The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2)

by Emily R. King

  “I believe that is part of what happened.” Indah’s lips curl upward knowingly, her golden eyes shimmering.

  She’s enjoying this. Pons may be her informant, but she relishes the challenge of unburying secrets. I dread her next question will be about the Zhaleh, so I present a fatigued smile. “I should wash up now.”

  Indah rises fluidly, in one motion. “Thank you for the tea.”

  Pons goes to her and escorts the entrancing Aquifier out the door.

  “No woman should be that beautiful.” Natesa checks her reflection in the mirror glass. “The gods should spread their beauty around to the rest of us.”

  I sink back into the cushion. “How long were they here?”

  “A couple minutes. Indah walked around but didn’t touch anything.” Natesa fixes the kohl at the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I talked about your heritage. She acted like she already knew.”

  “I understand. Indah can be persuasive.” Though I cannot say what she is after. Has she come to Iresh to participate in the trial tournament or to find the Zhaleh?

  Natesa dabs lip stain onto her lower lip. “I was concerned when you didn’t come back last night. I was ready to ask Opal to find you when Indah showed up and told me you’d returned.”

  I tamp down my surprise at Natesa’s worry for me. “Sorry. I should have sent you a message as soon as I arrived at the palace.”

  “It’s all right.” She brushes more rouge onto her cheeks. “Indah said something interesting while she was here. Did you know women are considered equal to men in Lestari? They can even wear trousers. Can you imagine?”

  More freedom would appeal to Natesa. Her dream is to become an innkeeper, but women cannot own commerce establishments in Tarachand. “Perhaps when we’re through here, you can go to Lestari.”

  “Only if Yatin comes with me.” Natesa glances out the open balcony, hoping for a glimpse of her husky soldier. “I think he’ll want to.”

  “Of course he will. He cares for you.”

  She stares unseeingly at the sky. “My first night at the palace, Rajah Tarek summoned me to his chambers. Before he touched me, he said courtesans aren’t made for love but for loving.”

  Revulsion scalds my mouth. Does Tarek’s damaging reach have no end? I assumed Natesa’s pride was impenetrable. She was orphaned at a young age and worked hard to rise above her loss. For her to believe she is unworthy of love bothers me a great deal.

  “I told Yatin what Tarek said,” Natesa goes on, her attention locked in her memory. “Yatin said if anyone treated his sisters that way, he would gut them. I have never seen him more upset. He hurt on my behalf.” Her focus returns, hooked to the horizon. “Knowing he’s out there, imprisoned . . . I cannot stop worrying.”

  Her anxiety rakes at my own. Deven is so close, yet our last moments together have pushed him far away. Perhaps the gods will return his good fortune now that we are apart. Some good has to come from how terribly I miss him.

  I plaster on a smile for Natesa. “Yatin and Deven will look after one another.”

  “And we’ll do the same for each other,” she says, extending her hand to me.

  Jaya and I used to hold hands and squeeze them to say I love you. Natesa deserves to find happiness, but reaching for her would be a betrayal to Jaya. I am not ready to let Jaya go. I follow Natesa’s gaze outside and pretend not to see her outstretched fingers.

  Two heartbeats later, she walks away.

  After sleeping through the rest of the day, I wake in the night with an insatiable urge to draw. I light a candle and open the colorful inks. An hour later, I finish painting the peacock. The bird that is native to Vanhi was the most vibrant thing I could think of to draw. I would carry on, but my out-of-practice hands ache. It has been too long since I have created something beautiful.

  I set aside the wet parchment to dry and bend forward to blow out the candle. The mesmerizing colors cause me to pause. Brac said my soul’s reflection can be seen within nature-fire. What could mine be? A tigress? A mother bear? A falcon? I lower my gaze eye level to the root of the flame, its golden tip flickering.

  As I concentrate on the heart of the fire, something swirls in the burning blue center and then ascends upward. A scaly face with gleaming eyes, a long snout, and two wiry whiskers manifests in the flame’s yellow offshoots.

  The dragon snaps at me with pointy fangs.

  I reel back, and the face disappears.

  It takes me a moment to comprehend what I saw. My soul’s reflection is a dragon?

