The Warrior Queen (The Hundredth Queen Book 4)

by Emily R. King

  On the far side, past chipped pillars, a drapery hangs from ceiling to floor. The cloth ripples periodically, coinciding with breaks in the melody. I learned the tune about Anu’s greatness in the temple when I was little. This off-key rendition is eerie.

  Enlil bows to the dais. “Hello, Irkalla.”

  The humming stops.

  “Only one being would dare trespass in my domain,” says a female voice. I heard her in my nightmare, right before claws dug into my thighs and dragged me into the abyss.

  “We have come for the mortal man,” Enlil explains.

  Irkalla’s curtain stirs, then a single talon draws the covering back a little, revealing Deven chained to the wall.

  Enlil blocks me with his spear to prevent me from running to him. Deven’s arms are clamped about his head, and more iron secures his ankles. His chin rests against his chest, which rises and falls. In the short time we have been apart, he has withered to frailty. Blood, wet and dry, stains his side, seeping from a wound.

  “What did you do?” I demand.

  “I was cordial.” Irkalla’s tone takes on an amused lilt. “What will you trade for his freedom?”

  “What will you accept?” I counter.

  “I could be convinced to give him up—for your soul.”

  Enlil’s spear flares. “You go too far, Irkalla.”

  “This is her beloved,” she says, feigning concern. “Let her decide.”

  Deven’s soul-fire is faint and fading, a dying ember. Of the two of us, I am more likely to escape here. “Return him to the Turquoise Palace alive, and we have a bargain.”

  “No, Kalinda.” Enlil grows bigger in dissent.

  “At the palace, Indah can heal him,” I explain. Demons cannot leave the Void without someone else opening a gate, so I address Irkalla. “How will you get him there?”

  “I am the queen of the dead,” Irkalla replies, her vague declaration sweeping across the hall. Apparently arrogance is not confined to the gods.

  Enlil steps between me and the drapery. “You cannot play her game.”

  “You think this is a game?” Irkalla’s voice pitches higher. “You broke your word, Enlil. You swore never to return, yet here you are, aiding a mortal man you want gone.”

  “What does she mean?” I ask.

  “Ravings of a demon,” the fire-god replies.

  Irkalla cackles. “You did not tell her. She thinks this is the first time she has come here. The first time she has come for him.” She levels a talon at Deven. “Kalinda, you have entered the Void before, only then you went by another name.”

  “Cease these lies.” Enlil sends sparks off his spear. They hit the stone floor and burn out. Any closer and the drapery would ignite. “Deliver the man and we will take our leave.”

  “Then what will become of them? You will not have your precious queen again. Can you not see she yearns for another?” Halfway up the curtain, Irkalla’s bloodred eye appears. “Tell her or I shall.”

  Enlil pinches his lips closed.

  “Sssssso be it,” Irkalla says, and then addresses me. “Generations ago, when your soul-fire was more star than fire, you fell in love. You and your beloved had lived and loved many generations. Repulses me, frankly, but one god had another reaction—jealousy. You can imagine his surprise when you came to him for aid, desperate for a god’s mercy. A chameleon demon had assumed your form and lured your intended into the Void, the night before your wedding, no less. The jealous god led you here, stood on this very dais, and demanded I return your beloved.”

  “But that’s not possible,” I whisper.

  Irkalla singsongs her rebuttal. “Before you were Kalinda, you were Cala. Before you were Cala, you were . . .”

  I feel flung off a ledge. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling . . .

  “Inanna,” Enlil says, his expression stony. “Before Cala, you were Inanna.”

  I hit the end of my disbelief, and everything goes watery. I claw through the heaviness, fighting for a solid hold. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Enlil reverts to sullenness.

  I seek out Cala. Did you know?

  No, she answers weakly.

  Our voices combine, strengthening as one. “Explain.”

  “I told you a portion of the truth,” Enlil replies, hushed yet unsparing. “After Inanna was reborn as Cala, I visited her. I thought I was unworthy of her love, but she did not treat me so. Our affections were genuine.”

  I do love him, Cala confirms.

  “Show me my time as Inanna,” I demand.

