“Where do you go?” Ashwin asks.
“Hmm?” I say, refocusing on him.
“You haven’t been the same since the evernight came, and I’m not referring to your hand. You’re hardly here. I want to find Deven as much as you do—”
“You couldn’t possibly.” A weight strains against my rib cage. Ashwin is not driven by this urgent throbbing. “I’m glad we had this time together, Ashwin. I need to return to the palace. My art course starts soon.”
“I’ll stay awhile longer,” he says. Our gazes travel across the chapel and reconnect. “Will you move here when it’s finished?”
“The temple is no longer my home.”
“You will always have a home at the palace.” Ashwin holds still in expectation, waiting for me to agree.
I cannot. The Turquoise Palace is home to my worst and best memories. Jaya died and I wed Tarek there. It is also where I witnessed the revival of the sister warriors and Deven and I fell in love. Under Ashwin’s reign, Vanhi will become a home for bhutas and non-bhutas alike. This is the future I envisioned for him, but is it mine? Is happiness tied to a place or person, or can it thrive anywhere?
“Thank you,” I say with a note of finality. “We’ll speak soon.”
I leave Ashwin and go outside.
“I’ll ride back to the palace now,” I tell Yatin. My conversation with Natesa from this morning resurfaces in my mind. “Yatin, if I may, why have you and Natesa postponed your wedding?”
He fiddles with a button on his jacket. “We want all our friends to be in attendance.”
He means Deven. Yatin and Natesa are waiting for something that may never come. Gods, it hurts to admit that. I muster cheerfulness in my reply. “Tell the prince not to work you so hard.”
“I’ll think on it,” Yatin answers.
He would never gripe to the prince. Natesa, on the other hand . . .
I mount a guard’s horse and amble uphill toward the palace. Its immaculate ivory exterior reflects the midday sun, and its golden domes burnish a glorious gleam. No doubt it is spectacular, but my heart’s wish is for rolling pastures and grazing sheep. A humble hut filled with books. The Alpana Mountains outside our door while I sketch in the den and Deven mills about the kitchen.
The hot desert wind pulls my attention back to the city. As I cross a road, I pass by a mother and her children. She tugs them away and flees in a rush. A painful tightness grabs at my throat. I remember a time when these roads were lined with people waving and cheering my name. They may not have adored me, but they adored the throne I represented. I gave much of myself to prove I was worthy of that throne. Some days I think I gave too much. The demands of the empire are bottomless. I had to step down, or the burdens would have consumed me.
I never thought I would miss it this much.
3
ASHWIN
My return to the palace inspires no fanfare. I pass the reins of the horse to a guard and stride up the entry steps. Repairs from the battle against the Voider are finished. Although I oversaw the restoration of the damages, the palace’s expansive floors still feel foreign. “Home” is too valued a term to bestow upon a residence absent of memories.
I pause at the top of the double curved staircase. Which way is my meeting?
Two ranis see me and hasten over.
“Prince Ashwin,” says Parisa. Or is she Eshana? I cannot recall. They are both stunning ranis. Lords, a man could forget his own name. “Eshana and I were discussing how generous you are to house all the sisters, wards, and trainees.”
“You’re too kind,” purrs Eshana.
My neck grows hot. “I see no need for them to stay elsewhere.”
“How magnanimous of you.” Parisa dips her chin as if we are coconspirators and grips my bicep. “Eshana and I were wondering if you’ve decided whether you will retain your father’s former ranis in your court?”
I flex my arm muscles. “I’m still thinking on it.”
“We can help you decide,” Parisa says, her lips stretching. “You should visit us at the Tigress Pavilion soon.”
“Your father loved my foot rubs,” adds Eshana.
Disgust worms into my belly. I try to forget they were Tarek’s wives; it helps me to think of them as more than ranis. “I’ll take your offer under consideration.”
They each kiss me on a cheek and sashay off. As the wetness evaporates off my skin, my guilt sets in. They have been through many trials: their Claiming, rank tournaments, marriage to Tarek, imprisonment by the warlord, and full-on war. They deserve every happiness for their loyalty to the empire, but they need not know I am betrothed to Princess Gemi.
