Tarek never regretted any of his actions. My deepest, most painful memories originate from him—not only what he did to me but what I was led to do to him. I smothered and poisoned his soul-fire, just as Udug is doing to me. Tarek deserved to die, not only for killing Jaya, but I loathe being his monster, just as he is mine.
A sudden wind sweeps through the tower. The strong gust extinguishes the beacon and my loyal fire dragon. Cast into the dark, I feel my neck hairs prickle.
“Your drawing flatters me, love.”
I draw my daggers and jump up. My sketch of Ashwin falls to my feet. Tarek manifests in the darkness at the rear of the tower, away from the reflecting snow. More shadow than man, his grainy shape is like a pillar of sand.
Tarek evaluates the sketch, now ruined by the damp floor. “You’ve missed me.”
“That isn’t you.”
“My son, then . . .” He tips his head back, thinking over that coupling. “You’ll tire of him. Ashwin doesn’t have the same fire inside him to mold the world with as we do.”
I raise my blades higher. “How did you find me?” He must have traveled by shadows. The evernight exists beyond the light, confined to the dark. But that is little comfort at midnight.
“You summoned me, my wife.” At my instant protest, he says, “You thought of me, did you not?” I did think of Tarek, though only in relation to his son. Then again, when Tarek visited me in the Pearl Palace, it was after I thought of the demon rajah disguised as him . . . “Put away your daggers. Your blades cannot harm me.” He slides forward to the fringe of the shadows but comes no farther. “You were boorish that last time I visited. I could have chosen to ignore your summons, but as I said before, I must warn you.”
“I need no warning from you.”
“You do if you and Ashwin aim to locate the gate to the Void.” Tarek smirks at my shocked withdrawal. “Ah, yes. You are searching for the gateway. I could tell you where it is, but you must come closer.” He reaches for me, still circumventing the barest of light. “It’s been so long since I’ve touched your hair.”
My skin squirms. “You’ll never touch me again.”
“Then you will never find the gate, and without it, Udug will rove free. But I must warn you, Udug can find the gate. And should he be the one to open it . . .”
A leaden warning unfurls in my chest. Udug would only open the Void for an awful purpose. “What do you want in return?”
Satisfaction lightens his voice. “One small request, really. All I ask is that you summon me at the gate. Simply stand before the entry and call my name.”
Nothing is ever simple or harmless with Tarek, but a greater threat roams the mortal realm. “Where’s the gate?”
“Your pledge first, love.”
“Not until you tell me where it is.”
“Then you shall never know.” Tarek’s gaze strokes down my body. “You’ve always reminded me of Enlil’s hundredth rani. Does it strike you as prophetic that we never learned her name? Of all the fire-god’s wives, we learned only of her. Yet we only know of her in association to him. Her reputation lives on in infamy because she wed a powerful man. I, too, have blessed your life, Kalinda. Let me help you again.”
I swipe my dagger at his murky chest, purposely missing. “Go back down the hole you crawled out of.”
His eyes smolder, two sable pits. “Your temper will be your undoing. Udug will crush your world.” Tarek glides backward, deeper into the shadows.
“Wait!” He pauses, his lips curling smugly. I edge forward, stopping before the toes of my boots touch the gloom he dwells in. “If you care anything for your son or me, you’ll help us.”
“Doesn’t my coming here prove that I love you?” He beckons me nearer with his same vainglorious grin. The tips of my toes crest the darkness. The cold tingles, alive and crawling with tentacles. Tarek sidles up to me and grabs a handful of my hair. He lifts my locks to his nose and inhales. “Breathing you in is like drinking midnight.”
“Where’s the gate, Tarek?” His gritty hand brushes down my cheek. I force myself to remain still. “This could redeem you. Anu could forgive your indiscretions and invite you to the Beyond.”
“The Beyond will never have me. I wish to return to the mortal realm.” Tarek’s grip tightens on my hair. “Udug stole my empire, but my name and power belong to me.”
