The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 3)

by Emily R. King

  Frustration packs Indah’s every word. “Pons is a Janardanian. My family lines trace back to the first families in the Southern Isles. My father wants me to wed a Lestarian and preserve our bloodline.” She speaks the last in a gravelly voice, mimicking the admiral.

  Parents. The one explanation I cannot relate to. However, I understand the obligation to uphold tradition. Never was I given a choice of which benefactor would claim me or for what purpose. I assumed women outside the temple had more freedom. Marriage proposals are often sorted out between families. But now I see that custom is also flawed.

  Still, Indah was permitted to meet a man and fall in love. I was never given that option.

  We lapse into a contemplative silence. As the wards take turns in the sparring ring, I grow fidgety.

  “Indah, will you please fetch Ashwin and Pons? I have something for us to do.”

  She pushes away from the casement, keen to join me. She must be bored of waiting for Hastin too. “Ashwin may not come,” she says. “He borrowed every book he could find on the Void from the library and was up all night reading. Last I checked, he hadn’t found anything of use.”

  After what I learned from Tarek—if I did not in fact imagine his visit—I doubt the location to the gate will be cited in a text. “Tell him it’s important. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” I hurry off, leaving her to satisfy my request.

  Outside, a pair of girls duels in the sparring circle. The rest of them wait their turn by the weapons rack. An eighteen-year-old ward I knew from my time here, Sarita, gives them instructions while Sister Hetal observes.

  “Strike her knee and then—” Sarita cuts off. “Kindred Kalinda.”

  All the young wards whirl around and bow.

  Sister Hetal scurries to the front of the group. “Kindred, Priestess Mita didn’t inform me you need to use the courtyard.”

  “I don’t. I came to watch the wards practice.”

  The girls whisper to each other, and Sarita scrutinizes my trousers. My former competitor in the sparring ring has not changed at all. Her shape is still soft yet firm, fit yet feminine. She and Natesa were good friends. From Sarita’s glare, she has not forgotten the last time we sparred. I gave her a bloody lip.

  Pons, Ashwin, and Indah come up the side stairway from the lower level. The girls’ high voices pinch off at the sight of the Lestarian warrior with the partly shaved head, bare legs, and hairy chest. They are equally astonished by Ashwin’s good looks, and most of them blush.

  “Girls, protect your innocence.” Sister Hetal covers the nearest girl’s sight, and the others shut their eyes. Sarita hides her face but peeks out at Ashwin from between her fingers. “Kindred Kalinda, the wards mustn’t see the men. Priestess Mita—”

  “Would not presume to send away her prince.” I tug him forward, and Pons and Indah follow arm in arm.

  “I thought you were avoiding me,” Ashwin says under his breath. I was, though at the moment I cannot remember why. His touch is like a sunrise on a frosty morning. “What are we doing here?”

  “We’re introducing these girls to their ruler,” I answer and then raise my voice. “Prince Ashwin has come to view your sparring practice.” Sister Hetal blathers on about propriety and innocence. I direct my next statement at Sarita, who has lowered her hands to gawk at Ashwin. “Would you like to demonstrate your skills first or should we draw lots?”

  No one moves. The younger girls still have their sight shielded, though many steal glimpses of the men behind Sister Hetal’s back.

  “Kalinda, perhaps we should go,” Ashwin says, shifting uncomfortably.

  “These girls have been locked away long enough. There’s a point when innocence becomes ignorance.”

  “I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Sister Hetal blusters. “Priestess Mita must hear of this.”

  She rushes off, and most of the wards lower their hands. Pons bows to them. His kind, wise eyes exude a surprising depth of vulnerability. He does not want them to fear him.

  Ashwin chews his lower lip, still torn. “They’re so young. I don’t want to startle them.”

  The girls hang on his every word, his strange tenor transfixing them. None of them flee or hide. They are sister warriors in the making.

  Remembering how awkward it felt to stand before a group of men as a lone woman, I push a smile of encouragement at Ashwin. “They have never seen a man before, but they’re astute enough to recognize your handsomeness.”

  Ashwin’s gaze slowly widens. “You’ve never told me I’m handsome.”