  Enlil touches me, and time peels away. We are still in the throne room, but Deven is tied up and gagged on the floor. Enlil frees Deven, and we run from the Umbra Palace. The scenery blurs and changes to a humble hut on a green hillside. Deven and I are together again, tending to a garden and a small herd of sheep. The picturesque vision is so vivid, the sunshine warms my hair.

  The fire-god releases me, and the brief vision disappears.

  “How did you know that’s my heart’s wish?” I ask, clinging to the same lovely dream I saw in the Beyond.

  “I was unaware,” Enlil says bleakly. My ideal afterlife is devoid of him. “Those were Inanna’s memories.”

  He showed me recollections of actual events. My discussions with Deven about building a peaceful life together were not dreams or wishes—we were remembering our past. Our first meeting in the Samiya Temple must have been fated.

  Irkalla said we met and loved many lifetimes in a row . . . until Enlil visited Cala. Then her love for him usurped ours.

  I didn’t know about Deven when I met Enlil, says Cala.

  You do now. You and Enlil had your time together. This is my life.

  I swing toward the ominous red eye. “Irkalla, we have an agreement.”

  “Sssssplendid,” Irkalla hisses.

  Enlil’s expression sags in disappointment. I have behaved predictably. I cannot determine what Irkalla wants, but it is evident that she was not after Deven.

  I sprint to him and unhinge his bindings. He tips against me. My knees give out under his weight, and we slump to the floor. He does not move, his clammy skin ashen. I find his pulse and push small bursts of my soul-fire into him. His body temperature warms, his color returning.

  Deven wakes and looks around the throne room. I cradle his bearded jawline and rest my forehead against his.

  I did it, Jaya. I found him.

  “Who—who are you?” Deven hears his lisp and touches his lower gums. Two of his front teeth are missing.

  “I’m Kali,” I say, relieved to hear his deep voice.

  “What is this place?” He sits up and wraps his arms around his shivering torso.

  “You’re still cold. Let me warm you.” I lift my shining fingers to touch him. His eyes pop open, and he backtracks across the floor, cradling his bleeding side.

  “You’re a . . . a Burner.” Deven spots Enlil with his lightning spear. “I won’t reveal the rajah’s location. Tell the warlord Hastin I’ll die before I betray the empire.”

  Hastin? The rebel bhuta warlord is long dead. Deven saw him die.

  “Deven, I’m Kalinda,” I repeat, withdrawing my powers. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  He appraises the daggers at my waist. “I was preparing my men to escort the rajah on a tour of the Sisterhood temples. Rajah Tarek intends to claim his hundredth rani.”

  A growing panic bangs around inside me.

  “We met during that tour,” I say. “Your party came to the Samiya Temple. You caught me listening outside the rajah’s door and shooed me away before Tarek discovered me. He claimed me, and we left for Vanhi. I was his viraji, and he promoted you to captain of the guard.” Deven stares at me blankly. I go on, each word more frantic than the last. “You were my personal guard during my rank tournament. Tarek’s ranis tried to sabotage me. I lost my best friend, but you were there. We . . . we fell in love.”

  “You and I are in love,” he says, a straightforward sentiment. I wai
t for recognition to dawn in his gaze. He slowly angles toward me for a closer view in the dimness. “Kalinda?”

  “You call me Kali,” I say, leaning into him.

  He reaches for my face. At the last second, he lowers his aim to my waist, steals my dagger, and positions the blade under my chin. “Take me to Hastin.”

  Enlil shoots a lightning bolt over our heads. It strikes the wall behind us and explodes a hole. Deven scoots away from me, taking my dagger.

  “Kalinda,” the fire-god says, his tone authoritative. “He doesn’t remember you.”

  Irkalla cackles, a deep, resonating sound. “Mortal minds are so easily shattered.”

  Deven searches the throne room for the source of her voice. He looks at me with the same wariness, without warmth or fondness.

  I fight back tears. “Enlil, remind him who I am.”

  “His mind and soul-fire must be intact or I could cause further damage.”

  “You won’t even try,” I rejoin. Enlil wishes to keep us apart, but Deven’s memories must be inside him.

