The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(64)

Gradually, the hole deepens. I shovel alongside Manas and the other two men until the grave is finished. We lean our shovels against the outer wall, and a guard orders us to drop the bodies.

The deceased are wrapped in bedrolls, their stocking feet sticking out, since the guards stole their boots. I imagine Yatin’s big feet hanging out of a bedroll and scrub away the miserable thought. I wish I had the power to heal him, but at least an Aquifier is tending to him. He will be all right. I repeat it to myself, He will be all right.

We roll the first body to the rim of the grave, sliding through the slick mud, and push the dead man over the edge. He hits the bottom with a splash. The next two men land with empty thuds that hollow out my chest. We reach the last man, and I recognize Eko’s shape under the blanket. Manas stands back to wipe his face, wet from rain and tears. The rest of us heave Eko into the hole.

The guards command us to leave the grave open. I suspect the vizier anticipates the illness will claim more lives. The four of us stare down at our dead comrades in silence. I am the highest-ranking officer, and so it is my duty to offer a prayer.

I recite the Prayer of Rest while the others bow their heads. “Gods, bless our comrades’ souls that they may find the gate that leads to peace and everlasting light.” At the closing, Manas sniffles. On impulse, I add, “And let Eko know, wherever he may be, that he is missed.”

The gong rings for midday meal. I squint up through the rain at the nearest tower. It’s noon; shift change. The Galer on duty will swap places with a new one. Both men will be preoccupied for a couple minutes while the previous Galer gives his report.

The men set off for the dining tent, but Manas lingers at the grave site.

“I’d like to speak with you,” I say.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Gods, grant me patience.

“I’m trying to prevent us from losing more comrades. Please, Manas. We don’t have long. The guards will be eavesdropping on us again soon.” He does not lash out with a rebuttal—progress?—so I go on. “I’ve been monitoring the guards and the gate. I have a plan to break out, but I need your help organizing the men.”

“Why do we need to break out? The prince said we’ll be released after the trial tournament.”

“That’s what Sultan Kuval told him, but I don’t think the sultan means to let us go. Think about it. Would you release your enemies’ soldiers into your imperial city?”

Manas goes quiet. I am taking a risk, confiding in him. The vizier’s informer could be another prisoner in camp. Manas could be reporting to Vizier Gyan for Hastin, but the chance is slim. Manas hates bhutas. I cannot picture him serving one.

“When the time comes to leave here, we’ll have to work together,” I say. “I cannot do this alone, and if you back me, others will too.”

“What if Kalinda wins?” Manas asks. “Aren’t you afraid of her, of what her Burner powers can do?”

“I fear her the same way I do the gods—out of respect.” Manas scowls at my explanation. He cannot separate his emotions so easily, but for this to work, he will have to try. “Helping me is helping the prince and Kalinda. Can you accept that?”

Manas returns his attention to Eko’s body and answers with reluctance. “Tell me your plan.”

“We need weapons, not those measly staffs, but blades. We’ll start by disarming the bhuta guards right before their shift change. Fewer are here then, and they are tired.”

Manas frowns at me. “How will we overpower the bhutas?”

Bearing in mind that this shift change is nearly over, I speak quickly. “The last tournament trial is tomorrow. I wager the duel will draw a big crowd, including Janardanian soldiers. The vizier will most likely cut back on the guards here, leaving fewer men to call for help. While the tournament is going, we can overwhelm the guards, gain access to the guardhouse, and open up their small armory. We’ll use those weapons to get out the gate. I saw a larger weapons bunker between the two encampments. Once we break it open, we’ll have all the khandas we need.”

Manas rocks back on his heels with an incredulous look. “Then what?”

“We get our people and march out. They’re better off heading back to Tarachand than dying here.”

A guard without a yellow armband comes into view near the tents. Fortunately, I recognize he is a Trembler, although I am certain a Galer will be back on duty momentarily.

“You there,” the guard shouts. “You’re missing midday meal.”

I speak to Manas from the side of my mouth. “Remember what I said.”

As I stroll away, he shoves me in the back.

“Liar,” he seethes. I reel around to face him, hurt tearing through me. He shoves me in the chest harder and pushes me back a step. “You think you have friends in the palace, but no one cares you’re here. You’re nothing to the kindred. Nothing.” His malice winds me. Manas leans into my face and snarls. “Prince Ashwin should have whipped you to death.”

“Break it up,” the guard says, tugging us apart.

“Stay away from me,” I order Manas, my voice unsteady, and then stomp ahead of him into the tents.

I slip between two tents and wait for my heart to stop exploding. I am a fool for confiding in Manas. This is the last time I let him betray me. Seconds later, he swaggers past and pretends not to see me, but a smirk graces his lips.