The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(3)
“I don’t need your help.”
“Maybe so, but what will happen to your children if you fall ill with sun sickness?”
Her scowl lessens, yet she still resists.
Down the road, a larger group of travelers ambles our way, wagons and men. No, soldiers. They are dressed in dark-red uniforms, with the Tarachand Empire’s black scorpion crest on their chests, the same uniform Deven no longer wears. They travel without banners. This far from an army stronghold, they must be deserters. Civilians are not the only ones fleeing the bhuta warlord.
Deven vibrates with tension, silently demanding we leave before the soldiers arrive.
I dangle the headscarf between the woman and me, her children solemnly observing our exchange. “Please, take it,” I say.
She shuffles forward, pinches the farthest corner of the cloth, and plucks it from my grip. Upon seeing the back of my hand, her eyes bulge.
“Kindred,” she says, sinking to her knees. Her sons lower to the ground after her, and she waves for her little girl to do the same. “Forgive us. We didn’t recognize you.”
The noises from the caravan of soldiers quiver in my stomach. I forgot how much I despise being bowed to. Imagining the lot of them kneeling at my feet, my tone shortens. “You’ve caused no offense. Please don’t speak of seeing me.”
“We won’t, Kindred. May the gods watch over you.”
“And you.” I snap the reins for the camel to go.
Deven and I finish crossing the road and start up the rocky hillside. Below, the mother holds her children and weeps. She does not cry from misery or fear but from happiness that twitches my spine. I will add their family to my daily prayers.
Deven’s hawkeyed gaze remains on the party of soldiers coming around the bend. Once we are out of sight of the road and the travelers, he relaxes. His voice reaches out to me like a gentle caress down the back of my neck. “That was kind of you.”
“I only gave her a headscarf,” I say.
“You gave her more than that. You’re the kindred. Seeing you gave her family hope.”
I shift in the saddle with a frown. I may be nobility, but I am not noble. The woman and her family would not have been forced to flee their home had I not foolishly placed my trust in Hastin. I bargained with the warlord for my freedom and lost more than my own. I assumed by ending Rajah Tarek I would liberate his ranis and courtesans, but now they are Hastin’s prisoners in the Turquoise Palace. As the first wife, I was the ranis’ kindred and leader. Their friend. I failed to protect them, just as I failed to save my dearest friend, Jaya.
“They shouldn’t still think of me as their kindred,” I say, my voice monotone.
“Your duties to your throne remain until Prince Ashwin releases you from them,” Deven reminds me. “Your triumph in the rank tournament has been told far and wide. Our people love you—and you love them. You earned their devotion. Don’t diminish what your achievement means to them.”
I hold my tongue before I ask Deven what my achievement means to him. I fought for my title of kindred, but I have fought harder to forget the bloodshed and horrors of my rank tournament. Most days I succeed. Some days I do not. Yet it is not my victory in the arena or the loss of Deven’s command rank that has come between us most. My marriage to the rajah has been our greatest divide. The same reason I am a symbol of hope for that struggling family is why Deven is hesitant to touch me. To the people, my fate and future belong to the rajah’s throne. I can no more change their minds—or Deven’s—than I can unwed Rajah Tarek or bring Jaya back to life.
As I look out at the trail-worn valley, the refugees’ weary footsteps carve blame into my conscience. The empire has changed since I became the rajah’s one hundredth queen. Tarachand is gloomier, full of desperate people and massacres of the innocent. I find nothing dignified or noble about being the inciter of heartache.
2
KALINDA
Something strokes down my nose, pulling me from sleep. A ruby silk canopy stretches over my bed. Curtains billow near the balcony, a hot breeze ushering in the rustle of palm fronds. I am in my chamber in the Turquoise Palace.
A finger brushes my nose again. I blink fast, and a face comes into focus.
Rajah Tarek’s white teeth flash predatorily in my darkened room. “I’ve missed you, love.”
I try to jerk away, but my hands and legs are pinned.
“Shh,” he croons. “We’re going to have the wedding night the gods intended for us.” He lies beside me, turns his body into mine, and buries his face in my hair.
I wrench at my bindings, struggling to kick free, but my ankles are tied to the bedposts and my arms are stretched over my head. I reach inward for my powers to burn away the straps—and find a well of emptiness. No soul-fire flickers within me.
“What did you do?” I ask, my voice hitching on terror.
Tarek answers while kissing a trail across my cheek. “I poisoned you as you did me.”
His hands roam down my body. A wild, hot scream rises up my throat. Tarek slams a palm over my mouth.
“Don’t fight me, love. You are my wife”—he kisses my cramping neck—“and I am your husband. The gods have bound our souls in matrimony. You’re mine, forever and always.”
I struggle against my bindings, tears flooding my sight. Tarek presses his hand harder over my mouth to muffle my screams.