The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2)

by Emily R. King

  “On my mark. Three, two, one . . .”

  Pain slashes across my back. My shoulders bunch in recourse, sharpness ricocheting down my legs. I brought this upon myself.

  Before I can recover, the snap of the whip comes again.

  “Two.”

  Another hit, deeper and more painful than the last.

  “Three.”

  My vision grays at the fringes. I have to anchor my mind to something or I will float away. Where is Kali?

  “Four.”

  I cry out, an unbidden groan, and then grip my teeth together. I will not dishonor myself with another sound.

  “Five.”

  Gods, grant me strength. I wish I could rescind my guilty plea. I wish I could scrub clean every mistake I have made.

  Eight more hits, and my knees slacken. Agony pushes past my resolve to endure. My weight sinks against the pole. I cannot lift my head. More strikes, and the vizier’s counting fades to a distant call for justice.

  More pain. More darkness.

  My knees thunk to the ground. Forgive me, Anu. Forgive me. I do not cry out, but my heart weeps for absolution. I am a soldier. I swore my life in service to the Tarachand throne.

  The damned whip strikes again.

  I am a traitor. I fell in love with the rajah’s queen. I betrayed my calling, and the gods will have their wrath.

  I remain on my knees, refusing to coil into a ball. I honored my duty to protect Kali. I gave my life to her. She is my rani. She is my ruler.

  Another vicious hit. Blood seeps across my back and down my chest.

  Kali is the Tarachand throne. And I . . . I will always be a disgraced guard. If she knows I am being punished, if she did side with the prince, I cannot fault her. Our dream was a fool’s wish. From the start, she belonged to the empire, first as a temple ward and now as the kindred. She must think of the good of Tarachand above all else.

  Above herself. Above me.

  I curl into my knees, my strength shredding away. The vizier counts on dutifully. Each lash scores into my soul . . . until, finally, I am broken.

  10

  KALINDA

  Ashwin and I step out of the tunnel into sticky air and the persistent night calls of creatures hunkering in the dark. Predatory plant life walls us in, gray-emerald shadows partially blocking the starry sky.

  “Brother Shaan said there’s a path,” Ashwin remarks. He walks to the thick trees with the torchlight. My fingers hover over my dagger as we search for a trail into the Morass. He notices my hand near my weapon. “Expecting a monster to jump out?”

  “Can you guarantee me one won’t?”

  He expels a breathy chuckle. “Here it is.”

  A narrow path has been scored into the jungle floor, hardly wide enough for a rabbit’s trail. I draw my knife and step into the darkened trees. I pause and listen intently. Branches rustle around me, and animal noises quit or carry away, but the awareness of something watching me prickles at my scalp. I have heard clouded leopards, porcupines, and macaques call this jungle their home, none of which I would like to disturb.

  Ashwin joins me, our shadows cast by the torchlight. “I’m glad I didn’t make you that guarantee,” he says.

  “Watch your step.”

  I lead the way with my dagger and slash at spiny ferns. Up and down, the trail weaves through underbrush alive with zipping insects. We duck under great boughs, lunge over heaving tree roots carpeted with orchids, and come to a murky waterway. The mirrorlike surface burns the fiery reflection of our torch. My feet splash along the bank.

  “Stay away from the water,” Ashwin warns. “The Morass is home to crocodiles.”

  Another predator I would rather not run into. I follow him back into the trees without argument. Soon the trail widens, releasing us from the vine-strangled tree trunks and bristly weeds. Tiny lights sparkle in the distance. As we near the end of the path, a large grouping of white tents comes into view. Ashwin extinguishes the torch in the dirt, and we stop behind a teak tree.

  Janardanian guards armed with machetes patrol outside a waist-high blockade around the camp. Within the fence, torches burn every ten paces or so, lighting the tight rows of tents. Mosquitoes congregate near the torches like clotting clouds.

  Our people are everywhere. Some mill about, while others sit on the dirt ground outside their tents. Many are so thin I can see their angled cheekbones and the knots in their spines. All are in need of several good meals. They have little furniture, and what they do have is run down. The stench of refuse from overfull latrines wafts off the tented city.

