The sea raiders’ emblem.
Our pursuers employ their cannons. Saltwater jets in through the doors of the cabin, blasting one off its hinges. Deven crouches over me and absorbs the spray. The targeted streams of water force two of our cannons into the sea and crush another. Several of the crew are swept off deck into the rough waves. The terrible winds bellow, and the ship creaks and groans.
The raiders lower their biggest cannon at our cabin and blast more water at us. Deven is pushed off me, and he slides to the door. Pons grabs his wrist, and they are both swept out on deck and dragged to the rail. Pons latches onto a crate, stopping them from falling overboard, but Deven’s legs dangle over the edge.
I lurch out of the cabin, onto the open deck. Harnessing my soul-fire, I send a heatwave into the storm. “Enough!”
My flames evaporate the water on my hands, fizzling the drops to steam. A man high up on the opposing deck comes to the rail to see who cast the heatwave. Ambassador Chitt flanks me, his hands also glowing.
“What do you want, Captain Loc?” Chitt calls to the man on the other ship.
“We have no interest in you or the navy, Ambassador.” Captain Loc points at me. “We’ve come for the kindred and prince. Rajah Tarek has offered a reward for their return.”
“Prince Ashwin and Kindred Kalinda are under our protection,” Admiral Rimba answers, calling across the watery divide. Though the sea between our ships has started to calm, tension churns in the thundery sky. “I suggest you go before our fleet arrives.” He points to vessels speeding out of the breaker from the island.
“Give us the prince and kindred, and we’ll leave,” Captain Loc replies.
Behind me, Ashwin is stony, but I read him as well as he does one of his books. I turn to Captain Loc. “The prince and I stay.”
Captain Loc goes on, unruffled. “Kindred, your husband requires your presence.”
I throw a warning heatwave at his ship. The Voider is not my husband. My fire glances along their bow, scorching a line across the hull. Men dive away from the path of my fury. Captain Loc ducks behind the rail and rises again.
An exquisite chill, akin to delight, empowers me. The raiders fear my abilities.
And well they should.
But Captain Loc does not direct his crew to retreat. My impatience surges. Go away.
Flames fly from my hands, high across the water, their centers white and their edges a strange pale green. My heatwave hits the vessel’s mast and burns its flag. Captain Loc summons a pillar of water to extinguish the fire and then raises snakelike streams from the sea and aims them at me.
I stand ready, bolder with Chitt at my side than I would be alone. The navy vessels race closer, moments away. Should the raiders engage us, they will have to engage their entire fleet.
Captain Loc throws his streams of water at the hull. Waves splash the deck, hitting my sandals. “Another day, Kindred.” He signals to his crew, and they maneuver their ship farther out in the open water.
I hobble across the deck. Deven sits away from the rail near Pons, catching his breath. “Those dolts,” I say, helping Deven stand. “Rajah Tarek is dead.”
Deven squeezes water from his tunic and soaked turban. “I never thought anyone could be more dangerous than Tarek, and then I met the demon impersonating him.”
Pons summons a breeze that rushes over us, wicking away the immediate wetness of our clothes. After the wind passes, he says, “The reward for bringing you back must be generous. Captain Loc wouldn’t risk attacking a navy vessel this close to Lestari without incentive.”
Deven and I swap a look. Our decision to meet up with the Lestarians has already proven beneficial. I just hope our meeting with the datu goes well.
The other navy ships arrive and surround us. Admiral Rimba shouts for his crew to retrieve the sailors who were cast overboard. A crewman cleans up the deck, tossing aside debris so the others may more easily work.
Deven groans and leans against me, but his complaint is of exhaustion, not of injury. “I’ll help so we can be underway,” he says. “The sooner we’re on land, the better.”
I hold on to him longer than necessary . . . and then another breath or two after that. He finally pulls back, and I reluctantly return to the cabin to check on the others.
Chitt intercepts me at the broken sliding door. “I’d like a quick word, Kindred.” Since he is blocking my way, I wait for him to go on. “Have your powers always been that greenish hue?”
“They’re usually the color of a star, but I’ve been unwell lately.”