During this tenuous transition of bhutas into society, I feel better announcing my selection for kindred right before the wedding. Once we wed, custom will constrain me from marrying another rani for two years or until we produce an heir. Tarek ignored this practice by wedding my mother and then Kalinda’s mother one after the other. I will honor the waiting period to establish that I have no aspirations for a hundred wives like my father. Then I will be expected to marry the former ranis or release them from their rank and dismiss them from the palace.
I do not wish to do either.
“Your Majesty?” Pons asks.
I revolve toward the Galer. Soft-spoken and quiet in his approach, Pons serves as my steward when needed. A familiar, welcome sight. His hair is long at the back and shaved on the top of his head. He wears a sleeveless tunic and short, baggy pants. A blowgun hangs at his waist, the short bamboo pole sticking out of his leather belt.
“Ah, I was just . . . Where’s my next meeting?”
“It will be at the third terrace on the fourth floor in an hour.”
“Which is . . . ?” I ponder the corridors. Pons has been here as long as I have, yet he has memorized the layout. I am . . . progressing.
“Would you like me to escort you?” he asks.
“I’ll find it on my own.”
Pons does not follow me. He does not need to. The large-statured warrior can track my movements with his Galer hearing.
I climb several stairways to the rooftop. Upon my entrance to the aviary, doves ruffle their wings. I slip inside and maneuver through the nesting birds to the window. From the floor, I take up a small box and pull out parchment paper, a quill, and an ink bottle. The flat top of the chest doubles as my desk.
Dipping the sheared end of the quill in the ink, I set the tip to the parchment.
Inanna was a cherished young woman, beloved by everyone in her village. Some said she had the loyalty of an elephant and the bravery of a tiger. Men tried to woo her, but Inanna ignored them. She was waiting for one man—the same man she had loved in every lifetime.
I transcribe the tale from my recollection, citing how Inanna’s beloved was taken to the Void and later rematerialized at night, at which point my memory empties. The adaption I first told Kalinda moons ago was exaggerated for her benefit. Inanna braved the Void to liberate her beloved, but how did she survive?
My mind is blank as the parchment. I drop the quill and rise. I need to move.
Gripping the upper eave, I boost myself out the window and onto the pitched roof. My toes hang over the drop-off.
Vanhi, known to those who love it as the City of Gems, unfolds before me. Parts of the city are still in ruins. Whole districts are blocked off, their residents shut out. Tents were set up by the outer wall that borders the Bhavya Desert for temporary housing until the districts are rebuilt. What would my ancestors think of this disarray? The rajahs that came before me tamed the desert and built this oasis. My first major act as ruler undid all their hard work.
Few people know that I released the demon Udug from the Void to prevent a wicked sultan from doing the same. Udug impersonated my father and led our army in a battle against the warlord. They prevailed against the rebels, though the cost was great. The repairs have rapidly depleted our reserves.
But not for long.
In one week, I will we
d Princess Gemi. In most regards, she is a stranger. I gained respect for her and her people as we fought together against Udug. I have since studied the Southern Isles’ history and their inclusion of bhutas. The empire needs the materials and monetary resources I negotiated for in our alliance. I also need guidance on how to progress to peace.
For a time, I envisioned another marital union for myself. Kalinda was the obvious selection as my kindred, but her heart led her elsewhere. The hurt of her refusal clung on for a time but has since disintegrated. Kali sacrificed much to return me to my palace and throne. I see how our people look at her. Those who saw her fight for their freedoms respect her more, undeterred by her bhuta heritage. Many more do not appreciate her labors and view her only as a Burner. Their incoming kindred, who had no associations with the rebels, will more easily garner their esteem. Gaining my own affection for my first wife is not a priority. Rajahs do not have the same romantic independence as others. Our hearts must belong to our empires.