  My pulse echoes hollow in my ears. This is worse than the poverty in Tarachand. Tarek was not a generous ruler, but at least he did not pen them in like livestock.

  “How many are here?” I ask.

  “Last count was five thousand.” Ashwin’s guttural whisper teems with condemnation. “Sultan Kuval said he was caring for our people. But this . . . this is inexcusable.”

  I swallow the bitter tang of regret. Ashwin understands now why he cannot trust the well-being of his people to anyone else.

  He pushes away from the tree, his movements jerky from anger. “Brother Shaan said the second encampment is north of here.”

  We stick to the underbrush to avoid the guards and skirt the camp. The encampment goes on and on, endless tents and people. Ashwin pauses to frown at two lookout towers stationed at the south side. The people are locked inside the camp with no defense. What threat do they pose? We move on to the end of the camp. Across from the main entrance, a dirt wall encircles a second smaller compound.

  “This must be our military internment camp,” Ashwin says, more weary now than outraged. “Our soldiers reside here.”

  “Are all of the refugees sorted into one of the camps?”

  “That’s the Janardanians’ protocol. The sultan demands it.”

  A warning crawls inside me. Deven and the others may have arrived by now, or if not, they will soon. What if they were brought here instead of to me? I whisper to Ashwin, “Did you see Opal before we left? She said Brother Shaan needed her.”

  “I was with Brother Shaan. I didn’t see her.”

  My gaze zips to the high walls of the military compound, my alarm expanding. Opal lied. Maybe she did not want me present when my party arrived. I draw my dagger and slip out of the underbrush.

  “Kalinda!” Ashwin reaches for me, but I tug from his grasp.

  I sprint across the clearing to the military encampment. A soldier on watch spots me and rings a gong. I peek through the slots in the gate to the compound but see only tents and guards within.

  “Deven!” I call. “Deven!”

  Janardanian guards block the gate. “Move away,” one orders.

  I try to look past him. “You may have detained my guards.”

  Across the way, people in the civilian encampment notice the disturbance and peer at me over the chest-high bamboo fence.

  “Deven!”

  My shouts prompt a hum of low voices . . . “The kindred.”

  The guards shuffle agitatedly. They recognize me now too. My revered name flies across the camp behind me and lures more onlookers. In moments, people press against the bamboo fence.

  “Kalinda!” Natesa shoves her way to the front of the crowd.

  Hearing her, I swivel around and start for the other camp. Janardanian guards block my way, stopping me in the clearing. I could throw them back with a heatwave, but everyone would see my powers.

  “Put down your weapon,” says a large guard.

  I drop my dagger. He kicks it from my reach and tries to seize me. I wrench away from him. “I laid down my weapon, but I am not defenseless. I can work that curious crowd into a mob in seconds. Release my friend, or five thousand people will be upon you.”

  The large guard who disarmed me, a bhuta commander by his yellow armband, presses his lips into a hard slash. Cords of muscles twang at his neck. I hold my stance, unmoving in my demand. At last, he signals to the guards at th
e far gate, and they release Natesa.

  She pushes through the armed men. “Kalinda,” she says, grabbing me to her. “We told them you were expecting us, but they wouldn’t let us see you.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “All of us were too heavy for Rohan to carry, so Mathura and Brac stayed behind in Tarachand. They’re coming by foot.” Natesa points at the compound. “They put Yatin and Deven in there.”

  I face the bhuta commander. “Release my guards.”

  “I cannot do that, Kindred. Tarachandian guards must remain under watch.”

  I put on my haughtiest voice. “They’re my personal guards. I’ll watch over them.”

  Janardanian soldiers wave the people in the civilian camp away from the fence. Some obey, but most stand their ground. I threatened a riot, but I do not want any of them hurt.

  “I take my orders from the vizier,” says the commander. “No one is allowed in or out without authorization.”

  “I’m your authorization.” Ashwin strides up to the guards’ line of defense. “Commander, bring us the rest of the kindred’s party.”

