The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(17)

Deven charges off without a second glance. I lunge after him, but pain shoots through my knee. Backing up, I rest against the wall and push my palm over my heart. Maybe I can wring out whatever nonsense has come over me. I care for Ashwin, but I love Deven.

My body trembles from indecision. Even after recognizing the distinction of my feelings, hunger rises in me to return to the prince’s pacifying arms . . .

Gods, I’m incorrigible.

I lower myself to the cool floor and rest my leg. The Voider’s icy breath rages within me, freezing me to my spot. The corridors all look identical. I chased Deven so far, I cannot recall the path back to my chamber. Not that it matters. I have little strength to do anything except huddle into myself and try to regain some warmth.



A nudge rouses me awake. “Were you here all night?” Indah asks, standing over me.

Morning’s first rays lighten the corridor. I push up from the floor, astonished I slept here. I understand why neither Deven nor Ashwin searched for me, but I am surprised Natesa or Yatin did not come looking. They must have assumed I was with Deven. “What time is it?”

“Dawn.” Indah joins me on the floor, our backs leaning against the wall. “The navy is finishing preparations for the voyage. We’ll leave for Iresh soon.”

“Did Ashwin and the datu come to an agreement last night?” I was so upset when Ashwin found me, I forgot to ask.

“I don’t know about the prince, but Bulan is pleased. Ashwin offered up lumber, grain, and livestock in exchange for our help. Our food stores have been low for some time, and we don’t have enough land to cultivate the agriculture necessary for our population.” Indah presses a hand to her stomach.

“You still aren’t feeling well?”

“I’m a bit run down from traveling, but I’m fine,” she says. “I’m glad I found you. I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night: Do you and Ashwin intend to marry?”

“You know we don’t. Why?”

Her lips mash together. “At supper, when Ashwin said you weren’t officially set to wed . . . he wasn’t telling the truth.”

Indah can sense the blood flowing through another’s body, specifically when someone’s pulse speeds up, such as when they are lying. Her prowess for sensing people’s dishonesty is a valued asset, but it can be disconcerting when someone I know is her target.

“Are you certain?” I ask. Ashwin would not go against his promise to relinquish his first rights to me.

“I don’t know what it means,” Indah says, quick to qualify her inkling. “I only know what I sensed.”

“But I’m not his intended.”

“Does he know that?”

“Yes . . .” After Indah’s persistent silence, I add, “I—I think so.”

My actions may have confused more than just me. In all fairness to Ashwin, I have acted erratically lately. I must dissolve this strange bond between us. Yet even as I resolve to speak with him, like a rabbit scurrying into a cozy burrow to escape winter, I want to bundle myself in his arms.

Datu Bulan strolls down the corridor, sporting a knee-length night tunic and oversized sandals. He carries a water cup, sipping from it every so often. “Blessed be Enki’s sea, ladies.” He does not let on if he finds it peculiar that we are seated in his corridor. Staring down into his cup, he says, “I once traded ten coconuts for an icicle frozen by a northern Aquifier. It melted by the time I brought it home, but that water was the freshest drink I ever had.”

I cast an inquisitive glance at Indah. Northern Aquifiers dwell in the arctic tundra and are rumored to manipulate ice and snow. How the datu came upon one or why he thought an icicle would last in the Southern Isles is beyond me.

He strides away, his sandals slapping against the floor, and then halts. “Indah, I do believe Pons is looking for you.”

She shifts to a kneeling position. “He’s returned?”

“He and the others.”

“What others?” I ask.

“Come on.” Indah stands and hoists me up. I hurry down the corridor with her.

“He’s in the prince’s chamber,” Datu Bulan calls after us.

Indah pulls ahead of me and reaches Ashwin’s open door first. Pons stands outside the threshold. They saw each other just yesterday, yet Indah clutches him close. Pons’s arms come around her slowly; he is taken aback by her open affection.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” she says.

Rarely have I seen Indah fret over Pons. They are usually together, but they were not always. Pons was born in the sultanate, while Indah is a native Lestarian.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Pons says, then sees me from over Indah’s shoulder, and they shuffle out of the doorway.

Within the chamber, Ashwin is seated at a desk with piles of books before him. His hair and tunic are rumpled from a sleepless night. I am within his sight, but he pays me no heed. I lock my knees to stop myself from rushing to him and alleviating my inner cold at his side. He must be hurt that I ran after Deven last night instead of staying. Offending those I care about has become a terrible habit of mine. How will I make this right?

I am so preoccupied with Ashwin, I overlook the other people in the room.

A middle-aged woman drags me into her arms. “You’re even skinnier than I recall.”