I push more light into my hands planted on the ground. The dirt around them smokes, and the cobra recoils from the awful burning smell. I quickly grab the snake behind the head. The viper’s jaws unhinge, opening to bite, and its body whips against my arm. I scorch its neck, pushing in the full heat of my powers. Its leathery skin around my hand turns dry, and the cobra’s body slackens. I drop it and withhold my inner light. Shadows sink through the world.
It’s dead. It’s gone.
I wait for my heartbeat to calm and then light my hand with my powers. The cobra lies still before me. Beside it, an ember burns in the dirt where I created the smoke. The small light is not intimidating like a campfire or a full flame, but it is still nature-fire, born of me. I scoop up the ember in the dirt, cradling it in my palm. I can sense its light fading. As I am fire, and fire is me, I am responsible not to let it go out.
I call to the ember with my powers, not pushing but singing and coaxing. Come to me. Bring me your warmth. Show me your light.
The ember brightens. I call to it again, encouraging it to grow, and a flame juts up. I pull away the rotted branch and touch the end to the tiny flame. The fire licks at the wood hungrily and soon feeds.
I gawk at the torchlight. I controlled nature-fire.
The cobra’s corpse lies at my feet—the something deadly I need to complete the skill demonstrations. After setting aside the torchlight, I cut off the snake’s head with my dagger so no one can tell I scorched it to death and then sling the viper’s body over my shoulder and set off with my torch.
I follow the sloping floors up for a long while. Exactly how much time has passed since I was locked inside the ruins, I cannot say, but my feet and legs ache from walking. The vines grow thicker and greener along the walls. Roots burrow across the ground. I lunge over one and slow to inspect the wall they tunneled under. A crack zigzags across the solid stones. I lower my face, and fresh air kisses my cheek.
At last. I drop the dead cobra and prop up the torch for light. I kick the crack in the wall hard. A handful of pebbles crumble, widening the fracture. I plunge my blade into the crack and pry off more stones, working until the fissure grows to a hole the size of my fist.
Dusky light filters inside. I slam my elbow into the wall, and the crater expands. Still, it is not big enough. My legs quake with exhaustion. Perspiration drips down my back and face. My fatigue implores me to rest, but this is the way out.
Beyond this wall is Iresh. Beyond this wall is Deven.
I search for something hard and pick up a stone. Using it as a hammer, I beat the outlet, opening the gap as wide as my hips. I toss the dead cobra out the hole and pull my upper body through. A sharp edge slices my underarm. I ignore the pain and wiggle out to my hips. One final shove, and I fall outside, panting. Lying on my back, the sky lightens before me.
Dawn has passed. I am out of time.
No. Citra will not win.
I push up to my knees. The jungle looks the same in every direction, so I climb atop the temple ruins and explore the skyline for the palace’s golden dome. Like a coin glinting in a pond, it appears in the sky. My whole body aches, but I have a ways to go yet. I scurry back down to the ground, toss the dead dragon cobra over my shoulder, and hike east.
My late arrival to the Beryl Palace, filthy and blood speckled, garners me an armed escort from a pair of entry-door guards to the throne room.
The hallways are fragrant with the scent of mango rice, a local breakfast dish. My stomach grumbles in hunger. I will eat after I finish this. The guards stop before the grand entrance to the throne room. Sultan Kuval is speaking to the full hall. I march inside without an invitation. My powers remain with me as I pass through the threshold. Unlike the war room, the throne room is not lined with toxic plants. When I am halfway down the main aisle, the sultan pauses midsentence. Ashwin is seated opposite him on the dais. He sees me, and relief shoos the worry from his expression.
My competitors are lined up along the west wall with their “something deadly” from the Morass. Tinley holds a basketful of poisonous white currants. I cannot fathom how Indah managed it, but she blindfolded and tied down a crocodile longer than a fishing boat, at least sixteen hands long. Behind Citra, fettered to a stone pillar, a full-grown tiger prowls the length of its short chain. The striped cat growls when I pass. I avoid Citra’s hot glare and put on a smile just for her. She did not think she would see me again.