I try tugging away, but Tarek pulls harder, dragging me into the darkness. A blackout obscures me, a whirlwind of dust and grime. Rough lips slam down on my mouth. I cannot breathe or see past the filth. A rush of panic throttles me, and I drive my dagger into his chest. The blade sinks up to my knuckles into squirming quicksand.
Tarek chuckles into my ear. “Should you choose to behave and respect your husband, all you need to do is request my company, and I will come.”
His dusty form disintegrates around me, vanishing to empty shadows. I draw in gasps of unsullied night air and search inside myself for my dying soul-fire. Finding my inner flame shrunken and weak, I tremble on the precipice of the evernight.
12
DEVEN
Torches bob around Rohan and me, like large fireflies illuminating the dark. We blend in with the other soldiers fanning out through the forest. Difficult as it is not to run ahead, we stay in the thick of the hunt. But as the troops disperse into smaller groups, we break out in front of the other search parties. Soon our torch is the only one for a hundred strides in every direction. We finally arrive at the place we last saw our comrades. The leafy covert is vacant.
“Where did they go?” Rohan asks, turning about.
“I don’t know.” They were not taken. No one from camp has searched farther out than this. The torchlights must have spooked them. I would suggest that Rohan send them a message on the wind, a whistle or birdcall, but torchlights close in on us. Too many men could become suspicious of our signal or any response our friends would send.
I sweep the torch over the ground and uncover a footprint of Yatin’s boot. As a boy, he often hid from his five older sisters so they could not dress him up like a doll, or, when he grew older, saddle him with their chores. He would only leave a footprint if he intended for me to find it.
“This way.” I hurtle over a fallen log and discover another footmark every few strides.
Rain begins to patter, dampening the fallen leaves to sticky mush and filling Yatin’s tracks with puddles. The drizzle drenches my turban but does not deter the mob or hamper their determination. Torchlights press farther into the forest as the hunt goes on.
A shout comes from directly ahead. “A rebel!”
My insides vault up my throat. Rohan and I set into a run, along with dozens of other men. We come to a halt at the gathering of lights.
A man dressed in all black grasps an imperial soldier by the neck with both hands. Droplets of blood cry from the soldier’s eyes and seep out of every pore of his exposed skin.
A soldier across the circle releases a bolt from his crossbow, striking the man in black in the spine. He arches in agony and collapses. The imperial soldier he strangled and bled falls with him, both landing in a heap. Another man checks them over.
The rebel and his assailant are dead.
The horde clambers over one another to claim the prize. Ultimately, the party with the soldier who shot the crossbow hoists the rebel and carries him back to camp. The rest of the hunters trickle after them, grumbling over the lost opportunity for coin. Bloodstains cover the fallen soldier’s body. The rain dilutes the scarlet drops to streams of pink running across his skin.
“What did the rebel do to him?” I ask.
Rohan curls into himself, a statue of misery. “Aquifiers can leech the water out of someone’s body little by little. Leeching is wrong. Bhutas should use their powers for good or we’re no better than demons.”
Opal once told me the same about winnowing when she explained a Galer can siphon air from another’s lungs, asphyxiating them to death. Rohan cries silent tears, but I doubt they are
for the rebel or the soldier. He must be thinking of the Galer the demon rajah executed—and his sister.
I pat his thin back. “Tonight has been difficult, but I need you to stay tough.”
Rohan wipes his nose and nods glumly. The soldiers’ torches drift farther away, leaving us suspiciously alone. I regret not pausing to bury or pray over the fallen soldier, but time is short.
“We need to return to camp to keep up appearances,” I say. “After everyone turns in for the night, we’ll sneak away and search for Natesa and Yatin.”
Rohan falls in line with me, my feet dragging more with every stride. Two days of little food and even less rest hit me at once. It is all I can do not to keel over.
Halfway to camp, Rohan halts, and a sudden wind extinguishes our torch. The dark wicks away my exhaustion. I back up against a tree, my khanda ready.
Something hefty drops from above. Peering into the dimness, I distinguish Yatin’s shape. A smaller shadow also leaps down.
“Almighty Anu,” I whisper. “You could’ve warned me, Rohan.” He heard our friends and blew out the torch to mask their presence.
