The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2)

by Emily R. King

  The sun sinks into the treetops. Standing with my competitors at the Morass, I try to dismiss the notion that every creeping creature lurking in the trees is waiting to draw me into the jungle’s gullet.

  A small crowd of onlookers gather to hear what our skill of demonstration will be. Princess Citra holds herself with confidence, at ease in this wild land of her heritage. Indah and Tinley peer anxiously into the foliage. I seek out Ashwin. He is the only attendee who cares what happens to me. Although he is preoccupied with the sultan, my nerves are steadier with him near.

  The sultan addresses us from the front of the crowd. “Welcome to skill demonstrations. The purpose of this preliminary contest is to provide competitors the opportunity to display their abilities to all of the foreign dignitaries and courts. At the sound of the gong, competitors will go into the jungle and search out the most deadly thing the Morass has to offer. Dangerous animals, plants, and insects dwell here. Each competitor must find and capture one lethal living thing from the jungle. This demonstration will test their weaponry skill, tracking and hunting ability, and orienteering.”

  The Morass is not somewhere I wish to spend the day, let alone the night. I try to avoid things that want to kill me.

  “One more rule.” Sultan Kuval’s mustache twitches with delight. “Competitors must return to the palace throne room by dawn with their deadly offering or be disqualified.”

  The old buzzard is changing the rules. By tradition, skill demonstrations are regulated, to the point of allotting the same amount of time to each competitor for her performance. Adding the possibility of elimination is unheard of. But protesting the alteration is pointless. The sultan and my competitors will think I am a bellyacher if I complain. Moreover, this does not change my plan. I will still be in and out of the jungle as fast as I can.

  Sultan Kuval directs the servant manning the gong. “Ready your mark.”

  Indah bends into her knees, preparing to run. Citra draws her machete and sends me an arrogant grin. Her father handpicked this skill demonstration to suit her. Tinley straightens the strap of her quiver, filled with bolts for her crossbow.

  The gong sounds, vibrating across the open space. My competitors tear off in separate directions. I draw my daggers and sprint into the dense trees.

  Beneath the leafy canopy, grayness coats everything, thick as the steaming air. I dart through the cloying mists, water rattling in my lungs. Soon, I can no longer hear the sounds of civilization, and I pause to catch my breath.

  Strange noises echo all around me. Above me, a macaque peers down from a low bough. Its persistent stare itches at my nerves. Monkeys can bite when provoked, but they are not considered dangerous. I am here for the most lethal predator I can find. The king of the Morass.

  I walk away from the macaque and trudge into a swamp, wading up to my knees. Fireflies zip past me, brightening flecks of light. The shielded sky dims to pervasive dark. My thighs burn as I wrench my feet from the muddy waters. I would fashion a torch of some kind, but everything is soaked and green, unfit for burning.

  When I finally leave the bog, something wiggles against my leg. I bend down and brush against a slimy, fat body. “Agh!” Hopping up and down, I pluck the leeches off my ankles. Blood spills from my skin where they fed from me. Leeches are deadly in large numbers, but I can do better. I toss the bloated pests aside and move on.

  Not too far ahead, the trees open to a quiet clearing, and I come to a halt. Moonlight shines down on old stone pilings. I follow a dilapidated, crumbling wall to the structure’s darkened main entrance set between two pillars. The ancient ruins extend underground and into the hillside. These must be the remains of an archaic temple, abandoned long ago. Predators could be holed up inside, but I step away, my footsteps cautious. I will not trespass on sacred ground.

  Something behind me snaps. I pull my dagger and whirl around. Before I see anything, the ground beneath me buckles and lifts me backward.

  Citra’s shadow splits from a copse of ferns. She raises the ground beneath me again, and the avalanche shoves me toward the temple entrance. I stumble on the sliding dirt dragging me into the ruins. I grab the lip of the door and hang on. Citra sends forth an incessant stream of rocks, pelting my arms and face.

  “You’ve found the most deadly thing in the jungle,” she says.

  “Your father didn’t mean our opponents.”