  “No?” My voice mellows. “I should have.”

  Sarita bows, a curt bend at her waist. “There’s no need to draw lots. I’ll demonstrate my skills for you, Your Majesty.”

  The last of the girls uncover their eyes and blink at Ashwin in wonder.

  I select a staff from the weapon’s rack and hand it to Sarita. “Go ahead. I’ll be your sparring partner.”

  She laughs a little, not in derision but amusement. “You’re still skinnier than a bamboo pole.”

  “I’m also a two-time tournament champion.” She would probably flee if I told her I am also a Burner, but I do not want these girls to fear men or bhutas.

  “This will be entertaining,” Indah says, tugging Pons to the meditation pond. Some of the wards shuffle after them. They congregate near Indah, but do not shy away when Pons asks them questions about their training. More girls move closer to my friends, mesmerized by Indah’s topaz eyes and Pons’s gentleness. They even request to see his blowgun, and he shows them.

  I grab another staff and square off with Sarita in the ring. Her entire focus is on me and not the men. She has recovered faster from meeting the opposite gender than I did. I was thunderstruck by Deven for days.

  Sarita raises her staff to ready position. “Until first blood?” she asks, reciting the rules of the last time we sparred.

  “Until first down,” I correct. I have shed enough blood inside battle rings. Priestess Mita will return any moment, so I call the start and waste no time swinging.

  Sarita blocks, and our bamboo poles connect. The clanging vibration shoots up my arms. She glances at Ashwin for approval. I slide closer and knock her in the side of the head with the end of my staff. She bends away and comes around, striking me in the hip. The impact throws me back a step.

  “What’s become of Natesa?” Sarita tries for neutrality, but I hear her concern for her friend.

  “Natesa lives. She conceded the final rank tournament match to me.”

  Sarita swipes at my nose. I duck, but she gets me on the way back up, hitting me in the shoulder. “Natesa would never concede to you.”

  “She did.” I pace away so Sarita can better view my earnestness. “We’re friends now.”

  “They are,” Ashwin confirms, standing at the rim of the ring.

  Sarita adjusts her grip on her staff while considering this news. I check on Pons and Indah from my side vision. The little ones still crowd around them. One of the girls sits in Indah’s lap, and another plays with Pons’s tied-back hair.

  “Where is she?” Sarita asks, jabbing.

  I block her, locking our staffs together. “She’s in love with a soldier. I think they’ll wed someday.”

  Sarita drops her guard, her voice halting. “Natesa isn’t a palace courtesan anymore?”

  “No. She’s been freed.”

  Sarita lowers her staff even more. Her incredulous stare goes right through me.

  “Enough!” Priestess Mita bellows across the courtyard. She and Sister Hetal march for the sparring ring.

  I lower my voice to Sarita. “Much has happened since I left. You don’t have to stay here locked away, waiting for a benefactor to claim you. This is your life. Claim it.”

  Priestess Mita stomps up to me and yanks away my staff. She tosses it aside, and it lands with a clang, alarming the wards with Indah and Pons. “Daughters, leave us.”

  Sister Hetal herds the girls together and shoos them inside. After some
prodding from the priestess, Sarita drags her feet after them.

  Once the entry door is shut and all the girls are inside, Priestess Mita snarls, “You desecrate this sanctuary, Kalinda. Healer Baka told me you’ve invited the bhuta warlord here. How could you endanger these children? You’re their rani, endowed with the power to protect them! You shame the Sisterhood and the land-goddess with your selfishness.”

  Ashwin steps to my side to defend me, but I wave him off. “You denied me the right to choose my fate,” I say.

  “The Claiming is Anu’s will!”

  “What about my will? What about Jaya’s? The gods gave us the five virtues so we could choose to emulate them. They would never force us.”

  Color rises in her cheeks. “You ungrateful child. You’re rani because of the Claiming! That rite gave you everything, and it will bless these daughters too.”

  My heartbeat roars in my ears. “I swear on my mother’s grave that none of these girls will be claimed by any man. I’m doing away with the Claiming.”

  Ashwin’s posture snaps straight.