  But dragons are evil . . . My soul-fire sings to . . . a demon?

  The hour is late. My imagination must be exploiting my exhaustion. I rub my weary eyes, scrubbing the fiery dragon from my vision, lean over the candle, and blow out the flame.

  Mountain air, thick and crisp as chewing ice, hangs like an icicle in my chest. Jaya wraps her arms around me, her cheek pressed to my upper arm. “I’m glad we’re home,” she says.

  The Alpanas rise above us, cutting into the sky with snaggily teeth. I clasp my hands over Jaya’s. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

  We look out over the boxy garden where Deven rakes weeds from around the barley plants. A straw hat shades his dark eyes and bearded jawline. He sees us watching and waves.

  “You can still have this,” Jaya says.

  “It won’t be the same without you.” I take in her pretty round face, tiny chin, and wide nose. Her shining smile could scatter rain clouds.

  “You could release the Voider and ask him to bring me back.”

  I still my wistfulness and answer sadly, “I cannot do that, Jaya. The Voider would destroy everything. I’d be bringing you back to a fallen world.”

  “The Voider doesn’t want to rend the sky from the land. Those are lies.”

  “How do you know what it wants?” I ask, gazing at her more closely.

  She leans toward me, and I recoil from the sudden craze in her eyes. Her voice grows deep and raspy. “Because I am the Voider.”

  Jaya’s face and body melt away into a coiled dragon cobra at my feet. Before I can flee, the viper strikes my shin. I sink down, holding my bitten leg, and shout for Deven. He comes running, but as he approaches, his shape changes.

  When he reaches me, Tarek kneels at my side. “Shh, love.” He pulls me into his lap and pets my hair. The viper’s poison is paralyzing, trapping me in Tarek’s arms. “We will always have each other.”

  I scream and sit upright, a flame bursting from my hand. Natesa jumps back from leaning over me. My heatwave barely misses her and hits the tapestry of the jungle across from my bed. The thick cloth ignites and burns outward in a circle. Natesa rushes over and beats the fire out with a broom. I press a hand over my sprinting heart and search for Tarek and the cobra. Both are gone.

  Natesa throws open the balcony door to dispense of the smoke and then props against the broom, out of breath. Smoke hazes the distance between us. The tapestry has a huge hole scorched in the center. “You scared me into my next life,” she says.

  “I’m sorry.” I bury my face in my clammy hands. The burning viper bite on my leg and Tarek’s arms around me is still sharp in my mind. “What time is it?”

  “Dawn. I came to wake you. Your first trial starts soon.”

  I cannot face my competitors shaken. These nightmares must stop. I throw back the bedcovers, tug on my robe, and hurry out the door. I reach Brother Shaan’s chamber and knock. No one answers, so I go down the hall to Prince Ashwin’s door. Rohan is there, standing guard.

  “Kindred, what’s wrong?”

  “Have you seen Brother Shaan?”

  “Not yet today.”

  I knock for Ashwin and wait. My knee jogs impatiently. I need to speak to Brother Shaan before my dream fades.

  Ashwin answers bare chested, his hair ruffled. “Kalinda.”

  My face heats from his unabashed stare roving over me in my thin robe. I duck my chin to hide my blush. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I need to speak with Broth
er Shaan. Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s supposed to come by shortly to report on the camps. You’re welcome to come in and wait for him.” Ashwin opens the door wider, revealing more of his bare golden chest. I slip past him inside and leave Rohan in the corridor.

  “Sorry for the clutter.” Ashwin tidies up books lying across the table and chairs, clearing a spot for me. “Mint tea?” he asks, gesturing to a steaming cup.

  “No, thank you.” I scan the texts stacked everywhere, looking anywhere but at his shirtless torso. “Have you read all of these?”

  “Most of them when I was younger. I was lonely without them around—I had shelves full of books in my room at the temple—so I borrowed these from the sultan’s library.”

  I scan the heaps of books, marveling at how well educated he must be. “You must have read a lot growing up.”

