The vizier aims his disgruntled glowering face at me, instead of at the sultan, for cutting his interrogation short and then tugs down his long sleeves in preparation of the shift in topics. An emblem is sewn onto the lapel of his uniform jacket, the land symbol. Is he a Trembler?
Prince Ashwin’s even voice sounds beside me. “What news do you have, Vizier?”
“I have the latest report on the encampments,” he replies, shuffling the parchment papers before him. “Conditions are holding, but we are receiving more refugees every day. We’re working to improve their access to clean water and expand the dining tents.”
“When can Prince Ashwin and I visit the camps?” I ask.
“Your presence will slow our improvement,” replies the vizier. “It’s best you stay away for now.”
I startle at his brusqueness. “You mean we cannot see our people?”
“Your people are safe,” interjects Sultan Kuval. He folds his hands across his ample belly, his movement too controlled for his testiness. “I’m feeding them, housing them, and protecting them. I will continue to leave my borders open and care for them for the duration of the tournament. You may visit them then.”
After the tournament? I came to Janardan to shift the people’s devotion from me to the prince. How can I do that if I am not allowed to see them? I open my mouth to object, but Brother Shaan shakes his head at me. I clamp my mouth shut and wait for the prince to protest on my behalf. He fiddles with the gold cuff around his wrist and says nothing.
The rest of the meeting is more of the same, Vizier Gyan telling Prince Ashwin what to do and the prince acquiescing. My anger raises by the moment, but I hold my tongue until we are dismissed; then I grab the prince by the arm and drag him out of the war room. Brother Shaan follows close behind, Opal a few steps after him.
“What’s the matter with you?” I hiss in the prince’s ear. “You need to stand up for our people.”
“I cannot offend the Janardanians,” he answers, his expression perplexed. “We need their aid.”
“The sultan wishes only to help himself,” I say louder, not caring who hears me. My powers reignite as soon as I am away from the potted poisons. I pull back from Prince Ashwin before my temper inadvertently singes him. “He’s taking advantage of you.”
“We have to make concessions,” he replies, his surety weakening.
I slow my pace and stare at him. The prince’s imperial rule swallows him up, like he is wearing a uniform that is too large. I cannot understand how I mistook him for Tarek.
“Good gods.” I step away, understanding why Brother Shaan lied to bring me here.
The fate of the Tarachand Empire has been left to a naive, sheltered boy.
“Kindred,” Brother Shaan says softly, “may I have a word?” I nod, defeat falling through me. Without a strong rajah, the empire is lost. “Opal, please escort His Majesty back to his chambers and rejoin us.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Prince Ashwin asks, glancing from Brother Shaan to me with an unblinking gaze.
“No, Your Majesty,” Brother Shaan replies. “I need a word alone with the kindred. I’ll return shortly.”
The prince lowers his shoulders, disappointed that we have left him out. Brother Shaan loops his arm through mine, and we stroll off into the gardens. Brother Shaan waits to speak until Opal returns.
“You see now why we need you,” he says.
Frustration shortens my strides. “The sultan has Prince Ashwin by the gullet, and the prince is all too happy to hand him power.”
“Be patient. Ashwin is more capable than he appears.”
Opal trails a couple steps behind us. A slight breeze kicks up as she twirls her finger at her side.
“We may speak without danger of being heard,” says Brother Shaan.
Opal must be using the wind to divert the sound around us, giving us the privacy to talk without another Galer overhearing.
“Before coming here,” Brother Shaan says, “Prince Ashwin wrote a letter to each sovereign requesting military aid. He anticipated the sultan would be self-serving and try to profit off of our circumstances, and Kuval did exactly that. Within hours of our arrival, the sultan tried to persuade Ashwin to take Princess Citra as his rani. The prince would have been forced to accept, but the letters he sent to Paljor and Lestari prevented Kuval from strong-arming him. The trial tournament may not be ideal. Ashwin is giving up diplomatic power in exchange for aid. In the end, the empire will be vastly different than it is today, but the prince feels the distribution of power is best in the long run. He is doing all he can to establish allied relationships that have been neglected for years.”