I reach the dais and sling the dragon cobra off my back. The decapitated viper lands near the sultan’s feet. Its unique black diamond markings are easily identifiable. Several people gasp. The sultan regards me coolly.
“My ‘something deadly,’ Your Majesty.”
“You’re late. You may leave my throne room.”
I lower my voice so only he, Ashwin, and I can hear. “I missed the deadline by no fault of my own. I was sabotaged.”
Ashwin’s posture snaps straight, but Sultan Kuval reveals no surprise. His lack of response fires my temper.
“You knew Citra planned to trap me in the temple ruins.”
Sultan Kuval’s voice lowers to a threatening rumble. “Have a care, young Kindred. You tread on treasonous ground.”
“You don’t want me in the tournament, so you ordered Citra to stop me.”
“I’ll have you imprisoned if you dare slander me further.”
“The truth is not slander,” I say louder, fury boiling through me.
“You’re disqualified from the tournament,” he shouts, his face red against his white mustache. “Leave before you humiliate yourself even more.”
I stand my ground, pressing my feet into the floor. “I’ve come too far to leave now.” The sultan gapes, and murmurs ripple behind me. “You can cheat . . . you can send your bhutas after me . . . you can try whatever you will to encourage me to quit . . . but I will not concede!”
Shocked whispers fire off around me.
“Her hands and feet.”
My fingers and feet burn brightly with my powers. Smoke rises around my sandals, and I can feel the hard stone beneath me. I rein in my soul-fire. My hands and feet return to their normal appearance, and the smoke disperses, but I am too late.
The sultan reels on Ashwin. “She’s a Burner?”
Ashwin’s face turns pasty.
Gasps rise to shouts of alarm. I draw back a step. I burned my sandals off my feet and seared footprints into the floor before the sultan’s dais. Dread knocks me to my knees. I’ve defaced his throne room.
The outcries continue. People scatter away from me as though I am fire, wild and destructive. Ashwin rubs his forehead with stunned dismay.
I look to him for understanding. “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Detain her!” commands Sultan Kuval.
Guards wrench my arms behind me and bind my hands with snakeroot. My powers shrink to a dim, useless light. I am so washed from weariness and mortification I do not protest. They lug me down the center aisle amid the audience’s fearful cringes.
From the door, I glance back at the dragon cobra lying dead at the sultan’s feet and wonder what the snake did wrong besides being exactly as the gods intended.
16
DEVEN
A bright stream of light falls across my face, waking me. Two bhuta guards step into my cell. “Vizier Gyan wants to speak to you,” one says.
“Why?”
He kicks the leg of my cot. “Just get up.”
Meathead.
I rise slowly, allowing my body time to adjust. The Aquifier came once more last night and healed the last of my scars; even the arrow wound is gone. But the memory of the pain lingers.
Shielding my vision, I step out into the sun. The guards lead me to the quad where the other prisoners are gathered. I spot Yatin, his head higher than the sea of men like the peak of a wave. Worry puckers his brow. Not a comforting sign.
Vizier Gyan waits near the pole where I was lashed. The guards leave me there, facing the glares and confused frow
ns of my fellow soldiers.
The vizier holds out a letter. “I received a message from Prince Ashwin. He requested that I read it to you all. It says: ‘I have made a gross error. I was made to believe Captain Deven Naik betrayed his post of command. In truth, there is no more loyal, dedicated soldier in all the empire. So it is with the utmost remorse that I offer my apologies to the captain and exonerate him of all incriminations.’” The vizier folds the letter shut. “Captain Naik’s title is reinstated. He’ll join you in the general population.”
Several men murmur about the announcement to one another.
Vizier Gyan leans into my side and grumbles in my ear. “I don’t know why the boy prince changed his mind, but I will be watching you. Step out of line once, and I’ll lock you up and bury the key.” He tugs down his long sleeves and clips out of the quad.
Yatin pushes his way to me. “Good to see you, Captain.”
