The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2)

by Emily R. King

  Did I imagine that? Or did the book lure me to it?

  I pull off the cover of the sketchbook Prince Ashwin gave me. The real front of the Zhaleh is worn and creased like an old man’s face. I run my hand over the tanned deer hide, and my pulse hitches. I should leave it alone. The Zhaleh holds darkness. And yet . . .

  As I open the true cover, I brace for an assault on my senses. I assume the mere act of unsealing the book will unleash evil, but nothing happens. Exhaling shallowly, I start in.

  The first page is divided into four columns. At the top are symbols, one each for water, sky, land, and fire. Names are written beneath the symbols. The top four names are the First Bhutas, including Uri under the fire symbol. Below them, line after line, page after page, are the proceeding bhuta generations. After twenty pages or so, the column of Burners becomes shorter than the others. Starting at the bottom, I skim the list backward. My finger stops.

  Kishan Zacharias.

  I brush my thumb over my father’s surname. KZ. We have the same initials.

  “Kalinda Zacharias,” I say, testing how it sounds. The last part rings foreign, like an off-tune sitar string. I whisper my full name to myself once, twice, a third time. “Kalinda Zacharias.” The last time the sound slides out of my mouth and sits right in my ear.

  A shadow appears on the wall, cast from behind me. Someone is here. I whirl around and grasp the intruder by the throat. My fingers glow, pulsing with fire.

  “It’s me.” Prince Ashwin gulps hard, his gullet bobbing against my palm.

  I drop my hold on him and retract my powers before he sees. With my pulse charging, I hide the Zhaleh behind me. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I entered quietly.” The prince rubs his throat where my handprint fades. “I thought you might like to come with me to the encampments.”

  I shield the Zhaleh with my body while I stow it away in my satchel. “You told the sultan we wouldn’t go there.”

  The prince grips the strap of a bag slung over his shoulder. “I gave it some thought, and I agree with what you said. We should see our people. Will you come with me?”

  I have no qualms about defying Sultan Kuval, but I will not go anywhere with the prince until we discuss the Binding of the Ranis. “Brother Shaan told me of the law. You have first rights to me.”

  “He mentioned your conversation to me.” Prince Ashwin’s tone is maddeningly neutral. How can he be offhand about my future?

  “You tricked me into coming here,” I say, venting my anger.

  Hurt crosses his face. “I was told you knew about the law. Remember it was my will to tell you about the tournament prior to your arrival. I’m truly sorry you were misled.”

  The prince’s apology dumps icy water over my temper. I do not recall Tarek apologizing for anything. Ever. Either Prince Ashwin is a terrific liar or he was also misled. Gods, I hate that I feel sorry for him. I am the one wronged.

  “As I said,” Prince Ashwin goes on, “you can leave at any time.”

  “You won’t compel me to compete?”

  “No, but I will do my best to persuade you to stay.”

  His eyes shine with sincerity, driving me to look away. I simply cannot trust him. Prince Ashwin may not be Tarek, but he holds the same power over my fate.

  “All right. I’ll go with you.” I came here to support the prince, after all.

  “Good. I’ve arranged for a distraction, so we need to hurry.” Instead of going to the corridor, he strides out onto the balcony.

  I follow him into the late-day sun. “There’s no way down.”

  “Certainly there is. I used to sneak out of the temple all the time.” His smile is a tad daring and plenty dashing. He swings his leg over the banister and offers me his hand. Ever so cautiously, I rest my fingers in his. He brushes his thumb over my wifely rank. Sympathy emanates from him with a trace of understanding. We are both tied to the throne.

  Shouts rise up from the garden below. The prince helps me over the banister and grips a vine growing up the palace wall. He climbs down hand over hand.

  Brother Shaan’s voice carries to us. “I tripped on that rock! Who put that there? Are you trying to injure an old man?”

  I pause at his ranting. Brother Shaan is the most even-tempered man I know.

  “Kalinda, come on,” Prince Ashwin whispers. “He won’t buy us much time.”

  Oh. Brother Shaan is the distraction.

  I scale down the vine. At the bottom, we duck behind a flower bush and check the path. While Brother Shaan berates the guards, we dart across the empty pathway into the tree cover.