  “My father underestimates me. He thinks I’m unfit to rule, but I’ll show him how worthy I am after I take your throne.”

  She pummels me with more dirt, pushing me farther inside. My grip on the doorjamb lessens, my beaten knuckles aching.

  “This was Ki’s sanctuary,” Citra yells over the barrage. “Under these ruins lies a labyrinth of tunnels. Even if you find a way out, you will not return to the palace by dawn. Do me a favor—don’t return at all.”

  She throws a storm of rubble at me. I grip the doorway, soil seeping into my nose and stinging my eyes. Larger rocks hit my wrists and arms. One of my hands slips. Holding on with my final grip, I reach for my powers, but a landslide sweeps me into the ruins.

  Citra seals the door, and I am locked in the dark.

  14

  DEVEN

  I part my eyelids at the creak of the cell door. The Aquifier healer comes in carrying a lamp. He is followed by a man with a haunting face. I blink fast, questioning my sight. Rajah Tarek . . . except he looks as he did when he was younger.

  While growing up in the Turquoise Palace, I would sneak glances at His Majesty from behind my nursemaid’s skirts. His domineering presence and lust for cruelty petrified me. Rajah Tarek controlled my mother’s life and sought to destroy all bhutas, including my brother, who was forced to hide his powers. When I finally stood against Tarek, my years of loyal service as his soldier meant nothing.

  “Captain Naik, I’ve come to view your progress.”

  The stranger’s voice is higher and smoother than Tarek’s. Prince Ashwin. I did not get a fair look at him when he came for Kali the other night, but his voice matches my memory.

  The Aquifier moves behind me and runs his hands down my back, over my still-healing wounds. I hiss at a brief flare of pain, my skin stretched thin. The prince frowns—a show of compassion or culpability?—and occupies the stool beside my cot. Great skies, he looks like his father.

  “Well?” the prince asks the healer.

  “Captain Naik has recovered remarkably fast, but he still has scars.”

  “Continue your sessions until they’re gone,” says the prince, “including the one on his shoulder.”

  The one on my shoulder is where I was struck by an arrow while escaping execution. An arrow Rajah Tarek ordered his guards to fire.

  “It’s an older wound, but I’ll do my best, Your Majesty.”

  I wait for the Aquifier to leave and then speak to the prince. “I don’t mind scars.”

  “I cannot decide if you deserve them or not. Did you betray Rajah Tarek?”

  “I already confessed to the vizier.”

  “I want to hear from you,” he says.

  This boy has placed himself between Kali and me like a stone wall. His concern about my injuries—wounds he caused—means less than nothing. I remove all emotion from my voice and report my answer. “Rajah Tarek caught me trying to steal the Zhaleh and presumed I was working for Hastin.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “No.” I planned to exchange the Zhaleh for the warlord’s help in getting Kali and me out of Vanhi, but the prince does not need to know that.

  “Kalinda credits you for escaping Vanhi. I’m grateful for your loyalty to her.”

  I slam my teeth together. The scars on my back were not caused by his civility. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Even so, I am in your debt. I hope someday soon Kalinda will become my kindred. I thought it fair to let my intentions be known.”

  At the finish of his words, the wall between Kali and me grows taller and thicker. “Are you in love with her?”
I scrape out.

  “Are you?”

  I boost my chin, unwilling to answer. “Why are you here?”

  He sits nearer to me. A gold cuff on his wrist reflects the brassy lamplight. “I don’t want hard feelings between us. I need your support and leadership with my soldiers.”

  “Your soldiers don’t recognize you as their rajah, and they believe I’m a traitor. They won’t trust me again.”

  “They may trust you after I exonerate you.” His certainty rivals mine—a blood-borne arrogance stemming from generations of rajahs.

  “Why do you need me?” I ask, holding to my defiance. “You have a yard full of soldiers out there.”

  “Kalinda trusts you.” Prince Ashwin studies me, trying to understand what Kali could possibly see in a battered soldier. “Sultan Kuval has overextended his authority. I have tried to dismantle these encampments, but Kuval knows he maintains control so long as he detains my people and soldiers. He says he will provide aid once the trial tournament is through, regardless of the outcome, but the quickest way for him to cow me is to extort his hospitality.”