“Perhaps it’s of no concern,” Chitt answers, though his tone implies otherwise. “Each Burner’s powers have a unique color. Mine is a deep currant, and your father’s was a vibrant tangerine. But I have never seen a Burner’s fire any shade of green.”
I had not thought to compare my fire to another’s. Burners are too few for such an opportunity to easily arise. The only other Burner I have met and fought alongside is Brac. I wish he was here so I could ask him if the color of my powers is abnormal.
Ashwin squeezes past Chitt and hooks his arm through mine. “Kalinda should rest, Ambassador.”
“Of course. Thank you for your time, Kindred.” Chitt bows, his expression no less troubled.
Ashwin and I stroll down the deck and rest on an overturned crate. When no sailors are near, he speaks. “The attack was our fault.” His small voice is packed with regret.
“No one was hurt.”
“Thank the gods. Do you think we’ll be safe in Lestari?”
I look to the stone breaker in the distance. “Let’s pray so.”
Ashwin scoots closer to move out of the path of a working sailor. I should put another gap between us, but the prince’s touch tames the chill prowling inside me.
Since the Voider tainted me, I carry his malevolent powers like an invisible brand mark. I told him I am nothing like him. I am a bhuta, a half-god, so I must be good. Whatever sickness he put inside me cannot change my heritage. But something is amiss. My powers are different, and not just their color. I feel . . . less in control.
Leaning into Ashwin, I watch the sea and try not to think about what lies beneath the surface of my skin.
We sail up to the monstrous breaker in a long line of vessels. Seabirds screech above our procession, some of them nested along the craggy cliff. The crew slows our approach, and we wait our turn to slide under the bridge on the low tide. Water cannons are mounted on the span, aimed at the open water. They’re larger than the raiders’ cannons, I think. They should keep the raiders out.
Enki’s Heart glides up to the opening, next in the fleet to pass through. Soldiers watch us from the guardhouse on the bridge, and then we coast beneath them into the shade. Through the shadows, I make out runes etched into the underside of the arch.
“What do they say?” I ask Ashwin beside me.
“Water in our blood,” he answers, reading the ancient script. I saw that line once in a book about bhutas. All mankind was created in the likeness of the gods—sky in our lungs, land beneath our feet, fire in our souls, and water in our blood. Ashwin grimaces at the etchings. The last time he read runes, he released the Voider.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t think.”
Before he can reply, we emerge into a sparkling blue cove. A verdant island awaits across the water. The city of Lestari rises from the sea with dignified refinement. A labyrinth of waterways weaves beneath picturesque houses built on platforms and secured to stilts erected upon the beach. Thick columns, endless windows, and wide-open terrace balconies line every level of the staggered structures. Palm trees thrive on patches of white sand. Arching bridges span the azure inlets, connecting the city without disturbing the ebb and flow of the tides.
The Pearl Palace, the grand centerpiece of the Southern Isles, extends into the sunset sky with spindly spires glossy as the inside of an oyster. As I watch, residents light torches to illuminate the roads and homes darkening in the failing daylig
ht.
Our vessel slips down a main channel toward the heart of the city and past water mills that power textile, paper, and flour mills. The Lestarians use the tides resourcefully, though I suspect they have ongoing Aquifier aid. A woman guides one of the water wheels, pushing a stream through the wheel’s slats.
An outdoor market runs alongside the opposite bank. The sea breeze flutters orange-and-lime-colored sunshades stretched between lean-tos. Merchants present a spread of enticing goods, from painted pottery to ripe bananas. Fish hang from rafters, drying in the late-day sun as buyers purchase their wares before nightfall. Everyone’s clothes and faces are clean. Everything about Lestari is immaculate, like a perfectly round pearl.
The waterway pushes us through the open gates of the Pearl Palace, where Enki’s Heart bumps against a dock. A medium-height old man dressed in all white waits there. Several guards, also in white, flank him. The man’s gray hair hangs past his shoulders, and a strand of pink shells rings his neck. His deeply tanned brown skin is sun worn, like cracked leather.
