The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(41)

It’s dead. It’s gone.

I wait for my heartbeat to calm and then light my hand with my powers. The cobra lies still before me. Beside it, an ember burns in the dirt where I created the smoke. The small light is not intimidating like a campfire or a full flame, but it is still nature-fire, born of me. I scoop up the ember in the dirt, cradling it in my palm. I can sense its light fading. As I am fire, and fire is me, I am responsible not to let it go out.

I call to the ember with my powers, not pushing but singing and coaxing. Come to me. Bring me your warmth. Show me your light.

The ember brightens. I call to it again, encouraging it to grow, and a flame juts up. I pull away the rotted branch and touch the end to the tiny flame. The fire licks at the wood hungrily and soon feeds.

I gawk at the torchlight. I controlled nature-fire.

The cobra’s corpse lies at my feet—the something deadly I need to complete the skill demonstrations. After setting aside the torchlight, I cut off the snake’s head with my dagger so no one can tell I scorched it to death and then sling the viper’s body over my shoulder and set off with my torch.

I follow the sloping floors up for a long while. Exactly how much time has passed since I was locked inside the ruins, I cannot say, but my feet and legs ache from walking. The vines grow thicker and greener along the walls. Roots burrow across the ground. I lunge over one and slow to inspect the wall they tunneled under. A crack zigzags across the solid stones. I lower my face, and fresh air kisses my cheek.

At last. I drop the dead cobra and prop up the torch for light. I kick the crack in the wall hard. A handful of pebbles crumble, widening the fracture. I plunge my blade into the crack and pry off more stones, working until the fissure grows to a hole the size of my fist.

Dusky light filters inside. I slam my elbow into the wall, and the crater expands. Still, it is not big enough. My legs quake with exhaustion. Perspiration drips down my back and face. My fatigue implores me to rest, but this is the way out.

Beyond this wall is Iresh. Beyond this wall is Deven.

I search for something hard and pick up a stone. Using it as a hammer, I beat the outlet, opening the gap as wide as my hips. I toss the dead cobra out the hole and pull my upper body through. A sharp edge slices my underarm. I ignore the pain and wiggle out to my hips. One final shove, and I fall outside, panting. Lying on my back, the sky lightens before me.

Dawn has passed. I am out of time.

No. Citra will not win.

I push up to my knees. The jungle looks the same in every direction, so I climb atop the temple ruins and explore the skyline for the palace’s golden dome. Like a coin glinting in a pond, it appears in the sky. My whole body aches, but I have a ways to go yet. I scurry back down to the ground, toss the dead dragon cobra over my shoulder, and hike east.



My late arrival to the Beryl Palace, filthy and blood speckled, garners me an armed escort from a pair of entry-door guards to the throne room.

The hallways are fragrant with the scent of mango rice, a local breakfast dish. My stomach grumbles in hunger. I will eat after I finish this. The guards stop before the grand entrance to the throne room. Sultan Kuval is speaking to the full hall. I march inside without an invitation. My powers remain with me as I pass through the threshold. Unlike the war room, the throne room is not lined with toxic plants. When I am halfway down the main aisle, the sultan pauses midsentence. Ashwin is seated opposite him on the dais. He sees me, and relief shoos the worry from his expression.

My competitors are lined up along the west wall with their “something deadly” from the Morass. Tinley holds a basketful of poisonous white currants. I cannot fathom how Indah managed it, but she blindfolded and tied down a crocodile longer than a fishing boat, at least sixteen hands long. Behind Citra, fettered to a stone pillar, a full-grown tiger prowls the length of its short chain. The striped cat growls when I pass. I avoid Citra’s hot glare and put on a smile just for her. She did not think she would see me again.

I reach the dais and sling the dragon cobra off my back. The decapitated viper lands near the sultan’s feet. Its unique black diamond markings are easily identifiable. Several people gasp. The sultan regards me coolly.

“My ‘something deadly,’ Your Majesty.”

“You’re late. You may leave my throne room.”

I lower my voice so only he, Ashwin, and I can hear. “I missed the deadline by no fault of my own. I was sabotaged.”

Ashwin’s posture snaps straight, but Sultan Kuval reveals no surprise. His lack of response fires my temper.

“You knew Citra planned to trap me in the temple ruins.”

Sultan Kuval’s voice lowers to a threatening rumble. “Have a care, young Kindred. You tread on treasonous ground.”

“You don’t want me in the tournament, so you ordered Citra to stop me.”

“I’ll have you imprisoned if you dare slander me further.”

“The truth is not slander,” I say louder, fury boiling through me.

“You’re disqualified from the tournament,” he shouts, his face red against his white mustache. “Leave before you humiliate yourself even more.”

I stand my ground, pressing my feet into the floor. “I’ve come too far to leave now.” The sultan gapes, and murmurs ripple behind me. “You can cheat . . . you can send your bhutas after me . . . you can try whatever you will to encourage me to quit . . . but I will not concede!”