lintang praying to Gadda for mercy.

“Help them,” Vanna whispers. “Channi!”

I give a vigorous shake of my head. I won’t leave her.

“Help them,” she utters again, a shimmer of power in her words. “Please.”

My sister knows exactly what she is doing.

But so do I. I’ve experienced her power once before. Now that I’m aware of it, I steel my mind against her compulsion. I can’t completely ignore the command she’s made, but I can work around it.

“Call for Oshli,” I say. Vanna blinks with confusion, but I don’t have time to explain. My tone goes harsh. “Do it. Now.”

“Oshli,” she says in a small voice. “Oshli, come back.”

“Stay here,” I tell her. “Don’t turn around, and don’t make a sound.” I exchange a look with Ukar, ordering him to watch over her.

As Ukar coils himself around my sister’s ankles, the power of her command makes me lurch to attention. But the best way to save Adah and Lintang is to hunt the tiger. And that is what I do.

Angma melds seamlessly into the smoke, disappearing into its folds so that only her blood-red pupils are visible. They burn through the shadows, and I follow their reflection in the fallen swords by my feet.

I pretend I am in the jungle, but instead of trees, here are walls carved with stories of the heavens and the hells, with wooden statues of immortals and gods with hollow eyes. The floorboards creak under my weight, but I don’t bother moving with stealth. I know Angma can smell me.

I’m just about to lunge, when Rongyo, the fool, decides to seize the moment and get himself killed.

“Come out, demon!” he shouts, brandishing his sword at the smoke—nowhere near Angma’s location. “Show yourself!”

“As you wish.”

Angma pounces from behind him, but I’m one step ahead of her. I spring at the prince, shoving him into a cluster of clay vases. His head hits the wall. It lists to the side as he falls, dazed.

Saving Rongyo comes at a cost. When Angma marks me as her next target, I’m only half prepared.

She tackles me. Strikes and pins me down with her weight. It happens so fast I can’t position my spear to mount an attack, but the spear isn’t my only weapon. I sweep my fingers across the cut on my arm and bury my arm in Angma’s fur. I can almost hear her flesh burn, and through the pain ringing in my ears, it is the most delightful sound.

“Troublesome child,” she rasps, pressing down on my chest with all her weight. I wheeze, feeling my ribs crack, and my lungs fight for air. “Look at me.”

I won’t. I am not a child anymore. I know what power Angma’s gaze holds.

I shut my eyes as her voice enters my mind. You think I don’t understand you, Channi. You think I am a monster. I wasn’t always one.

“I don’t care what you were,” I reply.