Our party disembarks, and Admiral Rimba leads Ashwin and me to the gray-haired man in white. My bad leg aches. I left my cane on the riverboat to avoid the impression that the kindred of the Tarachand Empire and two-time tournament champion cannot walk without assistance.
Admiral Rimba bends into an impressively low bow. “Datu Bulan, we bring you Prince Ashwin and Kindred Kalinda.”
“I have eyes, Admiral,” the datu answers, quirking a bushy brow at my slouch. He is not a big man. Even stooping, I tower over him. “Welcome to Lestari, Jewel of the Southern Isles.”
My posture aggravates my sore leg. I speak to hide my discomfort. “Thank you for your hospitality. Have any members of our party arrived before us?”
“So far, only you,” replies the datu, revealing a gap between his top front teeth.
Ashwin stands taller, as he often does when I am at his side. “We’re eager to discuss the happenings in Iresh.”
The datu’s eyes cool on the young prince. I have only seen Deven look at Ashwin with that much distaste. “We are preparing supper for you and your viraji. First, let us direct you to your chambers.”
I startle at the datu’s formal endearment for me, and, at the fringe of my sight, Deven stiffens. No one has called me viraji—intended queen—since Tarek claimed me as his final rani.
“Datu Bulan,” I say, “there’s been a mistake. I’m not—”
“Kalinda isn’t well enough to stand here any longer,” Indah finishes. “She suffered an ordeal while securing her throne in the trial tournament. I must insist she rest.”
Datu Bulan dons a paternal friendliness. “Then let’s move along.”
Ashwin pulls back. “Datu, may I have use of your library?” He intends to research the Voider. Bhuta powers cannot injure the demon, so we have to find another way to stop him.
The datu does not balk at the prince’s request, nor does his glower lessen. “As you wish.”
Admiral Rimba steps forward. “Pons can escort the prince.”
Deven does not object to leaving Ashwin in Pons’s care, but Indah raises her voice.
“Must it be Pons, Father? We only just arrived.”
“The ambassador and I have matters to attend to,” Admiral Rimba clips out. “Have you any grievance, Pons?”
Pons tucks his arms in, his chin high. “No, sir.” He speaks to Ashwin. “Your Majesty, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way to the library.”
Ashwin begins to go with him, and the newness of this place lands on me all at once.
“Will I see you soon?” My question arises as a demand. Distance between Ashwin and I has not troubled me before, but the pressure on my chest will not abate.
“I’ll find your chamber later,” Ashwin promises, and he sets off with Pons.
My anxiety dissolves . . . until I catch Deven’s sidelong look. I cannot say what came over me, except that I am not as comfortable in the company of our allies as I thought.
Admiral Rimba leaves with Chitt, and Datu Bulan shuffles up the main walkway in sandals that are too big for him. An amethyst banner with a sea dragon hangs above the arched entry. Through the main doors, pastel shells encrust the ivory walls and lanterns. Additional banners drape from the vaulted ceilings, splashes of majesty that offset the neutral décor.
In the center of the entry hall, a fountain cascades down from the second level between the double staircase. The datu slows before the fountain’s base so we can view the lifelike sculpture of Enki riding astride a sea dragon. The creature’s sleek, serpentine body is half submerged in the miniature rapids. The goddess holds a trident in one hand, her arms open to the archipelago of the Southern Isles.
I recognize the depiction of the legend from my history lessons with the Sisterhood. “This scene portrays the creation of the isles.”
Datu Bulan smiles, revealing his toothy gap. “Very apt, Kindred. We tell our creation story every spring at the highest tide.”
“Will you tell us?” Natesa asks him. “I didn’t listen as closely in class as Kalinda.” Yatin releases a deep chuckle, and Natesa elbows him to be quiet. She was more studious in the sparring ring than the classroom.
Datu Bulan gazes up at the water-goddess sculpture. “Our island is nearly as ancient as Enki herself. Our ancestors dwelled contentedly by the sea until the gods left the mortal realm for the Beyond. As soon as Enki departed, the sea rebelled. Tides flooded the villages and farmlands.”
I listen closely. His brogue is somewhat hard to follow, his k’s and r’s rushed or not enunciated. Indah and Pons have accents as well, but theirs are less noticeable.
