The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(46)

“I’ve had practice.”

“General Gautam was your father,” he notes. “I was surprised to hear of his death.”

Interesting that I say I’m used to a beating and he mentions my father. Did Eko know the general as I did? The general tortured me for information about the rebels before he died. I remember the general bleeding out on the dungeon floor, but I suffer no powerful ache or loss. Everything I understand about honor and respect, I learned from my mother and other sister warriors. My father does not deserve my sorrow, only relief. He can no longer torment anyone.

“The circumstances were complicated,” I answer.

“They often are.” Eko squints up at the hillside. The gold dome of the Beryl Palace gleams in the sunshine. Below the impressive structure, a gigantic sign has been erected with four names written in bold letters.

Indah of Lestari

Citra of Janardan

Tinley of Paljor

Kalinda of Tarachand

They posted the rank board for the tournament. I fasten my gaze onto Kali’s name. Did I really tell her she had to compete? The memory rings hollow through me. Yes, I did.

Eko wipes at his forehead. His cheeks turn pink beneath his gray beard, burning in the heat of the day. “Manas told me you’re the kindred’s personal guard.”

“I was. I no longer serve in that capacity.”

He scratches his cheek, working through a puzzle. “Are you married? Have any children?”

“No.”

“Me neither, but I was in love once. A young woman came to sell sunflower seeds to the brethren at the temple. After spending all my coin to buy her wares, I mustered up the courage to visit her in the nearby village. Her father sent me away and told me not to come back. He had arranged a marriage between her and the village blacksmith. I thought I wouldn’t see her again, but the next fortnight she came to the temple peddling her seeds, and I asked her to marry me.”

When Eko started his story, I did not anticipate caring. “What did she say?”

“I was too late. She had wed the blacksmith two nights earlier.” Eko takes back my rag and dabs away sweat on his upper lip. I gulp down a lump of regret. His story did not end the way I hoped. “I won’t pretend to know your circumstances, Captain, but I know what it is to have fate stacked against you.”

Manas must have told him about Kali and me. No offense to Eko, but our relationship is none of his concern. “The Brotherhood temple must have been an undemanding post.”

“Most of the time it was, unless the rajah came to visit.” Eko swipes at his forehead, his flushed cheeks darkening to scarlet. “I’ve seen a man whipped twice in my life. Once was you, and the other was the last time the rajah visited the prince . . .” Eko trails off and rests his head in his hands. “I think I’ve had too much sun.”

I lay my hand on his back—his skin burns through the thin cloth of his tunic. I signal for Yatin, and he comes right over.

“Eko needs to lie down,” I say.

We help Eko cross camp to our tent and lay him on his bedroll. I test the temperature of his forehead. He is feverish, his clammy skin sticking to mine.

Manas bursts inside the sweltering tent. “What did you do to him, Deven?”

“Nothing. He’s fallen ill. Fetch a guard.”

Manas opens his mouth to argue and then sees his friend’s ruddy face and darts out.

I sit back on my heels, listening to Eko’s labored breathing over the buzzing mosquitoes. Yatin reflects the same grim expression. We have seen sun sickness before. I had it myself the first time I crossed the Bhavya Desert. I fell off my camel during training and hit the sand like a stone. Yatin hauled my sorry rear back to Vanhi. Eko’s fever is too high for sun sickness. I do not know what this is.

Manas returns with a guard and a healer. The guard snaps at us to leave. Yatin and I wait outside with Manas. He holds himself tense, wringing his fingers.

The guard steps out of the tent, leaving Eko with the healer, and tromps off for the guardhouse. Moments later, a gong rings, calling all prisoners to the quad. The healer could be a while, so Yatin and I join the men. They are already there, mumbling about why we have been summoned. Vizier Gyan stands near the gate, talking with the guard who left Eko.

Something is not right. Our captors are more troubled about Eko than I assumed they would be over one sick prisoner.

Vizier Gyan enters the quad wearing his usual long-sleeved tunic that hangs past his wrists to his knuckles. He must be accustomed to the heat, as he does not sweat in the warmer clothes. A land symbol I did not see before is sewn on his jacket collar. He’s a Trembler? The only other Trembler I have met is Hastin. Last time I saw the warlord, he dropped boulders on a group of palace guards, crushing them to death. I cannot decide which is more fearsome, Burner or Trembler powers.

“An illness is sweeping the civilian camp,” the vizier announces, drawing a collection of sharp breaths from us prisoners. “We thought it was contained, but a man in this encampment has fallen ill. We’ll quarantine him from the general population. If you detect the beginnings of a fever in yourself or another man, report it immediately.”

“How are our families?” one of our men asks. “Are they all right?”

“We have no other news,” replies the vizier.

The men are not satisfied.