  Ashwin’s tone turns reflective. “Tarek said I read too much. He thought it was a waste of time. But during his last few visits, he requested I read to him. He said it made him happy to listen to me share something I enjoy. He was happy because I was happy.” Ashwin rubs the sad tilt of his lips. “Sometimes I still read aloud to remind myself he wasn’t a total monster.”

  I understand why Ashwin romanticizes people. He saw a glimmer of goodness in his selfish father, which taught him not to discount anyone’s potential for decency.

  I show him the ink on my fingers from painting last night. “I retreat into my artwork when I need a moment’s peace.”

  “You used my gift,” he says, his demeanor brightening.

  “I don’t believe I thanked you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He waves at a chair, and we sit beside each other at the table. “Tinley and Citra asked me to ban you from the tournament. I won’t, of course.”

  Their request comes as no surprise, yet their derision hurts. I fold my arms across my chest, and Ashwin notices the scar on my forearm.

  “From your rank tournament?” he says, sipping his tea.

  “The duel with your mother,” I explain. Ashwin frowns at the mention of Lakia, and my gaze jumps to his bare shoulder and the tops of scars. “How did you get yours?”

  “Rajah Tarek found out I’d been sneaking out of my room to the temple’s roof. He was concerned the villagers would discover who I was, so he whipped me to deter me from doing it again.” Ashwin rests his elbows on the table, waves of remorse rising off him like the steam from his teacup. He twists the gold cuff on his wrist. “My caretaker, Brother Dhiren, was punished for not protecting me. Tarek had him executed.”

  I rest my hand on Ashwin’s shoulder, absorbing his guilt as strong as my own. He reaches up and clasps my fingers. This near him, I am aware of his toned arms and flat stomach, his skin warm against mine. He smells of linen and mint, of sleep and fresh tea. His dark hair waves freely around his face, brushing the back of my hand. Ashwin is appealing in a way his father never was. Tarek was vile, but Ashwin . . .

  I pull away. “I should go.”

  He reaches for where my hand was seconds before. “You don’t want to speak to Brother Shaan? He’ll be back soon.”

  My nightmare of Rajah Tarek is foggy now, replaced by the image of his handsome son. “Another time,” I say, and step out the door.

  20

  KALINDA

  I meet my contenders and their parties at the base of the waterfall. Citra and Tinley sling glares my way but stay distant. Off to the side, Pons speaks to Indah. Their closeness would draw attention if he were not her guard. What secret is he relaying to her now?

  We surround a lagoon that feeds into a stream. The picturesque cascade does nothing to ward off my nerves. I fiddle with the pleats of my sparring sari, the skirt tucked between my covered legs. My competitors and I are all dressed in warrior apparel and strapped with weaponry. Natesa insisted that I bring both of my daggers and a khanda. I did not argue the added weight of the sword; I must be ready for whatever trial the sultan has prepared for us.

  Sultan Kuval stands near the lagoon, Ashwin beside him. He and our guards, Opal and Rohan, are my support. Brother Shaan is still supervising the care of the refugees. Ashwin looks dashing in an all-black tunic and trousers with silver embroidery and a dark turban. I have tried to put the image of him shirtless from my thoughts, but it sneaks back in as he smiles at me from across the audience.

  Gods above, don’t get distracted.

  “Welcome to the trial tournament,” announces the sultan. “For the first test, each competitor will have five minutes to complete a challenge of valor. To begin, Indah will represent the water-goddess Enki, Bearer of the Seas.”

  Indah steps forward with her trident, her dewy skin shimmering in the sunlight, and joins him at the base of the pool.

  “Contending against nature requires valor,” the sultan continues, “a total submission to the gods, and faith in one’s god-given abilities. For Indah’s test, she will stop the flow of the waterfall.”

  The Lestarians murmur, the pitch of their low voices distressed. This will be no easy feat for Indah. My insides churn like the base of the waterfall. What task does the sultan have planned for me?

  Donning a steely expression, Indah steps on the placid edge of the lagoon and floats on a mist across the pond, stopping outside of the spray where the waterfall feeds into the pool. I allow myself to enjoy the tranquil sight of Indah in her element, anxious as to how she will force nature to bend to her authority.

  A gong rings, and the sand timer is turned upside down. Indah’s five minutes begin.