“The islanders feared for their lives, but they loved their home and would not flee for the mainland. They congregated along the shoreline and confronted the roiling waves. The sea waited for them to turn their backs on the surf so it could ambush them and sweep them away, but the islanders stood firm and prayed for Enki to save them. When she saw they would not be moved, she bridled the sea and dragged the high tide away from the villagers. In the absence of her waters, more fertile islands rose up from the seafloor for them to build and plant upon.” The datu dips his fingertips in the fountain. “We still offer daily sacrifices to Enki. In return, she preserves us from the tides.”
I memorize Enki’s beautiful yet fierce stance, her open arms beckoning for me to believe.
Datu Bulan motions for us to move along. We trail him up the grand staircase and down a wide corridor. Etchings above the doorways draw my notice. The godly virtues—obedience, service, brotherhood, humility, and tolerance—decorate every threshold. The temple sisters emphasized sisterhood instead of brotherhood, but otherwise the virtues are the same ones we strive to emulate in Tarachand.
Natesa sees them too. “Why are the godly virtues over every doorway?”
The datu stops. “To remind us of our divine path.” He passes through a door and we follow.
The spacious chamber is open to a terrace and balcony, letting in the briny scent of the sea. A fountain flows down the wall into a low basin. The running water continually cools the room. The furniture is crafted from durable grasses and driftwood, and thin white linens cover the bed. Deven prowls around, checking the chamber’s security. I can already tell he does not like the terrace; it is too easy for someone to slip in unseen.
“This is lovely,” I say.
Datu Bulan lifts the back of my hand to his lips. “Anything for a two-time tournament champion. I would trade all my pearls to have hair like yours in my collection.”
“Ah . . . thank you?”
“It’s a compliment, Viraji. I collect rare and valuable treasures.” Bulan lifts his shell necklace for me to see. “I traded a bucketful of black diamond sand for these. They can only be found in the Northern Sea.”
I touch a smooth pink shell. “They’re exquisite.”
“Not as exquisite as your hair.” Datu Bulan delivers his flattery with utmost sincerity, as though very fe
w things in the world awe him more than his strand of shells. Then he sweeps his hands behind his back, nods farewell, and shuffles out, his too-large sandals slapping the floor.
What a curious man.
“Yatin and I will sleep here,” Deven says of the lounges on the terrace.
“The kindred is safe,” Indah assures him. “We’re a peaceful people.”
“So were our people once.” Deven strides to the balcony and scans the city beneath the twilight.
“Let’s find my room.” Natesa grabs Yatin by the hand and tows him to an antechamber.
I sit at the driftwood table and wrap a blanket around my shoulders to ease my inner chill. Indah kicks off her sandals and puts her feet up. The damp air adds dewiness to her brown skin and fullness to her wavy dark hair.
“Why does the datu think I’m Ashwin’s viraji?” I ask quietly.
“He assumes you’ll wed the prince because you won the trial tournament.” Indah glances past me to Deven and speaks lower. “Bulan is different than Rajah Tarek. He has only been married once, and it was for love. His wife died years ago. Their only child, the princess, will inherit his throne.”
A female heir? Tarek would have never endowed his throne to one of his daughters. He saw women as accessories, servants, things.
“Princess Gemi is a Trembler like her mother was. She will be the Southern Isles’ first female ruler and our first bhuta ruler in a long while. Bulan believes bhutas and women should be in power to diversify our leadership.”
His coolness toward the prince becomes clear. “He doesn’t like Ashwin because he’s a mortal man?”
“No, Bulan doesn’t know him as well as you. Ashwin was harbored by the brethren until Tarek’s death forced him from hiding. Our informants have been watching you since you left Samiya. The datu will help your people, but only if you are part of the new empire.”
Bulan will only aid us if I plan to marry the prince. I do not have to tell Indah a union with Ashwin is not in my future. She has seen how close I am to Deven. I glance his direction. He tarries at the balcony, out of earshot. “I will be part of the new empire, but not as Ashwin’s wife.”
The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 3) Page 5
