The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(10)

“Ever see a myna perch in a tree?”

I groan. Oh no.

Opal decreases the wind again, and we drop. I turn my face away from the incoming leaves. Branches snap and slap my face and legs. Opal’s wind dwindles off, and foliage surrounds the wing flyer, slowing us to a jolting halt.

Our legs dangle behind us, our bodies held up by the passengers’ plank. The wing flyer suspends high above the ground in a giant banyan tree. We are not mynas relaxing in the sun, more like floating lanterns tangled in a maze of branches.

Opal swings down off the flyer onto a sturdy bough and waves for me to go next. I lower myself beside her, sending the tree limb swaying, and grip another offshoot for balance. The abundant leafage veils the sun. Strange, discordant birdcalls echo across the treetops, and buzzing insects flit about, large as butterflies but with menacing pinchers and iridescent wings. Mists obscure the far-off trees and skulk across the hidden jungle floor.

“Sorry for the height,” Opal says. “Any lower and the wing flyer couldn’t take off again.”

“Where are we?”

“The Morass.”

Wariness settles inside me. From what I recall of my topography studies, the Morass straddles the border between the Tarachand Empire and the sultanate of Janardan. Old as the primeval gods, the nearly impassable tropical forest is home to deadly serpents, man-eating beasts, and poisonous plants.

Opal passes me a persimmon from her satchel. “The roadway the refugees travel goes south around the Morass. This is the most direct path. We should arrive in Iresh by nightfall.”

I cup the ripe fruit loosely and turn my palm over to check my burns. My blisters have popped and scabbed from holding on to the wing flyer for hours.

Opal devours four pieces of heart-shaped fruit in the same time I eat one. She covered more ground in her wing flyer than I thought possible, but she needs to store up strength for the final portion of our journey.

“How do you know Brother Shaan?” I ask.

Opal flicks a beetle from the tree branch, and it vanishes in the fog below. “Soldiers visited our hut in the middle of the night and broke down the door. Mother told Rohan and me to run to the Brotherhood temple. Brother Shaan hid us from them. A few months later he sneaked us into Janardan.”

“And your mother?”

The Galer pauses, her voice quieting. “She didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Opal contemplates the persimmon in her hand. “Sometimes I hear her voice on the wind, whispering that she loves me. She’s gone, but I know it’s her, speaking to me from her next life.”

What I would give to hear Jaya’s voice again.

“Then it must be her,” I reply softly.

Opal tosses off her nostalgia. “Are you really a Burner?” she asks, more inquisitive than accusatory, but I am reluctant to answer. “Even before I saw your hand glowing last night, I knew you were. Brother Shaan swore Rohan and me to secrecy, but I had already guessed that’s how you defeated Kindred Lakia in your rank tournament. You parched her.” I startle at her perceptiveness before I can catch myself. Opal grins. “I told Rohan that’s how you won. Wait until he hears I’m right.”

I lean against an intersection of boughs, unwilling to discuss my rank tournament. I work too hard to forget it. I try to relax and recuperate from our long flight, but my muscles refuse to unwind. Did my group escape the rebels? Duty to the empire or not, we should have stayed together.

“Have you heard anything from the others?” I ask Opal.

“Not yet, but the wind always leads my brother and me to each other.”

I hug my knees to my chest, wishing I had her certainty. “Do you like hearing the secrets of the wind?”

Opal answers after finishing a yawn. “I don’t hear all secrets, but I know yours. You carry the Zhaleh.”

My spine stretches in alarm. The Zhaleh contains the bhutas’ lineage records leading back to when Anu gifted the First Bhutas with godly powers. The book also holds the incantation to release the Voider, a darkness sent to this world by the demon Kur to combat bhutas’ godly light. The warlord seeks to unleash this caged power for revenge against those who persecuted his people under Rajah Tarek’s reign. Hastin desires the promised favor the Voider is said to owe the soul who releases it. One almighty wish.

“May I see it?” asks Opal.

“Why?” I lower my fingers to my dagger sheathed against my thigh. The book cannot be taken by someone who would use it for violence or personal gain. I tire of the responsibility of guarding it. But with whom does the Zhaleh belong?

“Every bhuta’s name from the time of the First Bhutas to when Rajah Tarek stole the book is recorded within.” Opal adds in a small voice, “My mother’s name is inside.”

I have been too intimidated by the Zhaleh to thumb through its pages, not even to see my father’s name. I shiver at the thought of disturbing the book’s slumbering powers and fist the hilt of my dagger beneath my skirt. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“All right,” Opal says. I frown at her hasty compliance. She yawns again, her expression anything but sinister. “I won’t fight you for it, Kindred. I’m just curious.”

She tips her head back against the tree trunk and closes her eyes. I leave my grip on my dagger, should her cooperation be a ruse, but the only movement near us comes from a mosquito landing on my arm. Before the insect can feed off me, I heat my skin with my powers, and the mosquito shrivels to ash.