“Same to you.” I smile a little, disbelief filling me up. The prince kept his word. I have been exonerated.
An older soldier with a square chest and rangy legs comes up to us and bows. “Captain Naik, I’m Lieutenant Eko. I served as Prince Ashwin’s temple guard and accompanied the prince and Brother Shaan here to Iresh. The bedroll added to Manas’s and my tent must be for you.”
I school my annoyance. Of course I’m bunking with Manas.
“I’m in the same tent,” Yatin says quietly, setting aside some of my annoyance. “We’ll show you the way.”
I follow Yatin and Eko to the final tent in the outer row, near the south wall. Eko throws back the flap, and I duck inside. The interior is sparse, with one bedroll and blanket each for six men. Condensation drips down the walls from the damp air, and noisy mosquitoes dart about.
Yatin swats one away from his bushy beard. “Your bedroll is near mine. Manas and Eko are across the tent from us.”
Eko scratches an insect bite on his arm. “The latrine is near the eastern outer wall, but it’s nearly full, and the guards aren’t motivated to dig another. Don’t be late to the dining tent, or you won’t be served meals. And stay away from the water barrels near the gate. That drinking water belongs to the guards.”
Manas appears at the open tent flap. “I don’t care what they say about you, Deven. You’re still a traitor.”
A sudden coldness hits my core. I remember when he was a twelve-year-old boy with knobby knees and a squeaky voice. He is still smaller in size than me, but the start of a beard buds along his chin, like a lamb sprouting his first woolly coat. My friendship with Manas is over, but I will take indifference over his blatant hatred.
“I’m willing to settle this in the sparring ring,” I say. Sparring is a customary practice for two men needing to sort out their differences. Manas and I may need more than the typical three rounds.
“The kindred isn’t here to save you this time,” Manas replies, sneering.
“Then you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when you lose.”
Manas moves to strike me, but I duck out of reach, and Yatin simultaneously thrusts out his arm, blocking him. “No one out there trusts you,” Manas snarls.
“I’ll duel any man who steps forward.” None of them despises me as much as Manas does, that I know of.
Manas relaxes his pose and grins hard. “I’ll spread the word.”
Eko watches him exit with a frown. “I’m afraid the prince hasn’t gained allies by releasing you, Captain.”
“You don’t seem to mind,” I say, considering Eko with cautious interest.
“I have the benefit of having served His Majesty for many years. If Prince Ashwin says you’re loyal to the throne, you are.” Eko bows in farewell and ducks out of the tent.
I sit on my bedroll and stretch out my legs. I have been in camp ten minutes, and I am already fatigued from the tension.
“Manas will be a problem,” I say. “How did he even escape Vanhi?”
Yatin takes a seat beside me and bats at the mosquitoes. “Brother Shaan brought him with him. Why did the prince exonerate you?”
“I have no idea.”
Yatin studies me while scratching at an insect bite on his chest. I do not like to lie, especially to Yatin. I once asked him why, with his gentle nature, he did not join the Brotherhood instead of the army. Remembering his answer brings a slight smile to my lips. After growing up with five older sisters, the army was familiar. I was used to being told what to do. He has never disobeyed my orders. I trust him with the truth of why the prince vindicated me, but with Galers stationed about camp, I cannot tell who could be listening. I would rather lie than endanger us both.
Manas opens the tent flap. “Ready to duel, Captain?” He jeers at my reinstated rank.
Wait until he finds out I’ll be a general.
I rise, my back pain gone, but the healer said the taut sensation, like calloused skin, could stay awhile. Manas leads me to the quad. A large circle has been drawn in the dirt, a temporary sparring ring. A dozen men line up to fight.
“You said you’d battle any man who steps forward,” Manas remarks, smirking.
“Are you first?” I ask.
“I never said I was going to fight you.” He hands me a staff. “I’ll let them have that pleasure.”
Coward. He never could beat me in a fair fight.
The first man in line picks up another staff and steps up to me. A bhuta guard strolling by does not interfere. He wears a yellow armband marked with a land symbol. Our bamboo staffs are twigs against his Trembler powers.