“Your Majesty?” Pons asks from the lower roof. I drop into the aviary. The Galer enters, rousing the doves. He does not remark about where I am. During our first days together, I made him promise not to tell anyone about my rooftop escapades. “Your meeting begins soon.”
“I’m coming.” I replace the ink and quill in the box and then pick up the parchment with the unfinished story.
“Would you like me to send that correspondence, sir?”
“This? No. This is nothing.” I crush the parchment into a ball. The bottom of the wooden box is littered with crumpled papers. I toss my latest attempt in with the others and close the lid.
4
KALINDA
Wind and rain beat against my back and lash at my hair. I stand on the lakeshore, icebergs bobbing across the shattered surface.
“Kali!” Deven calls from within the hurling water, near the center of the lake. He dips under a crashing wave and up again.
I run up to my shins into the freezing waters. Ice bites into my skin. Rain distorts my vision. He disappears behind a wave. I search frantically. He reappears, swimming against currents and crosswinds.
Our gazes connect across the perilous divide, both rife with terror. The storm whips up massive crosscurrents. A maelstrom spins Deven around its outer radius.
He cannot break free.
I dive in and swim out. My right hand is whole again. I cannot stop to think about how that is possible. I funnel all my strength into reaching him. He twirls closer to the whirlpool.
We reach for each other. Our fingertips touch—
A current slices between us.
Deven careens into the vortex and goes under. I scrutinize the choppy waves. When he does not resurface, I inhale and dive.
Shadows writhe below, hooks grasping and dragging him. I swim farther and catch his fingers. The hooks pull harder, wrenching him from my clasp. The darkness arrests him and he sinks from view. I swim into the directionless pit.
“Come to me.” The distinctly female voice vibrates through my skull. “Come to me or your beloved is mine.” Something ugly in her voice twists “beloved.”
The same hooks that stole Deven reach for me. Icy spikes impale my thighs. Not hooks—claws. I try to scream. My mouth fills with water that tastes of lead. The phantom cackles. I grasp for something solid, but the claws submerge me deeper into the pit.
Someone jostles my shoulder. I jerk awake.
“Sorry to disturb you,” says Indah. “You’ve both been asleep awhile.”
Her daughter, Jala, naps in my arms. I came to their chamber for a visit, as I do most days after I teach my art course, and sat down to rock the baby to sleep. “I must have dozed off.”
“You were mumbling.”
My legs ache. I can still recall that eerie cackle.
“I was dreaming.” I say no more, unwilling to give credence to my nightmare by reliving its horrors, and peer down at the bundled infant.
“Jala sleeps soundly with you,” Indah notes, her tone pleased.
She has hinted more than once that Jala and I were connected in a past life. More than once I have wondered if Jala’s little body holds my best friend’s reincarnated soul. Delusional as it may be, I like the notion that Jaya has returned from the Beyond. I appreciate that speculation more than when Rajah Tarek declared I was the reincarnated soul of the fire-god’s hundredth rani. Even though I yearn for more respect from my people, mercifully, his grand assertion did not stick.
I kiss Jala’s downy head and pass her to Indah. The baby wakes, her face scrunching in protest. Her grouses work up to mewling cries. The noise tugs away the final tendrils of my nightmare, save only Deven’s fear when he slipped away. Nothing can clear that from my memory.
“Are you not meeting Deven tonight?” Indah asks.
My gaze zips out the open balcony at the dusky sky. “What time is it?”
“Just past sunset.” Indah’s response follows me to the door. “That’s why I woke you. I thought you’d want to see him.”
“I do.” I thank her and dash down the corridor to my chamber. Natesa reclines on my bed and snacks on a mango from Deven’s food tray.
“There you are,” she says. “How was your day?”
Deven is not here yet, so I sit with her and steal a piece of fruit too. “Well enough. My art pupils are learning how to sketch people. They’re fascinated by the fire-god Enlil. He’s all they want to draw.”
“They’re young women infatuated with perfection.”
“I was once taken with Anu,” I admit. “But I’d never seen a real man. These girls have seen plenty.”
