Blood.
“You’re injured.” My fingers glow hot in fury, and Deven backs away in fear. My powers are blinding in the darkened cell, scarier than they should be. I promptly let the light inside me fade, leaving just enough so I can still see him. “What happened?”
“My men turned me in,” he says, slumping against the wall. “Prince Ashwin ordered me whipped.”
“Ashwin did this? But I was with him all evening.”
“He commanded my sentencing.”
My temper brightens my hands again. Ashwin’s openness and thoughtfulness were a diversion, a manipulation to convince me to compete in the tournament. I wipe Deven’s blood off on my clothes. “You aren’t staying here. You’re coming to the palace with me. I’ll find you a healer.”
“I cannot leave. My men aren’t safe here. I cannot abandon them.”
My expression slackens. Deven wants to stay to look after the same men who turned him in?
“I betrayed the rajah, Kali.” His voice is so small it nearly shatters me. “I won’t betray them too.”
I cross to him and lift his chin. I do not miss his flinch when I touch him. “You opposed Tarek to protect me. Now let me protect you.”
Deven unpeels my dimly shining hand from his face and frowns at the faint number one on the back. “I heard about the trial tournament. You need to compete.”
My voice snags on a surprised breath. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What’s to decide?” Deven strokes his thumb over my rank number, his lips pinching. “You wed Rajah Tarek. Your life belongs to the empire.”
He is wrong; my life belongs to me. I take a moment to regroup, and then answer. “I married Tarek to end his life. He told me you were dead. Stop punishing me for wedding him.”
“I’m not punishing you,” Deven says, infuriatingly calm. “But I cannot undo the past or change the law.”
“We don’t have to change the law. Ashwin promised me freedom if I win.”
Deven shakes his head forlornly. “The prince would be a fool to let you go. Even if you prevail in the trial tournament, he’ll need you by his side to win the war and rebuild the empire.” Resignation tempers his tone, wrenching my gut. “Kali, the prince will always need you.”
His assertion frays at me, scoring away at the part of me that believes we have a choice in our fates.
An alarm sounds outside the door, followed by agitated shouts. Feet thump nearby, rattling the thin walls. They know I’m here.
The door bangs open, and the first light of dawn falls inside. Guards charge in around us. Deven lowers to the ground and places his hands on top of his bowed head.
Prince Ashwin steps into the hut and observes Deven with open curiosity. Brother Shaan stands at the doorway.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“One of the Galer guards heard you sneak into camp,” Brother Shaan says, his voice quieter than usual. “Vizier Gyan threatened to apprehend you, but we promised we would bring you back to the palace without incident.”
“Deven is coming with me,” I say.
“Kali—” Deven attempts to look up, but a guard hits him over the head with the hilt of his machete. He stoops in pain.
I yank out my daggers and aim them at the guards. “Leave us.” After a nod from Brother Shaan, they back out of the hut. The torn flesh of Deven’s back bleeds anew. I glare at Ashwin. “You did this to him.”
“I . . . what?” Ashwin asks.
“You ordered Captain Naik lashed.”
“Where did you hear this?” asks the prince.
“Vizier Gyan said you gave the order, Your Majesty,” Deven grits out, his gaze down.
Ashwin raises his square chin. He does not deny Deven’s claim, but his burning resentment causes me to pause.
“Kalinda, we must go, or they’ll imprison you too,” says Brother Shaan, one eye on the exit. “I’ll see that Captain Naik is cared for.”
“Deven has done nothing worse than I have,” I reply. “Release him or I’ll tell everyone the truth.”
Ashwin’s baffled gaze volleys from me to Brother Shaan. The prince is the only one in the hut who does not know I killed Rajah Tarek.
“Your reputation mustn’t be tarnished,” Brother Shaan pleads. “The people need a champion. They need hope.”
“They need their rani,” adds Deven. He hangs his head so low his hair falls into his face. “May the gods protect you, Kindred.”
I reel at his use of my imperial rank. “Don’t do this, Deven. Come with me.”
