The Warrior Queen (The Hundredth Queen Book 4)

by Emily R. King

  I turn around. As I pass Kur’s lair again, a big golden eye peers out. I direct my attention ahead to the daggered spires of the Umbra Palace. No other structure compares to the lair of the queen of the dead. She shares it with no one, not even her king.

  Rabisu sentinels guard the city gate. I heavy my step to imitate the wanderers. The blood on my trousers and lip has dried, and the lumbering crowd is thick. The rabisus look right past me. I enter the rows of crumbling huts, roofs caving in and walls rotting. The scent of hopelessness strengthens. Last time I entered the city, it took me weeks to sweat the stench from my pores.

  Once out of the sentinels’ sight, I stoop behind a wall. Wanderers plod past, heading for the palace. Kali’s soul-fire is less visible here. The darkness is a squirming, sludgy wetness that dampens my skin. I can outlast this short detour and return to finding Kali. For the first time since I have been trapped, the stillness and loneliness are not crushing.

  Pairs of rabisus prowl the streets for idlers. I slip back into the crowd. My chest constricts on every step I take closer to the palace. I have another rule of survival that I must break. Avoid the queen of the dead.

  27

  KALINDA

  We cannot see more than a few feet in front of us, yet the fourth gate makes it easy to locate. The rabisu appears up the riverbank, near a copse of dead trees. My damp clothes flake drying blood and smell a fright. I must look as though I am wearing a gutted beast.

  Enlil’s great strides eat up the land. I scramble to keep pace with him. His anger over my trip downriver feels disproportionate, so I speak up.

  “I don’t understand why you’re still mad. I was trying to find you.”

  Enlil whirls on me. “You leaped in after me for that mortal man. You only need me as your guide—to find him. Your lack of concern for your own soul is reckless. Mortals who die in the Void suffer an eternal death. You would have been permanently cut off from the Beyond. No other life justifies that risk.”

  I clutch the collar of my tunic. I could have perished forever.

  Enlil strides ahead to bargain with the rabisu. The guardian has the girth and stature of a bear standing on its hind paws. His shaggy coat of fur is putrid. Enlil pays him with a larger slab of meat than the last and receives our instructions. The rabisu growls at me, bear claws out, but lets us by.

  We cut through the spooky grove of trees. I dodge the thorns protruding from the spindly branches. Despite his anger, Enlil remains by my side. I dislike being the cause of his troubled expression.

  “Enlil, I’m sorry. I’ll be more cautious.”

  He tugs me against him. “I could not live knowing you were trapped here.”

  His sentiment puts my own emotions for Deven into order, but my heart has made room for another. Cala has elbowed her way into my core and lit a fire for Enlil. His eyes occupy my sight, their swirling flames mesmerizing.

  He halts and cranes his neck like a bird of prey.

  “Be still,” he orders.

  His spear stops shining and he shuts his eyes, locking in his living flame. A blackout eclipses the grove. Then flapping. Something is flying overhead. The beating wings circle over us. Enlil quits breathing. Like food, perhaps gods do not need air.

  The flapping noises diminish, moving farther out. Enlil uncurls his body from mine. He taps his spear, and the illuminance goes on. I squint from the abrupt brilliance. He grabs my wrist and pulls me through the trees.

  “What was that?” I ask, stumbling after him.

  “Demons. They know we are here. One of the rabisus must have reported us. Demons are very territorial, especially about their realm.”

  “They can live elsewhere?”

  “Before the First Bhutas were given powers, and the gods made a pact not to interfere with mortals, demons could go anywhere.”

  When I was a girl, the sisters told the wards tales of demons dwelling in the caves of the mountains near our temple. I thought their stories were to frighten us into better behavior. Long ago they may have been true.

  We exit the last of the trees and reach a wasteland. The desert lacks the warm ginger sand dunes of those in the mortal realm. Twisting cracks snake across the dried-up ground, hardened and flat. No vegetation or boulders are in sight. Should the demon patrol circle back, we will have nowhere to hide.

  “What is this place?”

  “The Desert of Anguish.”

