The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(4)

“Kali.”

My head jerks up, my breath thrashing against my rib cage. I am not in my bedchamber. The Turquoise Palace is far away. And Rajah Tarek . . . Tarek is dead.

Brac is sitting beside me, his honey eyes shimmering with worry. Mathura, Natesa, and Deven finish a supper of dried fruit and toasted nuts across the campfire. Yatin stands guard on the outcropping overlooking the valley, a shadow against a starlit night.

“Are you all right?” Brac asks.

I wrap my arms around myself to suppress a shiver. “I drifted off.”

“Did you dream of him again?”

“Yes.”

Brac curses under his breath and glances across the campfire at his brother. “You should tell him.”

“No,” I answer with finality. Deven can hardly stand to speak of my marriage to Tarek, let alone hear that the rajah dominates my dreams. Neither Natesa nor Mathura have asked what privately took place between Tarek and me on our wedding night, and Yatin only sends me glances of sympathy from time to time. Brac was on guard when I first woke from a night terror in a cold sweat and confided in him. He already knew that I had been poisoned—he had burned the toxins from my body when he and Deven found me—but he did not know how. After my explanation, I swore I would not tell anyone else that I used poison-laced lotion to kill Tarek, or that I was prepared to die with him.

I stare into the crackling fire, fatigue wearing a path down my spine. I wish I could sketch to alleviate my mind, but those days of quiet pleasure are on hold until after we find Prince Ashwin and determine what to do with the Zhaleh resting in my satchel. We have not discussed where best to secure the bhutas’ sacred book, but that is a concern for after I am free from my throne.

Brac gazes into the campfire and speaks, his tone thoughtful. “It’s said that when a Burner looks into the heart of a fire, they can see the reflection of their soul. I used to spend hours watching for mine, waiting for my blood to sing to the flames and reveal my inner self.”

“Have you ever seen anything?”

“No, but I imagine my soul’s reflection would be a wolf.” An apt choice. Brac is stealthy and sly, and his golden eyes shine like a canine’s. He bumps his shoulder into mine. “What do you see?”

I look into the campfire, uncertain what it will show me. My inner self has done some awful things. “I don’t see anything either.”

“Let’s try this.” Brac reaches for the campfire and plucks out a spindly flame as he would a loose thread. The filament of heat suspends between his palms, hovering above his skin. He rotates his hands, and the long flame winds through his fingers like a serpent weaving through tall grass. He is trying to cheer me up, and I cannot help but be amazed. The sight of him playing with fire is mesmerizing.

“Nature-fire is the last element the gods created. When the sky-god Anu bestowed godly gifts on the First Bhutas, the Burner was feared above them all. People saw her as a peril.”

“Her? The first Burner was a woman?”

“Her name was Uri,” Brac says. I stare, transfixed, as the flame twists between his fingers. “Uri knew she had to master nature-fire or she would always be feared, so she trekked up the highest mountain and spent several moons learning to manipulate a single flame.” Brac holds out the strand of fire. “Take it.”

“I don’t think so.” Brac has been training me to expand my abilities with soul-fire, but I am not ready for nature-fire.

“Kali, you can scorch and parch soul-fire as well as I can, but until you master nature-fire, you’re a danger. See this campfire? You cannot extinguish it without an outside source. You need a pail of sand or water. You can start the fire, but you cannot control it.” Brac comes nearer with the hot flame. “Anu created mortals in the image of the gods. Sky in our lungs, land beneath our feet, fire in our soul, and water in our blood. The First Bhutas were each given dominion over one of these powers. So you see, you have nothing to fear. You are fire, and fire is you.”

“But soul-fire is contained within the body.” I maintain a firm eye on the flame dancing over his hand, mistrustful of its cheerful movements. “Nature-fire is wild.”

“All the more reason to revere it. Galers respect the storm. Aquifiers idolize the sea. Tremblers worship the mountain. And we . . . we respect this. Soul-fire and nature-fire come from the gods. The only divide is how your mortal half perceives them. Your mortal side fears death and pain.”

“I wonder why,” I say dryly. Across the fire, Deven glances away from us, pretending he is not watching my lesson.

“Ignore your mortal half,” says Brac. “Listen to the half of you that connects to the gods. That is your strength.” He brings the swirling flame closer. “Hold out your palm.” I do not comply, so he lifts my hand. “Ready?”

Not at all. But Brac will not leave me alone until I try, so I nod.

He tips his hand and drops the flame into my open palm. The instant the fiery tendril hits my skin, I draw back in pain. The wispy flare falls to the ground and catches the dry grass afire. Brac extinguishes the small brush fire with the wave of his hand and then aims an accusatory scowl at me.

“You’re being absurd. You’re a Burner. You shouldn’t be afraid of fire.”

“Shouldn’t I?” I show him the scalding boils on my palm. They are minor, but they hurt.