The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2)

by Emily R. King

  The gong rings for midday meal. I squint up through the rain at the nearest tower. It’s noon; shift change. The Galer on duty will swap places with a new one. Both men will be preoccupied for a couple minutes while the previous Galer gives his report.

  The men set off for the dining tent, but Manas lingers at the grave site.

  “I’d like to speak with you,” I say.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Gods, grant me patience.

  “I’m trying to prevent us from losing more comrades. Please, Manas. We don’t have long. The guards will be eavesdropping on us again soon.” He does not lash out with a rebuttal—progress?—so I go on. “I’ve been monitoring the guards and the gate. I have a plan to break out, but I need your help organizing the men.”

  “Why do we need to break out? The prince said we’ll be released after the trial tournament.”

  “That’s what Sultan Kuval told him, but I don’t think the sultan means to let us go. Think about it. Would you release your enemies’ soldiers into your imperial city?”

  Manas goes quiet. I am taking a risk, confiding in him. The vizier’s informer could be another prisoner in camp. Manas could be reporting to Vizier Gyan for Hastin, but the chance is slim. Manas hates bhutas. I cannot picture him serving one.

  “When the time comes to leave here, we’ll have to work together,” I say. “I cannot do this alone, and if you back me, others will too.”

  “What if Kalinda wins?” Manas asks. “Aren’t you afraid of her, of what her Burner powers can do?”

  “I fear her the same way I do the gods—out of respect.” Manas scowls at my explanation. He cannot separate his emotions so easily, but for this to work, he will have to try. “Helping me is helping the prince and Kalinda. Can you accept that?”

  Manas returns his attention to Eko’s body and answers with reluctance. “Tell me your plan.”

  “We need weapons, not those measly staffs, but blades. We’ll start by disarming the bhuta guards right before their shift change. Fewer are here then, and they are tired.”

  Manas frowns at me. “How will we overpower the bhutas?”

  Bearing in mind that this shift change is nearly over, I speak quickly. “The last tournament trial is tomorrow. I wager the duel will draw a big crowd, including Janardanian soldiers. The vizier will most likely cut back on the guards here, leaving fewer men to call for help. While the tournament is going, we can overwhelm the guards, gain access to the guardhouse, and open up their small armory. We’ll use those weapons to get out the gate. I saw a larger weapons bunker between the two encampments. Once we break it open, we’ll have all the khandas we need.”

  Manas rocks back on his heels with an incredulous look. “Then what?”

  “We get our people and march out. They’re better off heading back to Tarachand than dying here.”

  A guard without a yellow armband comes into view near the tents. Fortunately, I recognize he is a Trembler, although I am certain a Galer will be back on duty momentarily.

  “You there,” the guard shouts. “You’re missing midday meal.”

  I speak to Manas from the side of my mouth. “Remember what I said.”

  As I stroll away, he shoves me in the back.

  “Liar,” he seethes. I reel around to face him, hurt tearing through me. He shoves me in the chest harder and pushes me back a step. “You think you have friends in the palace, but no one cares you’re here. You’re nothing to the kindred. Nothing.” His malice winds me. Manas leans into my face and snarls. “Prince Ashwin should have whipped you to death.”

  “Break it up,” the guard says, tugging us apart.

  “Stay away from me,” I order Manas, my voice unsteady, and then stomp ahead of him into the tents.

  I slip between two tents and wait for my heart to stop exploding. I am a fool for confiding in Manas. This is the last time I let him betray me. Seconds later, he swaggers past and pretends not to see me, but a smirk graces his lips.

  That son of a scorpion. He did not turn me in. He is on my side. His outburst was to throw off the guard. Still, his accusation that Kali does not care for me tore deep. Why hasn’t she come to see me? Is it true she is fighting to wed the prince? Or is she firm in her conviction to free our people?

  Movement on the hill draws my gaze upward to soldiers altering the rank board. The second trial must be through. The guards take down Kalinda’s name, leaving Citra’s and Indah’s.

  I blink rapidly, my optimism stuttering to a halt. Anu would not let Kali lose. Her fate is to save the empire. I sent her away so she could fulfill her godly purpose. She cannot lose.