  The Aquifier holds out her trident in front of her with one arm. As she raises the weapon, the streaming water above us narrows. Her arm gradually goes up, and the waterfall shrinks. When the flow is half of when she started, Indah’s feet break the surface of the lagoon. Her arm shakes to maintain her grip on the trident. The cascading water pushes her down, but her weapon continues to hold the falls up. She submerges to her knees.

  My amazement at her feat so far leads me to cheer silently. Come on, Indah. Succeed against nature. Against the sultan. Against this arduous trial. Enki, strengthen her.

  Indah grasps her trident across her chest with both hands and raises it to her chin. The waterfall is nearly gone; the rock face glistens with dampness. In one last exhibit of strength, Indah jerks the trident above her head, and the remainder of the cascade seals off.

  Her arms give way, and Indah plunges under the surface. The water gushes down on the lagoon in an explosion that sends us viewers back a step.

  The gong sounds, signaling the end of her time.

  Indah breaks the surface, the waterfall gushing around her. The audience applauds, and her party shouts her name in congratulations. Indah swims to the bank of the lagoon. Using her trident as a staff, she pushes to her feet. Sopping wet and grinning, she reminds me of a bird after a bath. I cannot help but smile. Pons hauls her against his wide chest in a hug, soaking his clothes.

  “Indah advances to the next trial.” Sultan Kuval’s announcement ends the Lestarians’ celebration, quieting us all, and he goes on. “Princess Citra will now represent the land-goddess Ki, Mother of the Mountains. For her trial, Citra will sculpt a stairway into the cliff and climb it to the top.”

  The crowd mumbles about the complexity of the challenge. I presumed the sultan would give his daughter a less complicated task, but building a staircase to the rise of the cliff and scaling it in five minutes will not be simple.

  The princess, however, is undaunted. Citra blows Ashwin a kiss and glides to the cliff to the right of the waterfall. Her impervious arrogance astounds me. Did her father forewarn her of the challenge, or is she impossible to intimidate?

  The gong sounds, and the sand timer is flipped over.

  Citra throws out her hands, and a stairway forms in front of her, etched into the stone wall. She starts to walk up the cliff, building more staircases to climb. The princess pushes herself into a jog, and stairs materialize to match her swift pace.

  Hal
fway up, Citra throws out her hand to create another staircase, but nothing appears. She skids to a stop on the edge of the last stair, her arms windmilling. Sultan Kuval freezes, and the people gasp. I press down on my pounding heart while Citra continues to teeter. As she falls forward, she carves another staircase before her and lands on it. The audience releases a collective breath.

  The sand timer is nearly out. Citra has done well so far, but I would not be sad if she failed her timed test and was eliminated.

  Before catching her breath, Citra stares up the cliff, searching for the summit. She pulls herself up and doubles her speed, carving steps beneath her as she sprints upward. More zigzagged staircases guide her to the top. She sets foot in the palace garden high above as the gong sounds.

  Applause fills the basin. Citra leaps down the wall from switchback to switchback until she lands on the ground. She strides over to Ashwin, her hips twitching, and offers him an orchid she picked while in the garden above. He accepts her gift with a bow.

  A girl darts away from the viewers and slams her arms around Citra in a hug. I recognize her from the declaration ceremony as Citra’s younger sister Tevy.

  “Princess Citra advances to the next trial,” Sultan Kuval declares, puffing out his chest.

  Indah slow claps beside me. “What a surprise,” she drawls.

  “What do you mean?” I question.

  “Who do you think stands to gain the most from a union with Tarachand?”

  “Every sovereign stands to gain something.”

  “But only one shares the largest border with the empire. Should that border close to refugees . . .”

  I wish Ashwin were near enough to hear, but he is still raining praise on Citra. “The sultan said the border will remain open,” I say.

  “Things change. Do you have a friend by the name of Brac?”

  A thread of worry spools at the back of my throat. “Yes. Why?”

  “Pons heard something on the wind before the trial started. He said the sultan intercepted a letter that arrived for you this morning. Brac and his mother have been held up at the border and cannot get through. Sultan Kuval has barricaded all roadways leading into Janardan.”