  A shrill voice erupts from across the garden. “What’s all the commotion?”

  Princess Citra marches up to Brother Shaan and the palace guards. As her back is to us, we sprint to the overhang where the stream lunges off the cliff in a waterfall. Prince Ashwin reels up a rope that hangs over the edge.

  “I was assured this is safe,” he says, tugging me against him. “Hold on.”

  Before I can object, he leaps over the cliff with me. I strangle a scream, clutching him with all my might. We swing down in an arc. Wind whooshes through my hair, and then we break through the streaming water. Cold wetness shocks me, drenching me down to my skin, and Prince Ashwin lets go of the rope. We drop to the floor of a cave behind the waterfall and roll to a stop, lying beside each other and dripping wet.

  “You could have warned me,” I snap.

  “I wasn’t sure if I had the nerve for it myself.” The prince grins. “You didn’t scream.”

  “I’m not the hysterical type.” I shove away from him. The gushing waterfall mists our faces and muffles our voices. “How did you know about the rope?”

  “Princess Citra’s little sister Tevy told me about it. Tevy said young people use the rope to swing into the cave through the waterfall.”

  “Why?”

  “For excitement.” He wiggles his eyebrows, rousing a droll smile out of me, and then walks deeper into the cave. Away from the surging water, the light wanes to grayish blue. From his pack, he removes dry sparring garments for me and an extra set of clothes for himself.

  I accept the clothing, cautious of his thoughtfulness. He peels off his wet tunic, and his smooth, bare chest robs me of all coherent thoughts. I twist around, my face heating.

  “Get changed,” he says.

  I glance over my shoulder at him. Ugly scars run across the length of his back. I have a similar scar from my rank tournament down my arm from a khanda wound, but Prince Ashwin was the most protected child in the empire. How did he get his?

  I hear him start to undo his belt and twist back around.

  “Are you finished?” he asks.

  “Almost.” I unpin my wet sari, leaving on the petticoat and blouse. Shivering in the dampness, I drape and pin on the dry scarlet sari. I lift the finished edge of the cloth up through my legs and tuck it into the back of my waistline, leaving my covered legs free to move.

  I slip my sheathed daggers to my hips and straighten. In the familiar training uniform, I face Prince Ashwin. “Done.”

  He turns back around. He has changed into coarser clothes, shedding his royal finery. If he were any other boy, I would look twice at him. Tarek was handsome, but his ruthlessness repulsed me. Prince Ashwin is equally attractive without the cruelty.

  The prince smiles widely at me. “Brother Shaan told me that color flatters you.”

  “He did not.”

  “No, but you do wear scarlet well.” A blush blossoms on his cheeks, and a tingling sweeps across my face. Prince Ashwin packs my wet clothes and then offers me a corked bottle. “Rub this on your skin. It’s lemon-eucalyptus oil to repel the mosquitoes.”

  We take turns rubbing the smelly oil on ourselves, and then he shoulders his pack.

  “There’s a stairway at the back of the cave that leads to a lower door,” he says.

  “Your Majesty—”

  “Ashwin. We swung over a cliff together. That merits the use
of my first name.”

  “All right, Ashwin, what will happen if we’re caught?”

  “I don’t know, so let’s not find out.”

  I am far from reassured, but he knows how to get out of here, so I follow him deeper into the dim cave. The farther we travel from the waterfall, the darker our surroundings. Ashwin stops in the scant light and draws a torch from the pack.

  “Will you please?” he asks, holding it out for me.

  I draw back. Brother Shaan must have told him I’m a Burner.

  “Are you going to leave us in the dark?” Ashwin presses.

  I search his expression for any warning of loathing but find only ardent expectancy. Ashwin has known all along what I am, yet he still invited me here and asked me to compete for the throne.

  Holding my finger to the torch, I push out my powers, and the wood ignites. Torchlight illuminates the wonder on Ashwin’s face.

  “Incredible,” he breathes.

  I start down the steep stairway. Could Ashwin respect my powers?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mention I knew about your bhuta heritage before now,” he says, his footsteps at my back. The ease of his apologies continues to astound me. “Brother Shaan swore me to secrecy. He’s concerned Kuval would accuse you of working with the rebels and blame you for Rajah Tarek’s death.”