  The accuracy of the obstructions’ names so far adds to my wariness. A path slices through the center of the desert, set apart by skulls on either side of the trail. Enlil leads me down the outcropping and we start across. Every skull marker along the path stares at me, prying at my nerves.

  “Where are my parents?” I ask, requiring a distraction.

  “Kishan and Yasmin are waiting for you in the Beyond.”

  “My mother too? I thought mortals had to live as a bhuta first.”

  “Your mother sacrificed her life to bring you into this world. She did not need to serve as a bhuta to earn Anu’s blessing. You will meet them again in your next existence.”

  His explanation is mostly a comfort. My father was executed by Rajah Tarek for falling in love with my mother, and she passed on soon after my birth. My parents are dwelling together in the greatest place of peace afforded to any soul, a fine reward for their tragic demise. Yet I still must bide my time to join them as a family.

  “Why couldn’t I have had parents who raised me?”

  “They met their fate, as did you. Anu gave you as a daughter to Kishan to inherit his Burner abilities. That was your soul’s innate predisposition. Bhuta powers are physically determined by lineage, but more so by the soul.” Enlil smiles sideways. “You were meant to wield fire.”

  After what I saw of Cala in the arena, I understand his assessment. Her voice invades my thoughts.

  Ask him about our meetings.

  I am curious too. “How many times have we met?”

  “I have been present in most of your lives.”

  “But you didn’t find me in this one.”

  Cala’s voice grows stronger. Ask him why not.

  “Why didn’t you come before now?”

  Enlil sighs. “I could not.”

  My annoyance laces with Cala’s. Had Enlil come before my Claiming, he could have stopped Tarek from separating Jaya and me. My best friend would still be alive. “You forgot about me?”

  Enlil tugs me to a halt. “I have not lived a moment without you that I did not wish you were at my side.”

  “Then where were you?” I whisper, my voice mingling with Cala’s.

  “You are a bhuta. Your responsibilities set you on a different path.” His spear brightens one side of his face. “Kali, this mortal man you seek is not your fate.”

  “You don’t get to decide that.”

  Or does he? As a god, Enlil does not see time. His life has no beginning or end. Fate is a spectrum, not a destination.

  A pressure builds at the base of my neck, my worries compounding into a headache. I block it before I am off-balance. “I told you from the start, I’ve come for Deven Naik.”

  “As you desire,” Enlil replies reasonably. I await a bigger reaction, yet he is the very picture of acceptance.

  “All right,” I say, stretching out my reply. We set off, and I look at him askance. “You never told me what my payment will be for our bargain.”

  He makes a noncommittal “Hmm.”

  “Well?” I ask archly.

  “As I clarified before, I will require compensation when the mortal man has been freed.”

  “His name is Deven Naik.”

  “Of course. Forgive me.”

  Enlil resumes our hasty pace. I let silence reign, ignoring his insincere apology. Our discussions help to distract me from this grim landscape, but I will not debate with him about Deven’s importance.

  We progress through the dusty wasteland, my mouth and throat parched from the scorched air, like inhaling stale smoke. When the desert rules ev
ery direction, I hear a groan. Off the trail lies a person.

  “Water,” he rasps, clawing at the barren ground.

  I come to a halt. “Who is that?”

  “A wanderer,” Enlil replies. “Let him be. The Desert of Anguish is a mercy.”

  “Dying of thirst is a mercy?”

  “It is in the Void.” Enlil ushers me along.

  More wanderers appear off the trail. Some lie on the cracked ground, while others crawl. Fewer stumble about blindly. All of them beg for a drink, but do not cross onto the road. The pleas of the suffering torture my ears.

  “Can we not spare them food or water? You could give them mangoes like you did me.”

  “Nothing can quench their thirst,” Enlil replies. “The living pray for them; thus, Irkalla cannot confine them to her city. Trust me. Wandering the desert is a more compassionate sentence.”

  The City of the Dead is worse than this? Deven said he hides near there.

  “Kalinda,” a voice calls from within the open wasteland.

  A woman drags herself toward us over the rough ground.

  Kindred Lakia.