I sink down on a bench beneath a neem tree that overlooks the green-brown river and the domed roofs of the city. Staring out at this foreign land, a part of me understands Ashwin’s uncertainty. The first days outside of the temple, I longed for home. I still crave the cold nights of Samiya and for Jaya in her cot beside mine. The world of men is endlessly challenging, and the prince has entered it as a ruler of a warring empire.
“Your prince needs you, Kalinda,” Brother Shaan says quietly. “Imperial blood runs through your veins, and you know what it is to earn your throne.”
Do I? I fought my throne every step of the way.
“Ashwin is doing a kindness, leaving this choice up to you,” Brother Shaan states, implying I should be grateful. “By law, he can compel you to compete.”
I lift my chin at the word “compel,” a more tactful way of saying the prince can force me against my will. “What law?”
“I assumed Deven told you.”
“He didn’t,” I snap, impatient for clarification. What does Deven have to do with this?
Brother Shaan gentles his tone. “The Binding of the Ranis is a law as old as the first rajah. The law states that should the rajah pass away, his wealth—including his wives and courtesans—passes on to his heir. Should the heir choose, he may accept his father’s ranis as his own wives and step into his reign.”
A loaded beat of silence hammers down on me. I was aware that Prince Ashwin would have to release me from my throne, but as a formality. I had no idea I had to overcome a law. Is this why Deven has been distant? Why he was indifferent about finding Ashwin? Why he asked me not to come here?
Disbelief and defiance shake my core. My voice emerges from the aftershock, quivering with outrage. “I—I belong to the prince?”
“You belong to your throne, and your throne belongs to the prince.”
“I see no distinction,” I snap. Brother Shaan’s optimism for my uncertain fate is beyond tedious.
“Under the law, Prince Ashwin has first rights to you. As the current political unrest is too dangerous for the prince to travel to a Sisterhood temple and claim a kindred of his own, this is his only option.”
“I’m a convenience.” I grip my teeth together to contain my fury.
“You’re the people’s kindred,” Brother Shaan replies, all patience and calmness. “If you don’t compete, what will it mean for them? This is more than a battle for marriage to the throne; it’s for the future of the empire. Prince Ashwin is doing all he can to save his homeland and his people.”
“I came here to help the people through assisting the prince,” I remind him. His implication that I am not doing enough to aid Prince Ashwin chafes.
“Yes,” Brother Shaan answers, “and the prince needs you to compete.”
I will do what I can for our people, but the last time I contended for my throne, I altered the empire, and not for the better. After my interrogation, the prince must realize I am not trusted by Sultan Kuval or his court. I will do more harm than good here.
But if Prince Ashwin does not see reason . . .
“Will he . . . will he force me?”
“I don’t know,” Brother Shaan answers. “The prince will do what he deems is right for the empire.”
Right for his empire or for himself? I fist my skirt, digging my fingertips into m
y thighs. This entrapment, this false benevolence, is all too familiar. It reminds me of Tarek.
Brother Shaan gazes up, seeking solace in Anu’s ever-present sky. “The other tournament competitors will arrive tomorrow. You have until then to decide.”
I have decided, but Prince Ashwin may still compel me against my will. Soon I will find out how alike the boy prince is to his father.
7
DEVEN
We soar into Iresh on a tailwind and land in the grounds of the Beryl Palace. I have never wanted to stand on my own two feet more than I do now.
The gardens are magnificent and clean, luxuries afforded to the affluent. No sooner do we jump down from the wing flyer than footsteps drum around us. Janardanian guards flock into the courtyard, and one points a machete at my nose.
This isn’t the warm welcome I expected.
I lift my hands away from my sword. One green-clad guard confiscates it, and another pats me down for hidden weapons. More guards disarm Yatin and Rohan, but when they reach Natesa, she shoves them away.
“Don’t touch me,” she hisses.
She is promptly wrangled and her haladie taken. Unarmed, she tosses them a look that would send a pig squealing.
