The freshmen in the row ahead help us out. He took a shot to the face, one girl says.
Servants wheel a handcart into the arena and pile Ameya’s body onto it.Where will they take her? I ask.
Where do you think? Lakia considers her painted nails. The rajah has no use for her now. She’s refuse.Indignation snarls through me. Her body must be prayed over before she’s laid to rest.The gods don’t care about dead whores, Lakia replies, bored.
The gods care about honor and sisterhood, not this spectacle of death. I lower myself from my chair to my knees and bow my head.Get up, Lakia hisses.
Not until I pray.
Kalinda. Tarek’s voice is deadly low. Sit.Looking into his sister’s eyes was a lot like looking into his own.
You seem more restless than normal.Busy, not restless.
Did you pick up another job?He sipped his beer and set it down. Why do you ask?