“Anu and Enlil aren’t men—they’re gods. It’s difficult not to be enraptured.” Natesa stretches her toes near a stack of books at the foot of the bed. “These came from the Hiraani Temple for you. Priestess Mita couldn’t find you so I brought them.”
I forgot I sent a correspondence to the distant Sisterhood temple asking for their texts about the Void. “Thank you. I’ll start them tonight. Aren’t you supposed to be at your inn?”
Natesa swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Yatin and I decided that can wait. I’ll hardly see him if I’m living in the city and he’s here.”
She rises to go. I should be pleased she is staying, but the feeling of wrongness from earlier returns stronger.
“Natesa, I don’t want you and Yatin to put your life on hold for anyone.”
“We aren’t.”
“First you delayed your wedding and now—”
“You aren’t the only one who feels helpless, Kali. Deven is Yatin’s best friend. My friend. We all want him home. It’s hard for life to go on while we know he’s down there.” Natesa’s frustration matches my own. She glances at the pile of books. “Most of us don’t read as fast as you and Ashwin, but we’re helping where we can.”
They are doing plenty. Yatin is running the palace during our drought of guards, and Natesa aids me more than my servant, Asha, does.
“I don’t thank you enough,” I reply.
“You could do better.” She tucks her tongue in her cheek and tilts her head. She is such a pest. “Good night, Kali. Tell Deven we miss him.”
“I promise.”
After she goes, I finish the fruit and lug the stack of texts to the table, starting with the one on top. Lost Souls: The Realm Below. Deven is not a lost soul, but the sisters thought this book was pertinent, so I settle into my chair.
On the first page I read a poem, “Ode to the Evernight.”
Seven gates to ascend, one must pay
A token dear and precious.
Crest all below and do not delay:
The Desert of Anguish, the Valley of Mirrors
A broken heart and spirited tears
A River of Ordeal, a Road of Bone
The city of death, and Kur’s home.
Beware of Irkalla, Queen of Thorns.
Reveal her fangs and you are never born.
A barb of fear clenches my neck. I cannot fatho
m how Deven spends every day in that awful place. Turning the page, I read on.
According to the text, the under realm is divided by seven gates, each one manned by a guardian. In between the gates lie domains, some listed in the poem. One detail I recall from Ashwin’s recounting of Inanna’s Descent is that Inanna paid each guardian with a piece of her wedding adornment.
One by one, the guardians will request a token in exchange for entrance through their gates and passage through their domains.
At last some truth. This confirms a portion of Ashwin’s recounting. I read in earnest, devouring page after page as I wait for Deven to arrive.
Some time later, when midnight marches into the early hours, a chapter heading nearly flies off the page: “Mortal Wanderers.”
Woe unto the mortal who finds himself imprisoned in the Void. Man was created to turn toward the light, seeking, aspiring, ascending. But no ember lies in the belly of the evernight to warm or enrich the soul of man. He is doomed to wander, driven farther into the Void, while his soul-fire dims from eternal brightness. Once his inner star fades, he will be empty and forfeit his capacity for rebirth. A death eternal, body and soul.
“A death eternal,” I breathe.
Shaken, I glance up from the page. Dawn spreads its golden wings across the horizon. Did I miss Deven? Though distracted by my research, I would not have overlooked his arrival. I hurry out, bringing the text with me.
My footfalls liven the hushed palace corridors. I arrive at the main palace and throw open double doors. The prince’s chambers are vacant. Nor is he in his dusty library, though the oil lamp is warm.
Next I check the atrium where he takes his meals. No one is there. I backtrack to the wives’ wing in the hope that a rani has seen him.
I push through silk curtains billowing in the doorway into the Tigress Pavilion. The daylit training courtyard is not in use. All the weapons racks are stocked: khandas, daggers, haladies, talwars, shields, spears, and, at the far end—an urumi. None of the current wives possess the skill to wield the weapon made of flexible, whiplike blades. Only Kindred Lakia mastered it.
The Warrior Queen (The Hundredth Queen Book 4) Page 3