  I advance on my beloved cautiously, holding my hand up in peace. “You’re a good soldier, Deven. You know you cannot fight your way past the man with the spear. You’re not in danger from us. We’re trying to help you, but you have to trust me. Some part of you must know I’m not an enemy, even if it’s simply your warrior instinct.” He starts to lower the dagger. “Give me the weapon, and I promise no one will—”

  He lunges with the blade and slices my palm. I gawk at my bleeding cut. He hurt me. Deven has never hurt me.

  “I tire of this,” Irkalla says from her hideaway. “Marduk, return the man to the mortal realm.”

  A squat demon with smashed, grotesque features emerges from behind the curtain and clubs Deven over the head. He buckles to the floor, and Marduk drags him away. The swiftness of the demon’s cruelty leaves me aghast.

  “Wait!” I kneel beside Deven and crush my lips against his. “You’ll be safe soon.”

  Marduk lugs him down the outdoor steps. A bear rabisu heaves him into a wagon, then the demon climbs onto the driver’s bench and the oxen plod off.

  A rattling returns my attention to the dais. The high drapery parts from the center, revealing a monstrous dragon. Irkalla is substantially larger and thicker around the middle than Kur. Spiny prongs line the ridges of her back. Horns protrude from her giant skull, and whiskers cover her long snout. Her onyx scales form diamond patterns down her girth and serpentine tail. A minor bulge rings her head and drops between her eyes into a stately point.

  Irkalla rules from a throne of tall, sharp rocks that fan behind her like a wall of spikes. She curls her upper lip and fangs large as battle poles glisten at us. An army of rabisus charge in. At the lead are Edimmu, Lilu, and Asag astride ugallus.

  “Surrender your weapon, Enlil,” orders the queen of the dead.

  He hesitates and then casts aside his spear.

  In a blur of speed, Irkalla breaks a spike off her throne and impales it through the fire-god’s middle. She slams the barb into the wall, pinning him. Asag shifts stones to encase Enlil’s hands and feet. He tenses, fighting against the agony, and fades from consciousness.

  Irkalla sharpens her sneer on me. “Chain the bhuta.”

  Edimmu dismounts. “Against the wall, slag.”

  I hardly hear the demon over my internal thrashing. My devastation is deafening. Deven forgot me. I was too late.

  Edimmu locks on cuffs, securing the one on my right arm above my elbow. “Melt your confines, and I will pluck your eyeball out and force you to watch me devour it.”

  The demon licks her chops to reinforce her threat. I do not recoil. I have glared into the maw of the evernight, and it did not break me.

  “What happened to Udug?” I ask. “Was he punished for failing to overthrow the mortal realm?”

  “Silence,” Edimmu snarls.

  I should not provoke her, but any hurt I can lob back at these monsters will be a victory.

  “Was Udug tortured?” I press. Edimmu slams her elbow into my temple. My consciousness tips on the brink of numbness. “He must have wept. Did you hear him crying—?”

  Edimmu whams me square in the forehead with her own. Pain pours down my body, and then I am afloat.

  33

  ASHWIN

  I read the list of names for the dozenth time.

  The throne room is hushed and the hour late. Two lanterns glow behind me, casting a muted glow across the empty hall. Upon leaving the nursery, I asked Pons to halt the wedding preparations and then sought fresh air on the roof. Half an hour later, he delivered Gemi’s letter. I brought it here.

  My throne’s shadow stains the floor. Gemi is free to find “her place,” but sending me a list of ranis that I should consider as my kindred an hour after she canceled our wedding struck me like a crossbow bolt.

  Shyla’s name is at the top of the list, followed by Parisa, Eshana, and Sarita. Gemi finished with a brief comment—These women care for you. Perhaps you could care for one of them?—followed by her signature.

  I sniff the paper. It smells like lavender.

  “What in the skies did you do?” Natesa stomps into the throne room and up to the dais. “The wedding is delayed?”

  “Gemi advised me to take a non-bhuta Tarachandian as my wife.”

  Brac marches in and slides right into our conversation. “Did Gemi change her mind before or after you decided to exile my trainees?”

  My gut bunches. “I didn’t exile them. They would have been well cared for by the sisters. Gemi insists on taking them to Lestari.”