  “You wouldn’t.” Priestess Mita sizes up my unflinching glare and reels on Ashwin. “Your Majesty, what would become of these girls? They’re orphans! They have no parents, no families to care for them. I cannot turn them out into the world of men unprotected.”

  Ashwin frowns, contemplating her protest.

  “The Sisterhood temples save hundreds of orphans,” the priestess continues. “With the war, even more children will need homes and assistance. These temples will be more essential than ever.”

  Ashwin smooths his hair back, choosing silence. His reluctance to pick a side only serves to strengthen my determination.

  “This will be stopped,” I say.

  He raises his palm to quiet me. “I hear you, Kalinda, but doing away with the Claiming can wait.” I fasten my teeth together to keep from screeching. Ashwin closes his eyes as though gathering patience. “We’ll discuss this another time.”

  “Meet with Hastin on your own, then.” I set off for the main entrance. My vision blurs from my tears, my chest pumping on each taut breath. I have been fighting for a future I thought Ashwin and I both wanted, a free empire for all. But he and Priestess Mita wish to press forward in tradition.

  Swiping at my wet cheeks, I push inside the temple in search of the exact moment my freedom was ripped from me.

  14

  DEVEN

  A bang in the distance wakes me. I go from lying propped against the tree trunk to standing in half a breath. Daylight rests upon the woodland, severing my drowsiness.

  I groan. “We overslept.”

  Natesa opens her eyes from her place curled up against Yatin. I nudge him in the boot, and he jolts, thumping his head against their log. Rohan rouses, shedding sleep like the blanket of leaves that kept him dry last night. Sunup stole into the forest, and the day marched us well into morning, far past our planned departure at dawn.

  Yatin scrubs the sleep from his eyes, and Natesa shoves strands of her fallen hair up underneath her turban. Tightness stretches all my sore, stiff muscles. I peer through the misty woods. The fallen leaves are saturated to a deep crimson from the passing rain. No tent peaks mark the army’s camp. We were completely gone from this world not to have heard the army pack up and leave. I should have anticipated our exhaustion after our taxing days of travel.

  “They’re on the move.” I brush dirt from my trousers and grab my sword. The others rise alongside me, wide awake.

  We hustle to the outskirts of camp. The area around the nearest outpost barrack is deserted. I race across the trampled field, my friends right behind me. Up ahead, a group of soldiers and their team of horses pulling a catapult wagon were delayed. The back wheels of the wagon have sunk into the rain-soaked ground. A commander riding on horseback shouts at the four men to heave the catapult. They try to push the heavy artillery free, but it is mired deep.

  The commander notices us from a distance, our scarlet jackets visible in the morning mists. “You there! Give us a hand!”

  I run to the catapult and lean my shoulder into the board above a rear wheel. The rest of my group does the same. Mud loosens my footing. I hunker down for better leverage. On the commander’s order, we push and the horse team pulls. The catapult wagon rocks forward, on the brim of escaping the muck, and then rolls back to its stuck position.

  Stepping back, I search the area for something to wedge under the wheels. The commander continues to count, and the men push, but to no avail. I return with branches and lay them in front of the nearest wheel. The next time the men shove and the horses rally, the wheel rocks up onto the branches. But the other rear wheel drags the weight back into the mud.

  “We need more branches,” I say.

  Natesa collects more with me. We return, our arms laden, and set them in front of the second rear wheel and resume our place behind the catapult wagon.

  The commander, who has dismounted and joined the group of men pushing, leans into the back of the wagon and shouts, “Go!”

  We rock one wheel up onto the dry branches. My footing slips. I switch places on the wagon, shouldering the weight of the lagging wheel, and we muscle it up onto the other branches.

  “Forward!” the commander orders.

  We impel the wagon onward until the burden of our load transfers to the horse team, and they plod along the trail. I bend over to collect my breath. Yatin pats me on the shoulder, his own rapid breathing loud. Rohan fastens his attention to the other soldiers, and Natesa lowers her chin and tugs at her turban.