  Other men notice Kali’s name has been stricken from the rank board, and their murmurs fan out through camp. Not knowing she is a bhuta, they express concern for their kindred. They know, like me, that Kali would not lose without giving everything she has to the competition.

  Great Anu, let her be safe.

  The devastated voices around me mount, the sound of hundreds of hearts collapsing all at once. I lower my chin, flexing my jaw muscles against rising tears. The Janardanians have stripped away more than Kali’s name. They have stripped away our hope. The foreigner who wins the throne will not care for the good of our families.

  “Captain Naik, your presence is requested in the sick tent.”

  Two guards wait before me. My chest crowds with panic. I can only think of one reason why they would call me to the quarantined area.

  I hurry past them. First Kali and now Yatin? The gods would not be so cruel.

  At the far end of camp, more sick tents have been erected and roped off. The white canvases are marked with deep-red crosses stained into the side with black currant juice. A man in a long blue tunic and shortened trousers waits outside a tent for me.

  “Captain Naik,” the stranger says, “I’m caring for Yatin. He’s asked for you.”

  The healer opens the flap, and I duck inside. Improvements have been made since I was last here. Lanterns hang from the overhead bamboo poles, and mosquitoes swarm the lights like snow flurries in a blizzard. The tent is packed with men lying on floor mats. The sick cough and shake with chills. I crouch down over Yatin while he sleeps. Sweat coats his forehead.

  “I’ve made him comfortable with a sedative,” the healer explains. “He’s young and robust, but he’s very ill. You should be prepared for either outcome.”

  I can think of two outcomes, recovering or perishing, but I will only accept the first as Yatin’s fate. The healer sets a basket of supplies down near us and goes to check on another patient. A familiar vial nestles within the basket—the neutralizer tonic that blocks bhuta powers. The healer carries it with his remedies. I do not think. I pocket the vial and then take hold of my friend’s hand.

  “Yatin.”

  “Deven,” he rasps. He sounds as though the desert is lodged in his throat. I reach for the ladle in a nearby water bucket and trickle a drink over his lips. Yatin opens his clenched hand to reveal a small silver object. “Give this to Natesa. Tell her I wish . . . I wish she could have met my sisters—” He breaks off in a coughing fit and drops the ring.

  I pick it up and examine the lotus flower design on top. I cannot bring myself to consider the circumstances that would cause me to give Natesa the ring for Yatin. I push it back into my friend’s palm. “Give it to her when you’re better.”

  Yatin holds the ring out, his arm quivering from the exertion. “Please. Just in case.”

  My nose burns with restrained tears. If I take the ring, it will make this real. And this cannot be real. “You hold on to it. It’ll remind you what’s waiting for you when you’re better.”

  Yatin closes his hand around the lotus ring and rests it over his heart. Wheezing on shallow breaths, he rolls his head to the side and rests. Yatin is strong, but what if the illness is stronger? What if his purpose is finished in this life and he is needed in his next?

  His fist remains fastened around the ring. I am thankful that h
e has a tangible dream to hang on to. My thoughts pull in, recalling my own dreams, the life Kali and I envisioned together. What a dolt I was to let her believe I gave up on that, on us.

  The healer signals from the door; my visiting time is spent. I pat Yatin’s arm in parting. As I exit the tent, I slip my hand into my pocket. I have no pretty ring to hold over my heart, but I have the neutralizer tonic. I fasten my fingers around the vial and contemplate how this poison will help me get to Kali.

  26

  KALINDA

  A hot bath washes away the mud but does not touch my numbness. I peel myself out of the cooling bathwater to dress, my wilted limbs drained of strength.

  I have lost my throne. All this time I have thrashed and gnashed my teeth, trying to break free, but I am stripped bare of the only part of my life I was certain the gods had a hand in. The gods wanted Tarek to claim me. I fought that truth until I lost Jaya—and then I fought for her death to have meaning. I spilled blood to earn my throne. I held on to it with both hands as I searched for Ashwin. I wielded my rank against my enemies. I wore my nobility like a shield. I stood upon my throne to see into the future, dreaming of a better empire. Having my title taken is like tumbling down endless stairs. I am falling for an eternity, with no means of stopping.