  Brac halts before me, his stare daggered. “Your solution to the protests is to send bhutas away? Who will you dispose of next? Me?”

  Natesa wags a finger at him to settle down and refocuses on me. “Ashwin, did you ask Gemi to stay?”

  “For what purpose?” I rest my chin on my fist. “She’s made up her mind.”

  Natesa takes off her chunky bracelet and throws it at me. It strikes my knee and lands on the ground. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is your fault.”

  “My fault?” I rub my sore knee; it will undoubtedly bruise. “Gemi gave me this list of alternatives. She’s finished with me.”

  Brac groans. “You’re so unobservant! The entire time I spent with Gemi in Lestari, she prattled on about you. She was so eager to see you again she told the datu she would accept your proposal whether he negotiated the alliance or not.”

  I manage a hard swallow. “Why would she do that?”

  “She cares for you! While you were busy moping for Kalinda, Gemi was watching you with moon eyes. You really didn’t see it?”

  Natesa waves Brac back, and he paces away.

  “Ashwin,” Natesa says in an I am trying not to throw another bracelet at you tone, “when it comes to matters of the heart, you are a dolt. Gemi came here for you. That makes her the right kindred for you and the empire.”

  I lean my back into my throne. “Then why is she leaving?”

  “Did you give her a reason to stay?” Natesa questions, turning her lotus engagement ring on her finger.

  Brac paces back to her. She holds him off.

  “We’re going to a farewell gathering for Gemi in the Tigress Pavilion,” she says. “Parisa organized it. She feels bad about how she’s behaved and wants to make amends. You should come and talk to the princess.”

  “Thank you, but we said our farewells.” The princess should enjoy her final hours here without me hovering.

  “There, then,” Brac grumbles to Natesa. “We can go.”

  Natesa treads backward after him. “You should come, Ashwin. Not many women would leave their home to move to a far-off desert for marriage. You could have found other ways to pay for the empire’s regrowth than an alliance and picked any woman on that list. Maybe it’s time you consider why you chose Gemi.”

  As Natesa’s footsteps recede, my attention drifts to the kindred’s floor cushion. I barely knew Gemi when I pro
posed, but I had observed enough. She had stood up to the datu, something I never did against my own father, to defend my homeland. Since her arrival, she has pointed out treasures in my world that I had not noticed. She honored her duties to teach the Tremblers and trained with the sister warriors, yet still made time to study her surroundings. Gemi is untainted by Lakia and Tarek’s oppressive reign. In her company, I feel less tainted by them too.

  I do not know what that means, except that I do not want to lose this feeling.

  I dart into an antechamber and take a servants’ passageway to the upper floor. I climb the stairs two at a time and arrive at the entry to the wives’ wing short of breath. Throwing open the silk curtain, I enter the dining patio right behind Brac and Natesa.

  All conversation at the candlelit tables ends. Gemi dines on cardamom rice with Eshana. Indah and Pons eat across from them. The couple must have left their daughter with a nursemaid. Parisa serves wine to her small assembly of guests. She pales upon my entrance.

  “I’d like a word with my viraji,” I announce, then stroll off to the side and wait. Gemi drinks half her wine and then rises and brings her chalice with her. Her long sarong is tied low on her hips, her blouse cut high above her stomach. Her hair flows around her slim shoulders, loose and wavy.

  Lords, she’s a sight.

  “Why are you here?” she asks, glancing at our audience. All ears are on us.

  “Please stay.”

  Gemi drops her gaze. “I don’t think—”

  “Just listen.” I pull out the list she gave me. “I don’t picture any of these women as my kindred. This isn’t about an alliance, it’s about a better future. My parents had a terrible marriage. I don’t want that for myself. I don’t know where this is leading between us, but you must admit it is leading somewhere. We’ll never find out if you go.”

  Gemi sets her chalice on a table. “But marriage?”

  “We can postpone the wedding and spend time together, just us. Whatever you decide, please know that I care about you. I wouldn’t have proposed otherwise.” I rear back on my desperation and level out my voice. “Of course, you may stay regardless. The palace will always be open to you. You’re welcome to research our plants and animals and use my library for as long as you like.”