  Light rain lays a thin vapor over the forestland. We trek on, and the commander mounts his horse and paces us. I am certain I do not recognize him. He was not in the military encampment in the sultanate. But Yatin and I have served with many soldiers, and he could identify either of us. Or even Natesa if he frequented the rajah’s courtesans’ wing.

  In short order, we unite with a lumbering ammunition wagon, and our horse team slows to a plodding walk in the long line of wagons and soldiers.

  The commander rides up to my side. I pretend the rain bothers my eyes and fixate on the muddy ridges on the ground. “Where did you and your men hail from?” he says.

  “South. We heard word of the imperial army marching and came to join you.”

  “The southern outpost was abandoned last moon,” he replies, fists firm on his reins.

  I correct my statement as smoothly as possible. “We rerouted to Iresh and followed the troops.”

  The commander rides alongside us for several tense steps, evaluating my group. His attention carries over to Natesa. She leaves her chin down. He looks past her to Rohan and then lingers on Yatin’s sturdy bulk. “Do you have experience leading your men?” he asks me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I do not miss Natesa’s lips twisting dryly. “Sir?”

  “These other soldiers have been hauling the catapult since Iresh. You and your party will take over.” He excuses the current team of soldiers, and they advance with the troops on foot. “You’ll lead this horse team and catapult the rest of the way to Vanhi. Don’t slow us down.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  The commander taps his heels against his horse’s flank and trots to the wagons ahead.

  Natesa shifts to walk next to me. “That was unexpected.”

  “Not really,” I answer. “The first rule of successful soldiering is to make yourself indispensable. No one will look twice at us so long as we follow orders.”

  “How will we look for Opal if we’re stuck watching this big hunk of wood?” Rohan grumbles. Natesa had rolled up Rohan’s sleeves so the ill fit of his jacket was not so apparent, but the imperial army uniform still drowns him.

  “We’ll search at night,” I say. Rohan mutters, his strides short and agitated. “Trust me, Rohan. I know the army. We’re safe so long as we keep our heads down and do our work.”

  Yatin grunts in agreement, but we both remain on guard and keep our weapons close. Our s
mall unit fans out, Natesa and Rohan upfront. Yatin walks just ahead of me, patting his pocket every tenth or twelfth stride.

  “Do you mean to give her that ring or go mad worrying that you’ve lost it?”

  Yatin hikes up his trousers, which are roomier since he lost girth. “She wouldn’t accept it.”

  I double-step nearer to his side. “What? Why?”

  “She wants to meet my mother and sisters to make certain they approve of her first.” He scratches his beard. “I told her it would be some time before they met, but she’s decided.”

  Traditionally, Yatin would meet with Natesa’s father to discuss the wedding, but her parents are deceased, so she can make the arrangements herself. A strong rapport with his family must be important to her, but I would wed Kali regardless of whether I had my mother’s approval.

  Our speed stays consistent as the day wears on, and we soon surpass clambering wagons and catapults. Once we reach the center of the ranks, I slow to uphold the pace of those around us. A mediocre position in the marching line will draw less notice our way. My feet already hurt and my back aches, but I ignore my protesting body and settle into the familiar monotony of military obedience.

  15

  KALINDA

  The Claiming chamber is locked from the corridor, so I enter an adjoined room around the corner and close the door behind me. The cold, gray inspection chamber that is used for the first stage of the Claiming ritual is empty.

  Circling the hollow area lit by wall lamps, I feel gooseflesh spread up my arms. Here in this very spot, the other recipients and I stood nude before Healer Baka for evaluation of our physical health, a practice to determine whether we were fit to be shown to the benefactor.

  An inner door leads to the next chamber. Near it, on a table, is a pot of henna. The sisters used the henna to draw the mark of Enki down our spines. The single wave represented that we were in submission to the most fearsome benefactor who had ever visited our temple.

  I am tempted to throw the pot and shatter the memory of Tarek’s arrival, but I pick it up and cradle it close. I once carried the mark of the kindred, dyed in henna on the backs of my hands. The number one was a symbol to all that I was the rajah’s first wife. Tarek may have avowed that I will only be remembered in association with him, but I earned my rank and nobility despite him.