The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(30)
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 dragon 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.