  “You don’t think he’ll honor his word?”

  “I won’t know until the trial tournament is through. By then it will be too late. No matter the outcome, my men must be ready to march on Vanhi. As it stands, I have an army but no commander. You have three days to ready them.”

  I bark a hollow laugh. Three days to redeem myself? I have no command over these men. “Even if I could regain the men’s trust, I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t need you to trust me. I need you to obey.” His hard voice shrinks my scowl. I was a soldier too long to defy my ruler without suffering regret. “My coming here to visit you wasn’t simple. Opal and Rohan are diverting all sound and standing watch, and I had to bribe the healer not to tell anyone I came. I won’t have the opportunity to visit you again. I need you to rally the men. Prepare them for every possible outcome, and I will promote you to general.”

  I exhale a tight breath, aghast at the ease with which he negotiates. This is what the prince does. He bribes people with promises he does not intend to honor. How much control can he truly have when he is surviving off the generosity of the sultan? “You cannot remove Hastin from the Turquoise Palace without help from a bhuta army.”

  “I am aware.”

  His neutral tone riles me more. “Then what are you going to do about it? You want me to earn the allegiance of your men. Don’t you think that at some point you should earn their respect on your own merits, without Kali or me?”

  Princes Ashwin chuckles. “I admire your straightforwardness, Captain Naik. I know you don’t like me yet, so do this for Kalinda. We both know she’s the true face of the change coming to Tarachand.”

  The prince professes to have good intentions for Kali, but I cannot muster the trust needed to fall in line behind him. He has the power to save the empire—or be the ruin of us all. Kali is directly tied to his actions. If Prince Ashwin falls, she will go down with him. Like Rajah Tarek, a noble’s rule ends in death. Kali is tied not merely to her throne but to this boy prince who could get her killed, either in the tournament or from his inexperience as a ruler.

  My voice toughens. “Exonerate me, and I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Prince Ashwin replies. “Naturally, this cannot go beyond us. Please don’t tell your men about your orders.”

  Winning over the loyalty of the men in three days will be beyond difficult—it will be nearly impossible, especially without telling them I am acting under the prince’s orders. But I cannot risk someone snitching on me to the vizier. “You have my word.”

  “Again, I thank you.” The prince stands and tugs down his tunic, a disquieting movement I saw Rajah Tarek perform countless times.

  My angry voice strikes out at him. “You can keep your thanks and tell me this—did you order me lashed?”

  Prince Ashwin pushes back with a stern frown. “Does it matter if I did?”

  “It matters to Kali.”

  Redness crawls up his throat. My actions are insubordinate. Skies, I could be lashed again for my belligerence. But to my amazement, the prince’s expression tempers with sympathy. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. It was not done on my command.”

  His regret humbles me to a place of reflection. Good Anu, I think I believe him. “Then who gave the order?”

  “I don’t know.” His face sharpens with aggression. “But I promise when I discover who it was, they will pay.”

  The prince slips out, and the glowing lantern he left does little to cast away the shadows of my uncertainty.

  15

  KALINDA

  Darkness smothers me. The air is thinner and enclosed inside the ruins. I lie on my back and stare into nothing. I cannot see my hand in front of my face.

  My hand.

  I push my powers into my fingers. They cast a pale glow, uncovering walls strangled by vines and an uneven rocky floor buckled with tree roots. After getting up, I wrench a dry root free. I cup the top of the wood and shove my powers into it. A small flame sparks. I blow on the flame, and my breath caresses the new embers into a blaze.

  The torchlight brightens the caved-in entry. The rock pile is too high and packed thick, well within the doorframe. I have to find another way out.

  Extending the torch in front of me, I hazard my way into the ruins. The floor slopes, leading me into the trenches. Every few steps I pause and listen for sounds above my thumping heart. Water drips nearby, but the rowdy jungle noises are absent. The corridor breaks off into dark doorways. I choose the path in front of me over and over again, maintaining a line. I lose track of time, but at least an hour, maybe two, passes before I enter a large room.