“Where’s the excitement in that?” Natesa thumps me on the chest.
Although meant as a playful jibe, the cuff hurts my tired body. “I found your tracks, Yatin.”
“I tried to leave more,” he answers, “but too many soldiers were around. Any trace of Brac or Opal?”
“No, but the demon rajah held a Galer prisoner, so he could have others.” General of the imperial army or not, as the organizer of this mission, I cannot allow my friends to follow me any farther. “I’m going back to camp before everyone turns in for the night. The army is vast and growing. I’ll blend in and search for Brac and Opal on the march to Vanhi. You three return to the wing flyer and meet with the Lestarian Navy.”
“What about General Manas?” Rohan asks.
“Manas is here?” Natesa asks. “And he’s the general?” She and Yatin scoff in reproach. Both are acquainted with Manas’s and my history. “Deven, he’ll kill you if he finds you.”
“He won’t.” Or he’ll be sorry. Regardless of our past friendship, my mercy for Manas is long spent. A gong resounds in the distance. “That’s the call for curfew. I have to go.”
Natesa grabs my arm, holding me in place. “Not without us, you don’t. We took too long to find the army. We’re supposed to meet with the navy day after tomorrow. Even if we run all night, we’ll never make it in time.”
“Then wait here, and I’ll come back for you.”
“No.” Her grip tightens. “When my sister was claimed and taken from the temple, I never saw her again. The next I heard, she’d passed away.” Rohan grimaces, and she tempers her tone. “I didn’t get a chance to go after my sibling like you and Rohan have. Tomorrow morning, all of us will join the army and march to Vanhi.”
Yatin crosses his arms over his chest. “The army will punish a female infiltrator differently than a man.”
“Then I’ll pretend to be a man,” Natesa counters. “I’ll wear a uniform and hide my hair. I won’t get caught.”
Yatin is right to worry. Neither of us would ever mistreat a female prisoner or abuse our rank to coerce a woman, but some soldiers take repulsive liberties. Natesa would be more at risk for certain acts of violence than us men. I can hardly guarantee my safety, let alone hers.
“Udug executed the Galer I mentioned,” I inform her. “For your protection, you should all turn back.”
“You can accept our help or not. Either way, we’re coming with you.” Natesa tromps into the woods.
“Where are you going?” Rohan whispers after her.
“To get the uniform.”
Rohan makes a face. “The dead soldier’s clothes?”
“Are you going to stop her?” I ask Yatin.
He leans against the tree. “There’s no sense in it. Changing Natesa’s mind is impossible.”
Before long, she returns wearing the deceased soldier’s jacket and trousers. Their roominess conceals her womanly shape. She ties her hair up and winds his turban around her head, hiding her long tresses. Although we do not wear turbans when we sleep, Natesa stares at me through the shadows, daring me to forbid her to come along. I have had loyal comrades in the past, men willing to fight for my life, but none of them has ever undressed a dead man and worn his clothes for me.
“Fine,” I say. Off in the distance, camp has gone quiet. We will draw too much attention strolling in after curfew. “We’ll sneak in when they break camp at dawn. Get some rest.”
Through the dark, I hear Natesa’s victorious accord and Yatin’s lamenting exhalation. Rohan says nothing. I accept his silence as a bid of amenability.
The four of us bed down on the forest floor, sticking to the dry patches preserved by the thick branches overhead. Rohan curls up close to Natesa for warmth. She plucks a leaf from his hair and strokes the locks from his eyes. Kali told me Natesa has a dream of opening an inn someday. I can picture her with a place of her own, caring for weary travelers.
Watching her with Rohan drags up a memory. Once when I was ten and Brac was seven, he ran away from the palace nursery. Many hours later, I found him huddled beneath a lemon tree in the stoning courtyard. Bodies of dead bhutas were buried under bloody piles of stones, decaying in the desert sun. He had run off after I had railed at him for ruining my wooden sword. I can still recall the imprints of his small fingers seared in the hilt of my favorite toy.