  You can turn to the Voider.

  The errant thought sprouts from nowhere. I try to pluck out the terrible idea, but it grows roots.

  The Voider can answer your heart’s wish. It can set Deven and our people free from the encampments.

  I shake my head, joggling the wayward thought away. I would never . . . And yet the temptation tests, teases, prods for an excuse to utilize the Zhaleh. Was Tarek led astray by the power of the Voider? Did it eat at his soul and rot his conscience?

  Gods alive. I rub a sore spot between my eyes where a headache chips away.

  One more day, and the trial tournament will be over.

  One more day, and I can pass the Zhaleh on to the Virtue Guards.

  One more day . . . and then what? The rank marks on the backs of my hands have nearly faded. I can barely see the number ones. What comes after they are gone?

  I step out from behind my dressing screen, and Ashwin spins around.

  “My apologies,” he says. “I thought you were out.” His cheeks flush upon seeing me in my robe, my damp hair hanging loosely down my back. He holds up my painting of the peacock. “I was admiring your artistry.”

  “I’m better with charcoals.” I go to him and take back the painting.

  “Will you show me?”

  This is a ploy to raise my spirits, but I must admit, it is a good one. I settle on my bed and tuck a blanket around me. My powers have not yet returned from the tonic I drank before the trial, and I am cold. I pull my sketchbook into my lap. Ashwin sits beside me and watches me draw. When I finish, he inspects my sketch.

  “She’s beautiful,” he says at last.

  “Her name was Jaya. She was my best friend.” I drew her soulful wide-set eyes and charming chin. What would she think of me losing my throne? When she saw me at the palace with Tarek, she said I was suited for the life of a rani. I hate to think that I have disappointed her, wherever her soul may be.

  I set aside my charcoal stick and brush my fingertips clean. The soot has sunk into the lines of my skin, like my guilt over her death.

  “I was thinking about your throne,” Ashwin says, setting aside the sketch. “I see no reason why you should lose it completely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His blush deepens, but he maintains eye contact. “After I take my first wife, I may have more of them.”

  A laugh bursts out of me. “Are you asking if I’ll be your second wife?”

  “Only in name,” he answers with all seriousness. “We would wed after I take my kindred. You would still be the one that I”—he swallows—“love.”

  I reel away from the enormity of that word. “Ashwin—”

  “I don’t need an answer now,” he hurries on. “You have time to consider.”

  His earnestness astonishes me. I was not jealous of Tarek’s other wives, and I would not be jealous of Ashwin’s. But I have not been entirely honest with him. He says he wants to wed me, but he does not know what I have done.

  “No matter what happens tomorrow, I would like you by my side.” Ashwin leans in slowly, and instead of moving away, I go still. I am curious what will happen once our lips touch, if all it takes to fall in love is one kiss.

  My thoughts jerk to Deven. Now that my throne is no longer mine, we can be together, yet Ashwin’s proposal beckons me, tugging me closer. He can offer me something Deven cannot. Ashwin can give me a way to right my wrongs. Together we could rule the empire, unseat Hastin from the palace, and release the ranis and courtesans he has imprisoned. We could do a mighty good together, if I become his second rani.

  My sketch of Jaya shines like a beacon in my side vision. I cannot fully avenge her death unless I ensure the empire becomes a peaceful place for everyone. Every person, bhuta or full-mortal, should have the opportunity to build the life they choose. I can enact change in the palace. As Ashwin’s rani, I can make Jaya’s dream come true.

  The prince’s lips meet mine. His kiss is tentative yet grasping with excitement. His arms come around me with unexpected might. His slight build holds strength, one not of size or heftiness but inner determination. A refusal to fail. My hands climb to his smooth-skinned jaw, and I wait for my breath to catch or my lips to tingle.

  Ashwin’s kiss is inviting, but it does not stir my heart. His kiss does not inspire dreams.

  He sits back, his face rosy. His taste clings to my lips, neutral in flavor. Nothing about his touch entices me to seek out more.