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” says the commander, bowing. “My orders come from Vizier Gyan. No one may enter either camp without his permission.”

  “Those are my soldiers,” Ashwin says louder, with more backbone than I thought he possessed.

  Natesa gapes at Ashwin in disbelief. “That’s the prince,” I whisper to her.

  She shakes her head slightly to dispel her shock at his resemblance to his father. Our onlookers comprehend that their prince stands before them, and their muttering starts anew.

  “I understand, Your Majesty,” replies the commander, “but those men deserted their posts. They’re cowards and traitors.”

  Ashwin steps up to him, radiating authority. “According to your reasoning, I too am a traitor. Do you believe I’m a coward, Commander?”

  “Prince Ashwin,” Princess Citra calls from above. She and Opal soar down on a wing flyer and land nearby.

  “Who’s that?” Natesa asks me.

  “Princess Citra,” I say lowly. “She’s all beauty and, as far as I can tell, no heart.”

  The princess struts up to our group and snaps orders at her soldiers. “This spectacle will end now. Return the refugees to their tents.”

  The guards corral the bystanders away from the fence and back inside their temporary quarters.

  “She stays with me,” I say, stepping in front of Natesa.

  “Refugees aren’t permitted inside the palace,” Princes Citra replies with icy contempt.

  “Kalinda requires a servant she trusts, Your Highness.” Ashwin follows up his statement with a deferential nod. “Surely you must understand.”

  Princess Citra offers him a mild smile. “I appreciate your consideration for the kindred’s comfort, but my father’s decrees are final.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to disobey your father.” Ashwin accentuates his charming good looks with a conspiratorial smile. “This would be between us. I would consider it a personal favor.”

  Princess Citra sidles closer to him and skims a trimmed nail down his arm. “I suppose the kindred may retain one servant.”

  “What of my guards?” I ask.

  The princess’s attention slides to me. “They’ll remain here.”

  “I’m not leaving without them.” I raise my hands to employ my powers, but some of the refugees still watch from inside the camp. My people cannot know I am a Burner, or I will lose my influence to help them. As much as it pains me to leave Yatin and Deven, I do not see this quarrel ending in our favor.

  I retrieve my dagger from the dirt and sheathe the blade. “We’re done here.”

  Princess Citra loops her arm through Ashwin’s. “Ride with me back to the palace?” she asks, dripping sweetness. After a swift glance at me, he agrees. She tips up her nose in victory, and they stroll to the wing flyer where Opal waits.

  “Kindred, I’ll have your servant escorted to the palace,” the commander says.

  Natesa bristles at being called my servant, but I am in no mood to pacify her. I go to the wing flyer and climb on opposite Ashwin and Princess Citra. Opal’s summoned draft elevates us into the night sky. Looking down, I quickly memorize the layout of the military camp.

  My throne is a noose around my neck. I must be careful that what I do next does not trip the trapdoor.

  Ashwin escorts me back to my chambers. As soon as the door shuts, I step up to him. “You aren’t the naive boy you put forward, are you? I saw you with those guards. You have mettle when you want it.”

  He waves aside my recounting of his bravado. “I’m whatever my people need.”

  “Your people need a leader. Release Captain Naik. He’s the reason I escaped Vanhi.”

  “I have no authority here.” Ashwin holds up his empty hands. “This isn’t my land. I cannot release him or anyone else until after the tournament.”

  “You haven’t even tried,” I growl.

  Ashwin edges nearer to me. “I’m not blind. You care for this Captain Naik.” He reads my answer in my defiant gaze, and his voice softens. “Should you win the tournament, I’ll free you from your wifely rank.”

  “You lie.” I dare not trust the prince’s tempting offer.

  He comes right up to me, our eye level equal. “I was bold tonight because you were there. I’m a better ruler with you beside me. But if you compete in the tournament and win, I vow you’ll no longer be a rani unless that’s your wish.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  He sweeps my hair behind my shoulder, his gaze roving my face. “I’m willing to let you go, but I will fight for you, Kalinda.”