That was when I knew Brac was special—and I had to protect him. I threw my wooden sword in the hearth, turning the evidence of what he could do to ash, and never spoke of his abilities. But after that, we both changed. Brac became calculating and distrustful, and I acted as though nothing was amiss. Pretending was the only way I knew how to save him from ending up in that courtyard.
I wish I could return to the days when I was his bigger, stronger brother, but we are not masking his birthright from a grudge-holding rajah. We are up against an enemy that not even his Burner powers can impair.
As the rain drums faintly, my concerns turn toward daybreak, when we will infiltrate the demon rajah’s army.
13
KALINDA
Someone kicks my chair, bringing me upright. Indah stands before me, cradling a steaming teacup. “You sleep in the strangest places,” she says.
“What time is it?”
“Midmorning.” She shuffles in front of my chair and leans against the open casement. Sunlight falls in behind her. The snow clouds have passed, and the air is warmer. Icicles drip from the window. The tower beacon pushes warmth at my back, adding heat to the warming temperatures. I relit the flame last night after Tarek left. My memory of his visit is fuzzy in the light of day, pulling apart my confidence in what I saw.
Is it possible for souls to travel from the Void by shadows? Is there truth to Inanna’s Descent?
“Ashwin sent me to find you,” Indah says. “What are you doing up here? Have you been here all night?”
“I came to watch for Hastin.” I slip my hands under the wool blanket. My inner chill is relentless.
“You don’t have to do that. Pons is listening for his arrival.”
“I know. I just . . .” Seeing Tarek reminded me of how Hastin manipulated me into trusting him. The longer I wait, the more Deven’s warning weighs on me. But my apprehension may be for naught. Whether Hastin comes or not, we must leave Samiya tomorrow morning to meet with the Lestarian Navy.
“Healer Baka sent this for you. She told me I could find you here.” Indah passes me the teacup. I sip the hot drink, savoring its sweetness. She opens her cloak to the autumn air. Her cheeks have more color than yesterday.
“What were you doing in the infirmary?”
“I needed a remedy for my stomach. Healer Baka was very helpful. While she brewed anise tea for me, we discussed the temple’s supply shortage. I wrote Datu Bulan and told him the sisters and daughters will perish if he does not send rations. The carrier dove left an h
our ago. I anticipate he’ll agree, but should he decline, we could petition the Paljorians.”
The Paljor territory converges with Tarachand on the north side of Wolf’s Peak. The tribe is closer than the Southern Isles, but reaching out to them is only a fallback. “Thank you. We’ll wait and see—”
A thwack thwack of bamboo striking bamboo sounds below. I join Indah at the casement and look out. Pons moved the wing flyer from the courtyard, outside the gate near the road. Melting snow leaves puddles that dry in the afternoon sun. In the distance, a sheet of ice still shimmers on the lake, slower to melt, but the warmer autumn day has cleared away the frost from the temple courtyard. Wards wearing sky-blue saris train with staffs in the sparring ring. Their instructor, Sister Hetal, shouts commands.
“Their staffs are twice as tall as they are,” Indah says.
“They’re probably eight or nine.” The age when the sisters start training the wards for battle. They believe Ki wishes for them to mold the wards into warriors, an honor and rite of passage.
Indah turns into the sun. She exudes the beauty of her homeland—pearly teeth, gilded eyes like the island sunset, and brown skin with undertones of sandy beaches. “Thank Enki the snow is melting.”
“Isn’t snow just frozen water?”
“Yes, but manipulating ice and snow aren’t techniques practiced in the Southern Isles, for apparent reasons.” Indah’s attention slides to the stationary wing flyer. “I’ll be glad to go home where it’s warm.”
Her eagerness to return to Lestari conflicts with her dislike of heights. “How did someone who doesn’t like to fly fall in love with a Galer?”
Indah’s gaze follows the girls sparring below while she answers. “Pons and I met during our Virtue Guard training. His father was a trader of rare treasures and often bartered with Datu Bulan. While he was traveling, he would leave Pons at the palace. His father died during one of his trips, and Bulan took him in.”
“Why does your father disapprove of you and Pons?”
The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 3) Page 13