  He laughs breathily. “That was, ah . . .” He notices my reserved expression and sobers. “Did I scare you?”

  What does he . . . ? Oh. He thinks his resemblance to Tarek upset me. Guilt throbs at my temples. I cannot have a lie between us any longer. His kiss may not inspire dreams, but his offer to take me as his wife is still a choice I need to consider for Jaya, for the people in the encampments, for those subject to the warlord’s rule back home. Ashwin needs to understand who I am before either of us seriously contemplates a union.

  I straighten and meet his gaze head-on. “Hastin did not kill your father,” I state, articulating every syllable. “I did.”

  Ashwin goes motionless, except his face, which slackens in shock.

  “I won my rank tournament so I could marry Tarek and avenge my best friend. He murdered Jaya, and I wanted him to pay.” Hearing the conviction in my voice causes me to wonder if my revenge was warranted. What gave me the right to kill Tarek? Did I do anything except cause the empire more pain?

  My explanation has caused Ashwin pain. He threads his fingers in his hair, abject in his acceptance of what I have done. “Why . . . Why did you lie to me?”

  “I shouldn’t have.” Regret clogs my voice, making me sound small. “I was ashamed and afraid of what you might do. What you might think of me. I wanted to tell you, but Brother Shaan thought it best that you not know. He said you would trust me more.”

  “Lying to me?” His disappointment comes at me harder than if he railed.

  “I thought the truth would be worse,” I say, a weak excuse but true nonetheless.

  “I haven’t lied to you, Kalinda.” His soft voice strains, his windpipe crushed by my betrayal. “I told you the truth from the beginning, even when it was difficult to share about my parents, even when I felt like a dolt for stating my feelings for you.”

  Ashwin gave me more than the truth, he gave me his trust.

  “I’m sorry. I was wrong,” I tell him.

  He drops his head, removing me from his sight. “You think I take after Tarek and have no heart to break.”

  “No,” I answer without hesitation. “I meant it when I said you’re not like him.”

  Ashwin’s voice rises with his gaze, both sharp and direct. “Yet you do
n’t trust me. You still see him in me.”

  I flounder to reassure him. I cannot deny that I have seen portions of Tarek in Ashwin, attributes of an ironhanded ruler that unnerve me. If Ashwin looked like someone else, if he was anyone else’s son, I would have been more apt to trust him.

  His intense stare brightens with pain. “I didn’t love my father, but I was foolish enough to love you.”

  I stretch out my hand to console him, but he pulls away and leaves, slamming the door. The echo of his angry parting lands heavy on my heart. I huddle my knees into my chest, cursing myself. Ashwin is innocent of Tarek’s actions, yet I cannot work out how to separate the two.

  Natesa edges in from her antechamber. “Is everything all right? I heard Prince Ashwin leave. He sounded upset.”

  I rest my chin on my knees, hugging them closer. “Ashwin offered to take me as his second wife. I told him I killed Tarek.”

  “That’s an interesting answer to a marriage proposal.” Natesa comes over and lies beside me on the bed, covering her legs with the blanket. “Do you want to wed Ashwin?”

  “No . . . Maybe . . . I don’t know. I want my throne.” I groan at my indecisiveness. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Natesa contemplates my answer, the cozy ping of rainfall seeping in through the windows. “I used to wonder what it would’ve been like if I had been claimed as Rajah Tarek’s rani instead of you, but the throne was always yours.”

  The gods intended that I be a rani, of that I am finally certain, but it infuriates me that they handpicked me to be the instigator of so much anguish. “I was the empire’s downfall.”

  “You were our awakening.” Natesa props on her side and captures me with her stare. “The empire was in a downward spiral. Rajah Tarek’s rule was hanging by a thread. Whatever horrors follow you, you aren’t responsible for his actions.”

  Her praise compounds my guilt. Neither is Ashwin. I hid the truth from Ashwin to protect myself, so our people would continue to believe that I was above Tarek’s influence. But I am not untainted by Tarek. I am not wholly innocent in the dire state of the empire. And I cannot repair my mistakes that led to the collapse of Vanhi without Ashwin.