He offers no reply, so I sheathe my daggers and bend down to search his face for a weakening of resolve. His chin quivers, but he does not meet my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “I didn’t want any of this.” I never wanted Tarek to claim me or to fight in his rank tournament or to be the people’s champion.
But I became what Tarek wanted. I am a slave to his throne.
“I won’t stop fighting for us,” I promise. “Even if it means competing in the tournament. Even if it means owning my throne. I will not quit until I have the power to return for you—and then we will walk out of here together.”
I lay my hand over Deven’s, yearning for him to vow to fight with me—fight for me. His thumb brushes across my finger. Gods, let that be a sign. Let him understand that what I do next is for us both. I wait for a stronger signal from him, but none comes.
As I rise, I avoid looking at Ashwin for fear that I will throw a heatwave at him and roast him like a goose. “An Aquifier will heal Captain Naik,” I order Brother Shaan. “Tell the healer not to leave a single scar.”
“Yes, Kindred.”
I search out Deven’s support one last time, but his head stays lowered.
Wiping my face dry, I sweep past Ashwin out of the hut. Dawn rests upon the eastern horizon, tucking away the night. Tarachandian soldiers, groggy from sleep, amble out of their tents to view the source of the ruckus. They spot Ashwin and me surrounded by guards and murmur to one another. I wish I knew which one turned Deven in. I would scorch him to ash. Can they not see we must stand together? We have been divided by those who claim to aid us, and these camps are only the beginning.
“I am Kindred Kalinda,” I call out to the men, and they hush to listen. “My throne is mine, and no foreigner will take it from me. I will compete in the trial tournament—and I will win. The next time you see me, it will be to release you to your families.”
Shouts of praise ring out. The guards hastily usher Ashwin and me from the compound, but the hollers of the imprisoned soldiers follow us. “Kindred . . . Kindred . . .”
I loathe that title, but it is all I have left to cling to. My throne, my power, can release these people and provide me a path back to Deven.
But outside the gate, where I can no longer see his cell, doubts crowd in around me. Can I win? Can I retain my throne in this strange land? The peaceful life I dreamed of is so far away. I grasp on to my beautiful wish for Deven and me and shove it down safe. I must hold on to it or my determination will tear in two.
Across the way, our people line the fence of the civilian encampment to glimpse Prince Ashwin and me. They cry my name, and a memory chills me. They chanted for me the day I won my rank tournament.
Ashwin grasps my arm to demonstrate our unity. I allow his touch to linger, but as we begin the climb to the palace, I tug away.
“Kalinda,” he starts, “I didn’t—”
“Don’t.” I will not hear his defense of Deven’s punishment. The damage is done.
We reach the pinnacle of the hillside, and our people still intone my name, their emboldened cheers heard on high. I pray their shouts wake Sultan Kuval, for when he hears their voices sounding as one, he will know we are not beaten.
11
KALINDA
As Natesa finishes brushing kohl around my eyes, her knuckle grazes my nose, triggering an itch. I reach up to scratch it, and she smacks my hand away.
; “You smudged the corner!” she fumes and then fixes the blemish with impatient brushstrokes.
After I slept until the early afternoon, Natesa dragged me out of bed to ready me for the declaration ceremony. I have been avoiding the mirror glass since earlier, when I stole a glimpse of my pallid reflection. Every broken shard of my heart was visible in my bloodshot eyes.
Natesa stands back to admire her work. She has been short with me since we were told servants are not allowed to attend the tournament proceedings. She does not like being left out almost as much as she dislikes people ordering her about.
“That’ll do,” she proclaims.
I brace myself for disappointment and look at my reflection. My makeup is flawless. My hair is brushed to a shine that could outdo a brass gong in the sun, and the plum sari is elegantly majestic. Natesa has fashioned me into a rani.
Our days of eyeing each other maliciously are over. We have come a long way since she conceded to me during our rank-tournament battle. She no longer calls me names, and I do not bait her. We are not friends, but we are friendly.
She rests a fist on her hip. “Well?”