A narrow-faced older man wearing a Janardanian military uniform strides into the garden. “Who are you?” he asks, coldly scrutinizing us.
“Vizier Gyan,” Rohan answers, “I’m an imperial guard here at the palace. These people are Kindred Kalinda’s party, come from Tarachand.”
“Refugees,” the vizier surmises.
“We’re the kindred’s personal guard, sir,” I explain.
Vizier Gyan arches a slim brow at Yatin’s filthy uniform and my lack of one. “And you are?”
“Captain Deven Naik, sir.” I use my former title, as Kali probably gave it to them to identify us upon arrival.
“Welcome to Janardan, Captain,” says the vizier. “Are you or your companions bhutas? We are required by law to ask.”
A snap of apprehension hits me. Did Kali reveal she is a Burner? “We are not.”
Vizier Gyan squints at me a long moment, skeptical of my answer, and then swivels away and speaks to his men in a low voice.
Natesa studies the mossy palace walls in consternation. “If this is our reception, what did Kalinda walk into?”
Yatin gently squeezes her elbow for comfort.
The vizier returns his attention to us. “Rohan, you may go.”
Rohan, unable to argue with a higher-ranking officer, twists on his heels and enters the palace. Four guards with yellow armbands flank the rest of us.
Vizier Gyan smiles without warmth. “Captain Naik, your party will come with us.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, heedful of the armed escort.
“We have protocols regarding refugees.” A muscle in the vizier’s cheek jumps slightly from his insincere smile. “As a military man, you must understand our need for order.”
What I understand is that this man controls whether or not I see Kali. “Lead the way.” I will comply with him, for now.
Vizier Gyan and his soldiers direct us down a steep stairway to the dense jungle below. Everything is so green. Vines and wild fruit trees grow alongside the stairs, and moss lives in the cracks of the stones. Life thrives on every surface. The jungle is suffocating compared to the barrenness of the desert.
White patches of tents appear below. The encampment is barricaded with a fence patrolled by soldiers. A smaller compound is organized opposite the other and is closed in by high dirt walls. Watchtowers with mirrors for spotlights are posted at either end. Each camp has one gate near a guardhouse so soldiers can observe all those who enter and exit. A small locked hut is stationed between them, a weapons bunker.
I could not have designed more secure compounds myself, but the measures do not protect the refugees from outside forces. They lock the refugees in.
Vizier Gyan stops between the entranceways to the camps. “Captain Naik, I’ll escort you and your man to the military encampment.” He means the high-walled compound guarded by soldiers wearing yellow armbands, an identifier of some sort. “My guards will lead the young woman to the civilian camp.”
Yatin sidesteps closer to Natesa’s side. His great bulk is intimidating, but we are grossly outnumbered. Our last line of defense is our words.
“Sir, the kindred is expecting us,” I say. “Before we go in, please notify her of our arrival, or if she’s unavailable, Prince Ashwin.”
“That’s not a possibility,” Vizier Gyan replies. “You see, neither Kindred Kalinda nor the prince told us you were coming.”
I do not believe him. Kali would not forget to arrange for our arrival. More likely than not, Prince Ashwin has taken a liking to her and is keeping her from us. Or keeping me from her.
“This is our procedure for all refugees,” says the vizier, his words crisp. “Civilians and military personnel are to reside in separate camps.”
“These aren’t camps,” Natesa says, glaring. “They’re prisons.”
Vizier Gyan sniffs his nose at her. “These arrangements are temporary, miss.” He signals to his men. “Take them inside.”
Natesa jerks away from a guard. Yatin plants his feet apart, preparing for a fight. My fingers go for my sword—but they confiscated it. Our chance of running and hiding in the jungle tree line across the way is too risky. I will not endanger Yatin or Natesa.
“Yatin,” I say. He hears my command in my colorless voice. Stand down.
“Do as they say, little lotus,” Yatin tells Natesa.
She places her palm on his wide chest. Though her touch is gentle, her eyes are hard. “Don’t let them mistreat you.”
“I won’t,” he promises.