  The last time I saw Ashwin’s mother, we were in the amphitheater arena locked in a duel, an impulsive conclusion to my rank tournament that led to her death. Though she still wears her training sari and sandals, her attractiveness has lessened from a sharp blade to a dull spoon.

  “Please, Kalinda. Water.”

  Someone in the mortal realm has been praying over her soul, and I would wager it is her son. My memories of Lakia are not the fondest, but if Ashwin were here and this were my mother, I would expect him to show her compassion.

  “Don’t leave the trail,” Enlil warns.

  “It’s all right. I know her.” Stepping over a skull, I go to Lakia. She appears even more miserable up close. Her once-glowing complexion has a lusterless hue. Patches of her hair are missing, the rest knotted in stringy clumps.

  “Kalinda,” she cries, guttural, tearless gasps. “I left him out in the desert. He’s gone and I could not stop it.”

  I kneel on the sandy desert floor, which is softer and finer than it seems. “Who’s gone?”

  “My little boy.” She sobs into the crook of her elbow. “Tarek sat in my chamber and waited with me. I heard his cries as the carriage pulled away. My husband wanted me to cry or run. He wanted to punish me for my weakness.” She lifts her bloodshot gaze to me. “I didn’t cry. I held it in until I was alone. But my boy . . . my boy was gone.”

  “Ashwin is home, Lakia,” I promise, her heartbreak pressing upon me. “He’s living in Vanhi again, in the palace. He’s home.”

  Lakia rubs her forehead in the dirt, further matting her hair. She lifts her head again, her gaze wild. “Water. Please, water.”

  I wave for Enlil to come over so I can ask for one of his mangoes. He sends me a stern glare to return to the path and does not budge. “I don’t have any water for you. I’m sorry.”

  Lakia pushes up and cups my cheek, her fingers icy. “You’re my husband’s kindred . . . ?”

  “Not anymore.”

  The fact of this strikes me deep. I never wanted to be Tarek’s kindred. Then I was his kindred, and I was good at my role. Gods curse him for that. Without the title that I earned, I no longer know what to do with myself.

  “Much has happened since you . . . left,” I continue. “Prince Ashwin rules Tarachand now. He reigns with fairness and mercy.”

  Lakia grabs my chin hard. “I know not who you speak of. I have no son.” Her other hand grasps the back of my head, securing me in a vise. I immediately realize my legs are stuck. I have been sinking into the sand. “No water? Just as well. I’ll drink the water from your blood.”

  She lowers her mouth to bite me. I push her off and yank at my knees. I have sunk farther into the ashy ground. Lakia lunges and her teeth snap at my nose. I hold her back, her flesh frozen and lifeless. I cannot parch her to render her unconscious. She has no soul-fire to draw out.

  Enlil enters my side vision and aims his spear at her. A lightning bolt shoots from the end, striking Lakia in the side. She flies back, smoke rising off her still form. Our squabble attracts more wanderers across the open area. They amble toward us.

  “Hold still.” Enlil aims his spear at the sand around my feet and shoots. It solidifies to glass. He smashes it and heaves me up. “Next time use your dagger.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

  “Kalinda, everything wants to harm you here. Even the ground would devour you.”

  Back on the trail, I brush myself off. The dustiness persists. “What is this sand?”

  “Bone ash.” Enlil drags me onward while I knock the dust off faster. “We must not tarry. The wanderers cannot enter the path, but we best not tempt them.”

  I skip along, stunned from my encounter. “Did Lakia truly forget her own son? She was weeping over him one minute, and the next she said he didn’t know him. How could she forget him? She had her faults—many faults—but she loved Ashwin.”

  “She was not the woman you knew. The Void boiled her down to her worst attributes and pains.”

  “I took her life,” I whisper. Lakia will recover. After all, she is already dead. But leaving her to suffer . . . “I sent her here.”

  “You took her life to preserve your own. You did not condemn her. Her actions did.”

  I wait for Cala to add her opinion of murder to the matter. I saw what she did in the arena. She killed all those women to secure her place as Enlil’s wife. She remains quiet.

  The souls in the desert beseech us for water. I cannot do anything for them, so I focus on escaping this morbid wasteland. “Will you be punished for breaking your pact not to interfere with mortal affairs?”