  Torchlight opens up the area, which has not seen sunlight in a long while. Moss blankets the floor, and fungus sprouts from rotten branches. The ceiling is so high I cannot see it beyond the circle of light.

  The hairs on my bare arms bristle as I cross the cold room to a wall mural. The land-goddess stares out at me. A gigantic dragon cobra swathes her strong shoulders. Ki is magnificent, nearly the whole height of the great chamber.

  The mural continues, transitioning from thriving jungle foliage to a scene at a mountaintop. Jagged peaks with snowy tips and gray rock fill my sight. The depiction of the Alpanas—home—chokes me with longing. On the top of the summit, perched like a bird of prey, is a blue-black snakelike monster. Below it, legions of warriors shoot arrows at the beast. The great serpent blows fire into their ranks, burning them to ashy silhouettes. The mural is lifelike, and as an artist I admire the painted detail. I close in on the sinister serpent, the First-Ever Dragon. The demon Kur is rarely depicted in portraits, but I remember once seeing a sketch of his blue-black scaly form.

  Deep breathing rings out behind me.

  I spin around. “Who’s there?”

  The echo of my voice answers, and then silence, broken only by my drumming pulse.

  Turning my back to the wall, I cross carefully to the center of the room. Four stairs lead me up a dais. The circle of my torchlight brushes against the base of a throne. I approach the old stone chair, bringing the light nearer. The back of the seat is fashioned into the head of a dragon with its jaw open, poised to devour its occupant. The rest of the dragon’s serpentine body winds around the heavy feet. This was Ki’s throne. I can imagine her ruling from here, deep in the heart of the jungle she dominates. But why does a dragon decorate her place of power?

  Ki’s throne room is belowground, where her territory meets the demon Kur’s. Perhaps Ki came here to visit Kur, and the story of their being lovers is true. I cannot think of another reason why she would rule from a throne shaped into the symbol of a demon.

  Breathing sounds again, closer.

  I thrust the torchlight out in front of me. “Show yourself,” I demand shakily.

  The air stirs behind me. Nothing emerges from the blackness, but the hairs on my body rise. Something lurks in the d
ark. In the Void.

  In front of me, behind the throne, two blue eyes blaze. I cannot see what they belong to, but they smolder with a fire that is strange to mankind. They are more darkness than light, like what remains after a star collapses.

  The rank marks on the backs of my hands burn. Wincing in pain, I nearly drop the torch, but I maintain my grip on the light. Whatever creature dwells in this shadowed lair burned me—and it is not of this world.

  I force my knees to bend and my feet to move. I back up and follow the wall around the chamber. All the while, the blazing blue eyes watch me. Behind the dais, a doorway leads to an antechamber. I crest the threshold and run. My footfalls resound off the walls and come back to me, as though I am being chased. I push myself faster. The antechamber empties into a corridor. Then another. The hallways weave endlessly, and soon the floor inclines. I climb into warmer air and pause for a breath. I see no signs of the soulless creature following me, but I press on.

  Before long, exhaustion drags my pace, and my torch burns low, near to extinguishing. No, don’t go out. I will never find my way out of here without light. I scan the ground with the dying torch to find its replacement and see dead roots near a short alcove. I crouch over the roots and wrench on the loose wood.

  Something hisses.

  I freeze with my arm outstretched. A black snake lifts its head level to my face and spreads its neck ribs into a flat, wide hood. I recognize the viper’s diamond markings from the popular depiction of Ki. A dragon cobra.

  The torchlight goes out.

  Gods above.

  Another hiss pierces my chest. Darkness conceals the cobra, but it is near. I slowly pull back my arm. Resting both palms on the ground, I brighten my fingers to a glow. In the dimness, I distinguish the shape of the serpent before me, coiled to strike. I dare not reach for my dagger while in its striking distance.

  Ever so slowly, I shift my body weight from my arms to my knees. The dragon cobra stands higher and waits for me to move again. For an excuse to strike. Venom hides in its fangs. Another sort of danger hides inside me.