  I stumble downward a step in surprise. His arms come around me and steady my balance. I pull away in haste. He knows about the blood on my hands.

  “Brother Shaan explained everything,” he rushes on. “None of it was your fault, Kalinda. You were forced to defend yourself against Kindred Lakia, and you couldn’t have saved Rajah Tarek.”

  Ashwin’s defense of me against his parents is the last reply I expected. Brother Shaan must have left out that I conspired with Hastin. Ashwin does not know that I killed Tarek.

  “Did you . . . did you love him?” Ashwin asks, misinterpreting my silence as sorrow for my late husband.

  “No,” I reply fast. Gods’ virtue, I sound so coldhearted. “I mean to say I hardly knew him.”

  “I barely knew him too.” Ashwin passes me on the stairs. I trail him, eager for him to go on. I never observed Tarek act as a parent. “Far back as I can recall, I was raised by the brethren. They were my family. Kindred Lakia and Rajah Tarek visited me once a year, if that.”

  I never met my mother or father. Having parents would be a blessing, but Ashwin speaks of his like they were a scourge.

  “Tarek was a selfish leader.” Ashwin’s voice hardens with contempt for his father, paired with an undertone of resigned acceptance about his legacy. “My duty is to fix Tarek’s mistakes, but I cannot redeem the empire alone. I need someone at my side, someone who will stand for what’s right, someone who has already found favor with the gods.”

  I arrange my features into apathy. Spinning at the back of my mind is the law that promises Ashwin my future. How far will he go to fix his father’s mistakes? Will he rescind his promise and force me to compete? I agree the empire must heal from Tarek’s rule, but I cannot assist Ashwin in the way he wishes. I did my godly duty. I won my rank tournament and ended Tarek. The most I am willing to do is help Ashwin find another competitor from the encampment to represent Tarachand in the trial tournament. He will have to find another champion.

  Silence closes in around us as we continue into the dark. The stairs flatten out to a high tunnel. Many paces later, the torchlight reveals odd clay markings across a gray wall face. We pause to inspect the strange symbols.

  “Runes,” Ashwin says.

  “They’re beautiful.” Whoever left them must have lived a long time ago. I run my finger over the rough stone. “I wonder what they mean.”

  “They teach the origin of the Morass.” Ashwin sweeps the light over the ancient drawings. “Would you like me to read you the tale?”

  “Can you?” Runes are an ancient language, rarely taught or spoken in Tarachand.

  Ashwin answers by beginning to read. “Long ago, when the world was new, Abzu, the freshwater-god, was the first deity, the begetter of all. Soon after Abzu came Tiamat, the saltwater-goddess. Abzu and Tiamat met at the horizon, and when their waters intertwined, Tiamat birthed Anu and Ki.”

  Abzu and Tiamat are not deities I worship. The sisters taught me to pray to the sky-god Anu; his consort, Ki, the land-goddess; and their children, the fire-god Enlil and the water-goddess Enki. Though I have heard of Abzu and Tiamat, our temple studies did not focus on the primeval gods.

  Ashwin lowers the torchlight and continues. “Anu sought to possess his father’s glory and become king of the gods, so he killed Abzu and usurped his lordship. Enraged by her son’s betrayal, Tiamat birthed the First-Ever Dragon and filled the creature’s body with fiery venom. Together, they made war against her son. Armed with the arrows of his winds, Anu, the god of storms, fought Tiamat and the dragon. Anu cut through the channels of Tiamat’s blood and made the north wind bear her body away into secret places, creating rivers that ran into the salty seas. From her ribs, Anu crafted the vault of sky and land, and from her spine, she sprouted the Morass.”

  I rub my chilled arms. “What happened to the First-Ever Dragon?”

  Ashwin scans the wall but finds no more runes. “Doesn’t say, but I once read that another name for the demon Kur is the First-Ever Dragon.”

  Demons and dragons are one and the same?

  A foreboding wind flickers our torch. “We should move on,” I say. We carry onward down the tunnel, more cautious than before. “Who taught you to read runes?”

  “My instructor, Brother Dhiren. I wasn’t allowed to go outside or train with the other apprentices, so Brother Dhiren filled my days with lessons.”