  I turn away, undone by his forwardness. “I need to think.”

  Ashwin blows out a heavy breath. “Are all women this frustrating?”

  “Only those of us with minds.”

  He squelches his irritation and replies with politeness. “I need your answer by morning. I hope . . . I hope you will accept my offer.”

  I hear him draw away, his feet dragging, and I shove the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. He offered me freedom, but with a stomach-churning contingency—I must battle for my throne. Why must I continually prove my worthiness? I swore when I left the arena that I would not return. Should I break my vow for the ranis being held prisoner in the Turquoise Palace? For the thousands of people trapped in the encampments? For Deven?

  I drop my hands, my arms limp beside me. Ashwin is certain I will compete. Is this the arrogance of a prince, or has he inherited Tarek’s domineering will? I cringe from the thought. Ashwin’s intentions aside, can my aversion to violence and my abhorrence for diplomatic necessities justify my doing nothing? The fate of the Tarachand Empire teeters on the edge of a blade. Someone must stand up to Hastin. But even after witnessing Ashwin defend me against the guards, he is not the one. Only a bhuta can defeat the warlord’s Trembler powers.

  Perhaps this is my godly purpose. Perhaps the gods are not finished with me yet.

  Only one person can clear my confusion. I hurry to the balcony and throw open the door. Opal stands there, blocking my path.

  “You shouldn’t go,” she says. “You’ll get caught.”

  She must have been listening to my conversation with Ashwin. “Why didn’t you tell me my people had arrived?”

  “Brother Shaan asked me not to.” Opal drops her gaze, her dark eyelashes resting against her reddened cheeks. “He wanted you to go with the prince tonight. He thought if you saw the state of our people, you would agree to compete.”

  Brother Shaan is trying to coerce me into joining the trial tournament. Was Ashwin privy to this manipulation? The beginning of a headache shortens my reply. “I won’t leave my guards imprisoned. If you have any compassion for what happens to them, you’ll get out of my way.”

  Opal opens and then closes her mouth, locked in hesitancy. Then, without a word, she steps aside and allows me to pass.

  Kneel
ing at the banister, I find the vine from earlier. I shimmy down and land in the shadowy gardens, the sweet scent of hibiscus around me.

  “Kindred,” Opal calls down quietly, chewing her lower lip. “Captain Naik is being held in a hut on the south end of the military compound. Guards are patrolling the other side of the gardens right now. Take the stairs to the jungle, and hurry. Night watchmen do their rounds every fifteen minutes. If you go now, you should miss their next pass.”

  I nod at her, the only apology I can dig out of my anger, and dart through the hushed garden. Sneaking around the palace, I locate the stairs that lead to the base of the hill and down into the Morass. Cicadas chorus loudly, concealing my footfalls through the brushwood. The jungle night air is so thick with bugs I breathe through my nose to avoid swallowing them.

  Outside the military encampment, near the wall where Deven’s cell should be, I hunker down in the ferns and memorize the path of the patrolling guards.

  Ready . . . and go.

  I dash into the clearing, leap onto a fallen tree for height, and jump off the log to the partition. Gripping the lip of the wall, I pull myself up and slide over to the other side. I land in a crouch and survey the still tents.

  Dagger in hand, I sneak up to the boxy, windowless hut. No guard stands watch. I lift the crossbar over the door, open it, and slip into the darkness. An iron grasp clamps around my neck. My dagger is wrenched from my hand and held near my eye.

  “You bruise my ego, using my own weapon against me,” I garble out.

  Deven lowers the blade on a prayer. “Thank the gods.”

  “You flatter me.”

  He twirls me around and crushes me in a hug. “I haven’t stopped praying for your safety since I saw you fly away in Tarachand.”

  “No one told me you’d arrived. Are you all right?”

  He nods against my forehead. “You smell like home.”

  I smile, and he presses his lips to mine. I link my arms around his shoulders and tuck my curves against him. In the dark, he is all warm arms, hard muscles, and satin lips. My hands roam to his back and find wetness. Deven hisses and pulls away. I light up my hand with my powers.