The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(32)
The princess slinks up the dais to Ashwin and removes her helmet, her hair falling over her shoulders like strings of black sapphires. “I offer a token of my devotion to Prince Ashwin.” Planting either hand on his armrests, she leans over him. “A kiss,” she says and presses her lips to his.
Ashwin’s eyes fly open. The audience titters. Sultan Kuval scowls at his daughter’s audacious display. Princess Citra withdraws, and Ashwin droops in his throne, red faced. The princess licks her lips and grins. Has she any decency?
The princess struts down the steps and kneels with the sultan’s women of court. A girl no more than twelve sidles up to her, and Princess Citra loops her arm around the youngster. They have similar features—they are sisters. The girl must be Tevy, the one Ashwin told me about.
Sultan Kuval clears his throat, calling the audience to attention. “And finally, we welcome Kindred Kalinda, rank-tournament champion of the Tarachand Empire.”
I rise without fanfare. I have no majestic beast to ride on. No fancy armor. No grand weapon besides my mother’s daggers, hidden beneath my skirt.
Sultan Kuval’s lips twist smugly. He does not know that I am a bhuta, yet he pitted me against three. He has set me up to fail. How far does his scheming go?
Silence digs into my back. I stare up at Ashwin, my heart hammering. I do not know what to do. I cannot be seen as weak before my competitors, but I cannot reveal my powers without word spreading to the camps that I am a Burner.
“Kindred Kalinda, what’s your offering?” Sultan Kuval presses.
“I . . .”
Reading my panic, Ashwin rises from his throne. “Kalinda needn’t offer me a token of devotion. Her coming here is the only gift I require.” He crosses to me and kisses my cheek. I jolt a little. This close, he is a mirror of Tarek. Ashwin frowns, understanding that he has unsettled me. But instead of moving away, he kisses my other cheek. “I’m not my father,” he whispers.
I scrounge up a smile and turn to the audience. Princess Citra’s face screws up in jealousy. Tinley inspects her sharp nails, unimpressed by my introduction, and Indah remains collected, unconcerned by my closeness to Ashwin. He and I return to our seats, and Sultan Kuval addresses the assembly.
“I have given great thought to this trial tournament, as to what qualifications make an outstanding rani. My pondering led me to our history. In ancient days, Anu challenged his children, Enlil and Enki, to prove their godliness in a number of trials. Our competitors will face a series of similar tests. But before they begin, each one must complete an exhibition of ability. Skill demonstrations are customary before any tournament. They provide each contender the opportunity to boast her weaponry expertise and intimidate her opponents.”
For my last skill demonstration, I broke glass orbs with my slingshot. But I suspect the sultan will require something more strenuous of my bhuta opponents and, subsequently, me.
“Tomorrow at sunset,” says the sultan, “competitors will meet at the mouth of the Morass. There they will receive further instructions.” With that ominous declaration, he adds, “Let us feast!”
12
DEVEN
I lie on my stomach, all strength bled out of me. To blink is to harness the power of a thousand men. To swallow is to employ the gods. The Aquifier pours more healing waters over my back. The warm liquid releases a cascade of fresh smells, from sun-warmed muslin to coconut to white sandalwood. My skin tautens painfully and then tingles with welcome coolness.
A member of the brethren has not come to offer a healing blessing on my behalf, as is customary in Tarachand, but I did not expect it. During my time training with the brethren, I learned Janardanians do not worship the Parijana faith as we do but a varied sect that places the land-goddess above her husband, the sky-god. Janardanians believe returning to the ground to feed the land, Ki’s domain, is an honor. They accept that they will die when the land-goddess chooses, and they do not interfere with her will through prayer.
The Aquifier trickles more of his fresh-scented water over my back. Foggy dreaminess drifts over me with the lifting pain, my mind flowing from one abstract thought to the next. An image of a fox arises from the darkness.
“I’m finished for now.” The Aquifier’s voice sharpens my focus. With great effort, I turn my head to see him gathering his empty jug and bandages. “I’ll leave your back unwrapped. The air is good for your wounds.”
I thank him, and he leaves, shutting me in the dark.
Closing my eyes, I relish the release from pain. I intend to sleep, but Kali’s grave stare blooms in my stream of thought. The rest of her materializes next, her willowy frame, thick dark hair, and delicate face. I reach for her, and the second my fingertips touch her cheek, her expression changes to hurt. She backs away and runs into the shadows.
I set out after her, calling her name, and my surroundings transform into snowy woods. I run through the dark forest, and a snap sounds behind me. I round a tree and stumble to a halt. A fox lies dead at my feet, scarlet staining the snow around it, a snare wound around its leg.
The door to my cell creaks open, bringing me back to the present, and a hulking figure comes in. I drum up an ounce of strength to clench my fist in defense.
“Hello, Captain,” Yatin says. I uncurl my hand, and my friend pulls up the healer’s stool. “I cannot stay long. The guards check the prisoners’ tents twice an hour. The Galer guards may start listening to us, if they aren’t already.” Yatin lays his wide palm on the top of my head. “I am sorry I didn’t stop them.”