“Thank you,” I say, my tears swelling.
She pats my back awkwardly. “Don’t spoil your face.”
“Sorry. I’m tired.” And raw, inside and out. I was daring last night, brash in my purpose, but the light of day has revealed the truth.
Deven has pushed me away.
I am a mosaic of busted pieces desperately held together. I long to burrow under my bedcovers and shut out the world, but I have to face the trial tournament and act every part the collected rani the mirror glass pretends I am.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Natesa asks, her voice quiet.
Her offer is kind, but I doubt I could answer without shedding more tears and spoiling her hard work. “Maybe another time.”
Natesa turns away before I can see her full reaction, but her jawline tightens.
The door opens, and Opal slips inside. She stays near the exit, her gaze full of pity. She must have heard what took place in the prison hut. Opal holds up a sheer gold veil. “This is from Brother Shaan. He said you only have to wear it tonight.”
So I am to play the part of the grieving widow before the sultan’s court and other foreign dignitaries, am I? Brother Shaan knows wearing a symbol of devotion to Tarek disgusts me. But he is concerned about keeping what I did in Vanhi a secret. Someone could see through my lack of grief over losing Tarek and ask questions.
I go to Opal and let her hook the veil behind my ears. The gossamer cloth brushes my nose, hanging from below my eyes to my chin. “About yesterday,” she begins. “I’m sorry—”
“I’m not mad at you anymore. I understand you were only following Brother Shaan’s orders.”
She relaxes a tad, relieved and grateful for my forgiveness. “I won’t hide anything from you again, Kindred,” she promises. I smile at her through my transparent veil. “Prince Ashwin is waiting for you in his chambers.”
My smile falls. “I can walk to the garden myself.”
“His Majesty wants to tell you what he learned about Captain Naik’s punishment,” Opal says with an unsaid plea. She has been sent to retrieve me and could be in trouble if I disobey. I am not afraid of defying the prince, but not if my rebelliousness will wrong Opal.
“Oh, all right.” I stride out the door ahead of her. I may as well face Ashwin before the declaration ceremony. Who knows what I could do to him in public should he upset me further? But with each step down the corridor, my anger strengthens. Nothing Ashwin has to say will relieve him of his culpability.
Rohan stands guard outside the prince’s chamber. He opens the door, and I careen past him inside.
Ashwin is waiting, dressed in his finest apparel, an elegant gold-embroidered scarlet tunic over fitted dark-gray trousers. He gapes at me. “Kalinda, you look . . . you look radiant.”
My cheeks warm despite myself. Rajah Tarek saw me as a possession to own and control. Everything I did reflected upon his greatness. Ashwin’s compliment is sheer, unselfish approval.
Across the palace grounds, a gong rings three times, jolting Ashwin out of his daze. “That’s our summons,” he says.
“Opal said you wanted to speak with me first.”
He rakes a hand through his combed-back hair. “Yes, of course.” He shoves his fidgety hands into his pockets. “I wish to explain about last night. I’m very alarmed by Captain Naik’s punishment. I give you my word I had nothing to do with it. Vizier Gyan claims to have received a written order from me. I swear to you I sent no such message. Brother Shaan did not make me aware of your party’s arrival, and, as you recall, I was with you at the time of the . . . incident.”
We both know he could have conspired with Brother Shaan before we left for the encampments, but I set that aside for now. “Then who hurt Deven?”
“I don’t know. I asked to see the message that supposedly came from me, but Vizier Gyan had thrown it away.” Ashwin’s apology means little without resolution. He must realize he is failing to convince me, and he hurries onward. “Kalinda, I think someone used Captain Naik to hurt you, probably to dissuade you from competing. As I would do nothing to discourage you from the tournament, it would be counterintuitive for me to have done this.”
My shoulders sink a little. In that case, whoever hurt Deven must be involved in the trial tournament and could stand to benefit from securing my throne. Princess Citra or Sultan Kuval could have forged the prince’s order. But how did they know that hurting Deven would hurt me? Worry flips my stomach over and over like a tarnished coin. Whoever used Deven to get to me could do it again.