I enter the ring. Much of our early soldier training occurred in a sparring circle. In addition to fighting skills, we learned self-control, respect for our opponents, and how to win and lose with humility. Gripping my weapon, I brace for a beating. I will deliberately lose enough duels to appear demoralized but not enough that I will be seen as a weakling. By day’s end, I will be bruised and sore, but my comrades’ resentment will be appeased. Soldier to soldier, there is no greater equalizer than defeat.
Manas signals the start of the duel. My opponent attacks, and my quest to regain their respect begins with the first blow.
17
KALINDA
The guards dump me in an empty antechamber far away from the throne room. I rest my forehead against the cool tile floor, the frightened cries of the sultan’s court still booming in my ears. I search my mind for something else to think about and find the image of Deven cringing from my glowing hands.
Sultan Kuval throws open the door and stomps in, Ashwin on his tail. I stay lying on my side, the toxic snakeroot binding my hands behind me, and stare up at them.
“You deceived me,” bellows the sultan. “She’s a Burner.” He spits my god-given powers at me, like I am the dead dragon cobra I flung at his feet.
“Kalinda isn’t dangerous,” Ashwin replies. “She’s Kishan’s daughter.”
“Kishan was an idealistic fool. He was always lecturing others about unity and the need for Virtue Guards. I will tell you what I told him—I have no place for Burners in my nation! Burners are soulless children of the Void.”
I have heard this slander before. Rajah Tarek twisted the truth of bhutas’ godly origins and told his people we were demons. That was a lie, yet Sultan Kuval is not condemning all bhutas, only Burners.
“Kalinda stays,” Ashwin counters, leaving no quarter for dispute.
“Then she must take the neutralizer tonic to suppress her powers.” Sultan Kuval tosses his hands in the air. “You saw what she did to the floor of my throne room. Burners are reckless!”
The neutralizer tonic is the liquid form of the noxious plant around my wrists. My nose scrunches in disgust, recalling the bitter tang of the concoction. I drank neutralizer tonic to reduce my fevers long before I knew the so-called remedy for my bhuta powers was toxic.
“Kalinda won’t poison herself,” Ashwin says, standing taller and towering over the stout rajah. “As a Burner, she is well matched to her opponents.”
The sultan expels a
n ugly laugh. “Don’t you see? Kalinda has conspired against us! She’s an informant for Hastin.”
“She disagrees with Hastin’s regime,” Ashwin counters. “She’s risking her life for a chance—only a chance—to defeat him.” But I am deceiving him. I haven’t told him that I killed his father. “Kalinda escaped sabotage and caught the most deadly viper in the Morass, a tremendous testament to her courage and skill. She will fight in the trial tournament.”
Sultan Kuval’s mustache twitches against his cheek, which is red from anger. “It’s your empire falling to ruins.” He glares down at me, as though he wishes to kick me like he would a disobedient mutt, and then storms out.
Ashwin kneels beside me. He undoes my bindings and flings the snakeroot across the room. His arms come around me, and he helps me sit up. I lean against him, a headache pounding against my temples.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. With bhutas as your competitors, the sultan and his court would have found out eventually.”
I rest my head against his sturdy shoulder. He stood up for me against the sultan, and he was brilliant. “Why does Kuval think Burners are demons?”
“That was his bias speaking. A Burner killed Citra’s mother.”
I release a weary exhale. “Indah neglected to mention that detail.”
“His wife’s death isn’t a subject the sultan likes to speak about.”
“I imagine not.” I have no hope of ever winning Sultan Kuval’s support, but he is not my primary concern. Now that my secret is out, it will not be long before word reaches the encampments. “What will our people think when they hear what I am?”
Ashwin wraps his arm tighter around me. “Burner powers are feared above all else, so you’ll be the contender favored to win. Our people will love you all the more and thank the gods for sending you.”
His answer is kind but unconvincing. “The Janardanians think I’m a monster. They fear me, but you don’t.”
The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2) Page 15