  “No,” Enlil replies shortly. “My unusual paternity formed lower expectations of my behavior.”

  “How many times have you saved me?”

  Enlil slows to a more official gait. “My dear queen, it is you who saved me. Before our first meeting, I was floundering. My sister Enki was the epitome of obedience. I was . . . less so. My true parentage had been revealed, and I felt I did not belong with the gods. I hid my pain in the joys and passions of the mortal realm. Then I met Cala. She loved me as I was.” He adds tenderly, “Every time you are reborn, I rediscover the wonder of watching the sunrise.”

  Is he speaking to Cala . . . or to me? The separation between us has blurred.

  I rummage around inside my head for her commanding voice.

  Cala?

  Her memories are hazy yet accessible. I resist traveling through them. We can coexist and still have our privacy.

  After several more minutes, the wanderers dwindle. We pause and I catch my breath.

  “This fell from your pocket.” Enlil slips the medallion over my head so the gold disc rests against my breastbone. He kisses my cheek.

  I wait for Cala to melt, yet she watches as a bystander. Her presence has swiftly become familiar, her thoughts and feelings second nature. Dread needles at my heart. Is she disappearing into me, or am I disappearing into her?

  We are one and the same, Cala answers. Enlil is our forever love.

  Enlil waits for me to announce I am ready to go on. Only he knows the path I am to follow, even if coming here was my choice. As we set off, I wonder how much of a choice Cala had. Was she happier following Enlil’s path instead of finding her own? Maybe she never learned the difference. She may have trusted the gods would not lead her astray. She may have sought Enlil’s companionship above all else. Or maybe she did not have to sacrifice for his love. Perhaps she had it all along and he was always her only fate.

  28

  DEVEN

  I amble up to the Umbra Palace with the crowd of wanderers. The last time Irkalla summoned her subjects, she publicly disciplined the demon Udug for failing to aid Kur in conquering the mortal realm. His screams stayed with me for days after. Udug has not been seen since.

  The palace casts a shadow across the courtyard.
The few intact walls have gaping holes that resemble eye sockets. Night and day, shrieks carry from the high windows. I once saw the rabisus unload wagonloads of new souls and lead them inside. Not long after, the screams began. Those same wagons are parked out front. The new souls have been cleared out, but the oxen are still yoked, their harnesses nailed into their bloody backs.

  The wanderers shuffle me along in the throng funneling up the stairs. Fish Face Lilu examines the entrants with her huge, glassy eyes. She lets me pass without her gills flapping.

  We congregate in the massive throne room. The grandness of its pillars and high arches resembles the finest imperial chamber in the world, the difference being everything here is sooty and tarnished, corrupted by the evernight. Similar perversions can be seen across the under realm. In this immortal stronghold, where power should rule just and fair, the mockery of authority is loathsome.

  Rabisus guard every exit, and a pair of ugallus oversee our entry from the dais. Sitting on their haunches, the lion-eagles’ wings tuck around their sleek bodies, their wingtips dagger sharp. Also on the dais, souls are chained to the far wall, unmoving and silent. Draperies span from ceiling to floor. Once we are all inside, a female voice slithers out from behind the curtain.

  “Welcome, slaves. You must wonder for what purpose I have summoned you.”

  Every wanderer wears the same vacant expression. None have wondered anything in a long while.

  Irkalla extends a big black claw into view and slices the chains off an imprisoned soul. She curls her talon around the wanderer and snatches him behind the drapery. His screeching is replaced by bone-chilling crunches. My ears burn and my teeth grind until the feeding stops.

  “We have a visitor,” Irkalla explains, smacking her chops. “A mortal man has trespassed into my realm, my city, my palace.”

  I lock my joints. This summons was for me?

  “General Naik, step forward and announce yourself.”

  The silence from the dead is suffocating.

  “De-ven,” Irkalla singsongs. “Mortal blood reeks of starlight, and yours is especially potent. Forgive our late introduction. Kur believed you would perish shortly after your arrival. Unlike me, he does not value the mettle of mortals.”