“I had a word with Brother Shaan about holding back information,” Ashwin says. “He has assured me it will not happen twice. I’ve also asked Opal and Rohan to listen to the happenings in the military camp to prevent another debacle. They’re also investigating who the culprit could be.” Ashwin maintains an even tone, but his expression darkens. “My authority will not be undermined again.”
Indecision lurks over me. I tire of questioning his intentions, but his anger reminds me too closely of Tarek’s.
“Do you believe me?” Ashwin asks.
I choose my reply with careful regard. “I believe it doesn’t make sense for you to have done this.” The first motive I can think of would be jealousy, but Ashwin did not know of my affection for Deven until after the lashing.
The prince loosens some but still holds his pocketed hands tense. “A healer is attending to Captain Naik, per your request. I wish there was another way I could make this up to you.”
“As soon as the tournament ends, you can grant me my freedom.”
“I’ll do so gladly.” Ashwin offers me his arm and a smile. “Until then, I’ll enjoy your company.”
I link my elbow through his, worry turning my lips downward. Ashwin said his mantle of authority weighs lighter on him when I am by his side. He claims he is acting in the best interest of our people, but when he smiles at me, he is not thinking of his empire.
He smiles at me as though I am his entire world.
Ashwin escorts me to the palace gardens, down a walkway with shorn shrubberies and across an arched bridge over a slow-moving stream. The placid water flows to the nearby cliff and transforms into a roaring waterfall. I am the stream in both its forms: calm on the exterior, raging inside.
We pass a statue of the land-goddess Ki with a dragon cobra slung over her shoulders. I have always admired her plentiful curves and fiery gaze. Ki is equal parts the tenacity of the mountains, asperity of the desert, steadiness of the grasslands, and carnal bounty of the forest. This likeness of her reminds me of the painted murals in the temples back home, except for one part.
“Why do Janardanians depict Ki with a snake?” I ask Ashwin as he walks beside me.
“If I recall my studies correctly, snakes are distant relatives to dragons. In the Janardanians’ portrayal of the land-goddess, the drago
n cobra represents the demon Kur. Some people believe Kur and Ki were lovers. Others have gone as far as to say their union bore a child.”
I rear back to look at him. “Ki would never take a demon for a lover.”
Ashwin shrugs. “Ki supposedly had a wandering eye, and Kur was said to dote on her.”
“You’re a romantic,” I say on a laugh. “You think the myth is true?”
“It’s possible. Everyone has redeemable qualities.”
“Even demons?”
His smile waivers, but his answer remains resolute. “Especially demons.”
Guests and palace attendees gather in the lattice-roofed terrace that has a view over the twilight sky and city. Flowering vines twist up the exterior columns and latticework overhead to the gray dome ceiling. Teardrop lantern chandeliers light the late-afternoon shadows.
Veiled women of various ages, with inarguable beauty, kneel on one side of the terrace. They must be the sultan’s wives, his sultanas. Additional lovely women in slightly less gaudy finery sit behind them, the sultan’s courtesans. Kuval’s court is smaller than Tarek’s, and his women are soft and plump from their privileged life. I do not see a single sister warrior among them. They have never set foot in an arena. Tarek reinstated rank tournaments, even though they were abolished centuries ago. He alone hungered for the arena violence, and his wives bore the scars from the ruthless duels he forced upon them for his entertainment. I would be in different circumstances had I been claimed by a man like Kuval. His sultanas and courtesans are pretty possessions to pet once in a while, not sister warriors to pit against one another in the arena.
On the opposite half of the terrace, representatives from Paljor and Lestari congregate in groups. I cannot tell which of them will be my opponents, but they all wear formfitting clothes made of thick material and carry strange, flashy weapons.
Sultan Kuval oversees the gathering from his throne on the dais. The back of his seat is fashioned from elephant tusks. I recall hearing that elephants are sacred in the sultanate. Janardanians believe elephants are the first animals the land-goddess introduced to the Morass.
The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2) Page 11