  I try to picture Ashwin as a child, buried in books instead of playing outside, and my heart squeezes. When I was younger and suffering from fevers, I was often alone. Then I met Jaya. She was a torch in the dark, brightening my world.

  “Where is Brother Dhiren now?” I ask.

  “He passed away.” Pain Ashwin lacked when he spoke of his parents jams his voice, a sadness that stems from losing someone he loved. He speeds up his pace. “It should be sundown by now, and we still have a ways to go.”

  I walk faster, mulling over our conversation. Nothing Ashwin has told me about himself has caused me to doubt him. In fact, his disapproval of his parents and affection for Brother Dhiren are endearing. I do not dislike Ashwin, but I am not ready to trust him yet either.

  9

  DEVEN

  The sunlight under the door weakens to pale silver. Footsteps approach, and the door swings open. I squint at the dusky sky; weak as it is, my eyes still sting in the twilight.

  “You may come out now, Captain,” says Vizier Gyan.

  I push away from leaning against the wall. Days of traveling without much food weaken my knees, and I weave a step as I exit the hut. Vizier Gyan waits with guards. One of them holds out a whip, the other a sword. I force my face to granite.

  Vizier Gyan links his hands behind him. “I’ve spoken with the soldiers. They informed me of your prior accusations. Do you admit to conspiring with the bhuta warlord Hastin and betraying Rajah Tarek?”

  Be humble. I draw in a shallow breath. “Yes, sir.”

  Vizier Gyan’s staid expression does not change. “I reported my findings to Prince Ashwin. He has no room in his army for traitors. Fortunately for you, he is more lenient than his father. He said if you confessed he would spare your life and deliver a less severe sentence.”

  “Does the kindred know I’m here? What did she say?”

  The vizier pauses at my unanticipated inquiry. “She’s in accord with the prince. Neither will excuse treachery.”

  Kali sided with Prince Ashwin? Something must have happened between them. He could be exercising his first rights to her and forcing her to comply with his wishes.

  “I want to see the kindred,” I say.

  “You have no rights here, Captain.”

  “I understand, bu
t when they arrive, if you would please let me speak—”

  “Neither the prince nor the kindred will attend your punishment. They have more immediate affairs that require their attention.”

  Kali isn’t coming. I stiffen my jaw, locking down my frustration. Prince Ashwin is keeping her away from me. Why has he not come? He should be here to order my sentencing, not hiding behind the vizier. “What affairs?” I chop out.

  “Sultan Kuval is hosting a trial tournament,” explains Vizier Gyan. “Each of the four sovereigns will select a contender to compete for a chance to wed Prince Ashwin. He wishes for Kindred Kalinda to represent Tarachand against the opposition.”

  Another godsforsaken tournament.

  “Did she agree?” I ask.

  “As far as I’m aware, she’s competing.”

  My stomach collapses in dismay. I do not want to believe him, but, regretfully, this makes sense. Kali loves our people, and blames herself for their recent suffering. She will compete in another tournament to protect them from a foreign queen and more hardship.

  The vizier swivels around, and his guards drag me behind him to the quad. My fellow soldiers line the open area, facing a post staked in the center. Manas’s glare burns into me as I pass. His acrimony is nothing new—he turned me in for treason back in Vanhi—but his lack of concern for me demolishes any remaining memories I have of our friendship.

  I am led to face the post. The guards tie me to it, strapping my hands above my head. Another guard uses his machete to rip the back of my shirt open and finishes by tugging it off. Clammy air rushes over my skin.

  Vizier Gyan calls to the men—my men. “Prince Ashwin won’t tolerate traitors. Nor will Sultan Kuval provide refuge to dishonorable guards. Captain Deven Naik has confessed to treason; hence the prince has granted him mercy. He will not lose his life but will receive thirty lashes.”

  I rest my forehead against the pole, my insides cramping. Thirty lashes will rip me apart. I have seen men fall to pieces after ten.

  The vizier approaches in my side vision with the whip. I widen my stance and bend my knees to avoid fainting. Bracing my forehead against the pole, I hold myself for the first strike. Vizier Gyan counts down.