Guards escort Natesa to the gate for the civilian encampment. Additional guards nudge Yatin and me toward the high walls of the compound. One of them throws out his hand, and a sudden wind unlatches the gate. The guard is a Galer. I spot a sky symbol on his yellow armband. The armbands must distinguish the elite bhuta guards from the regular soldiers.
Vizier Gyan leads us to an open quad amid rows of canvas tents. Loitering men quiet when they see us. All of them are from home, some having served under my command. They wear prison garb, plain brown tunics and flowing trousers. A younger man, four years shy of my twenty, stalks up to me.
“Manas,” I breathe. He was a fellow palace guard who served under my command. The last time I saw him, he was battling the rebels beneath the Turquoise Palace. “I thought you were—”
Manas punches me in the jaw. I fall back a step, and he strikes me again, his knuckles slamming into my cheekbone. Yatin grabs Manas by the back of the shirt and lifts him away. Manas hangs from Yatin’s hand like an infuriated kitten in its mother’s maw.
“Traitor!” Manas bellows. “You betrayed Rajah Tarek!”
Vizier Gyan steps between us. “What’s the trouble here?”
Yatin sets Manas on his feet, and Manas yanks his shirt from Yatin’s hold. “Ask Captain Naik,” he growls.
I glower back at him, my jaw and cheek burning.
“You’re a disgrace to the imperial army,” Manas says, spitting at my feet.
More caustic glares from the other men box me in. These soldiers were my comrades. Manas and I were friends. I thought he died in the rebel insurgence and I would never see him again. I ball my vibrating fists. If the vizier were not involved, I would strike Manas for betraying our friendship. He turned me in to the rajah.
“Detain Captain Naik until I confer with Prince Ashwin,” Vizier Gyan calls to his guards.
Yatin puffs out his gigantic frame to protect me, but I signal for him to bow out. He crosses his arms over his chest and lobs a disgruntled look at Manas.
Guards usher me across the yard to a windowless shack, shove me inside, and slam the door. The dark cell stinks of stale body odor and rotten moss. A ray of sunlight sneaks through the crack at the bottom of the door.
Traitor. My men think I shou
ld be dead. I strike the wall with my fist. In the wave of pain that carries up my arm, my shock and anger at seeing Manas dissolve to bleak acceptance. Try as I might, I cannot entirely fault him or the men for their resentment. I did betray our empire by breaking my oath to serve the rajah. My penalty was not absolved, only postponed. I could pound against the door, demand to speak with the prince, and plead with him for forgiveness, but he is within his right to discipline me. Gods know, disobedience has a cost. The sky is everywhere, and Anu’s justice sees all.
Laden with regret, I bow my head. I’ll face my dishonor with humility. Just please, Anu . . . forgive me.
Minutes pass as cold fear trickles into my heart. My mind falls silent, but my heart prays on.
8
KALINDA
I spend the afternoon with Opal, though she is not much for company. She naps while I stare blankly at a book. The colorful inks and sketching parchment call out to me, beckoning me to open them. My mind floats with imaginings of all the vivid pictures I could draw, but I go no further. I will not be bribed, even by so lovely a gift.
Sitting by the hearth, I ignore the book in my lap and scratch at the rank marks on the backs of my hands. I wish they would go away. But even if they do, the prince still has first rights to me. What if he compels me to compete in the tournament? What if he doesn’t? Will he exercise his first rights to me regardless?
Opal sits up and tilts a listening ear to the sky. “Brother Shaan needs me.” She jumps up without further explanation and leaves.
My sigh hitches on disappointment. She said Rohan and my party were a day or so behind us, so they must not be here yet.
I return my attention to the book, but in the stillness of the chamber my awareness prickles. Someone is watching me. I rise with my hand firmly on my dagger and search for the source. Seeing nothing, I step closer to the bed. Gooseflesh flares up my body. No one is here, yet a steady pulse like a heartbeat drums in my ears.
My hand slips into my satchel hung on the bedpost. The pulsing intensifies. I pull out the Zhaleh, and the throbbing behind my eyes stops.
The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2) Page 8