The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(49)



“Dawn. I came to wake you. Your first trial starts soon.”

I cannot face my competitors shaken. These nightmares must stop. I throw back the bedcovers, tug on my robe, and hurry out the door. I reach Brother Shaan’s chamber and knock. No one answers, so I go down the hall to Prince Ashwin’s door. Rohan is there, standing guard.

“Kindred, what’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Brother Shaan?”

“Not yet today.”

I knock for Ashwin and wait. My knee jogs impatiently. I need to speak to Brother Shaan before my dream fades.

Ashwin answers bare chested, his hair ruffled. “Kalinda.”

My face heats from his unabashed stare roving over me in my thin robe. I duck my chin to hide my blush. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I need to speak with Brother Shaan. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s supposed to come by shortly to report on the camps. You’re welcome to come in and wait for him.” Ashwin opens the door wider, revealing more of his bare golden chest. I slip past him inside and leave Rohan in the corridor.

“Sorry for the clutter.” Ashwin tidies up books lying across the table and chairs, clearing a spot for me. “Mint tea?” he asks, gesturing to a steaming cup.

“No, thank you.” I scan the texts stacked everywhere, looking anywhere but at his shirtless torso. “Have you read all of these?”

“Most of them when I was younger. I was lonely without them around—I had shelves full of books in my room at the temple—so I borrowed these from the sultan’s library.”

I scan the heaps of books, marveling at how well educated he must be. “You must have read a lot growing up.”

Ashwin’s tone turns reflective. “Tarek said I read too much. He thought it was a waste of time. But during his last few visits, he requested I read to him. He said it made him happy to listen to me share something I enjoy. He was happy because I was happy.” Ashwin rubs the sad tilt of his lips. “Sometimes I still read aloud to remind myself he wasn’t a total monster.”

I understand why Ashwin romanticizes people. He saw a glimmer of goodness in his selfish father, which taught him not to discount anyone’s potential for decency.

I show him the ink on my fingers from painting last night. “I retreat into my artwork when I need a moment’s peace.”

“You used my gift,” he says, his demeanor brightening.

“I don’t believe I thanked you.”

“You’re welcome.” He waves at a chair, and we sit beside each other at the table. “Tinley and Citra asked me to ban you from the tournament. I won’t, of course.”

Their request comes as no surprise, yet their derision hurts. I fold my arms across my chest, and Ashwin notices the scar on my forearm.

“From your rank tournament?” he says, sipping his tea.

“The duel with your mother,” I explain. Ashwin frowns at the mention of Lakia, and my gaze jumps to his bare shoulder and the tops of scars. “How did you get yours?”

“Rajah Tarek found out I’d been sneaking out of my room to the temple’s roof. He was concerned the villagers would discover who I was, so he whipped me to deter me from doing it again.” Ashwin rests his elbows on the table, waves of remorse rising off him like the steam from his teacup. He twists the gold cuff on his wrist. “My caretaker, Brother Dhiren, was punished for not protecting me. Tarek had him executed.”

I rest my hand on Ashwin’s shoulder, absorbing his guilt as strong as my own. He reaches up and clasps my fingers. This near him, I am aware of his toned arms and flat stomach, his skin warm against mine. He smells of linen and mint, of sleep and fresh tea. His dark hair waves freely around his face, brushing the back of my hand. Ashwin is appealing in a way his father never was. Tarek was vile, but Ashwin . . .

I pull away. “I should go.”

He reaches for where my hand was seconds before. “You don’t want to speak to Brother Shaan? He’ll be back soon.”

My nightmare of Rajah Tarek is foggy now, replaced by the image of his handsome son. “Another time,” I say, and step out the door.





20


KALINDA

I meet my contenders and their parties at the base of the waterfall. Citra and Tinley sling glares my way but stay distant. Off to the side, Pons speaks to Indah. Their closeness would draw attention if he were not her guard. What secret is he relaying to her now?

We surround a lagoon that feeds into a stream. The picturesque cascade does nothing to ward off my nerves. I fiddle with the pleats of my sparring sari, the skirt tucked between my covered legs. My competitors and I are all dressed in warrior apparel and strapped with weaponry. Natesa insisted that I bring both of my daggers and a khanda. I did not argue the added weight of the sword; I must be ready for whatever trial the sultan has prepared for us.

Sultan Kuval stands near the lagoon, Ashwin beside him. He and our guards, Opal and Rohan, are my support. Brother Shaan is still supervising the care of the refugees. Ashwin looks dashing in an all-black tunic and trousers with silver embroidery and a dark turban. I have tried to put the image of him shirtless from my thoughts, but it sneaks back in as he smiles at me from across the audience.

Gods above, don’t get distracted.

“Welcome to the trial tournament,” announces the sultan. “For the first test, each competitor will have five minutes to complete a challenge of valor. To begin, Indah will represent the water-goddess Enki, Bearer of the Seas.”

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