The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(2)

I close my eyes and search inside myself for the single perfect star in my vision. The ever-burning light is the source of my Burner powers—my soul-fire. No mortal or bhuta exists without this inner radiance. I locate the star but its vivid light is hazy. “I see a greenness behind my eyelids.”

“That’s from the demon’s powers.”

“Can you get rid of them?”

“I don’t know how,” Indah replies, helping me sit up. “In a sense, your soul is frostbitten. If the injured parts were an extremity, I would recommend amputation, but as the damage is internal . . .”

“You cannot amputate my soul.” I finish with a strained laugh, though I find nothing humorous about my memory of writhing on the ground in agony, tormented by the slow, torturous burn of the demon’s cold-fire. The initial anguish has abated, but it left dark stains inside me, like tarnished silver. The Voider’s powers would have destroyed me if I were not one quarter demon. All Burners descend from Enlil, a bastard son of the land-goddess Ki and the demon Kur. I suppose I should appreciate my ancestry. But I am not grateful. Not at all.

Indah’s golden eyes reflect her worry. “I’ll find you a more experienced healer in Lestari. In the meantime, save your strength and powers.”

I have had no need to call upon my Burner abilities since I battled the Voider. But what will happen when I need them? I suspend my concerns. We are nearly to Lestari, the imperial city of the Southern Isles. I can hang on until we arrive tonight.

Pushing to my feet, I test my weight on my bad leg; no pain hisses at me. Indah offers me her arm, but I pick up my cane. “I’ll be all right on my own.”

I shuffle out the door, mindful of the gentle sway of the ship. Several steps later, I rest in a sunny patch of deck. The brightness warms my skin, but the inner hoarfrost will not yield.

“Does Indah know you’re out here alone?”

I swivel toward Natesa and link my arm through hers. “I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“Let’s walk.” She tugs me from the banister, and we stroll around the outer deck. Her hips swish, swinging her braid like a pendulum, though not on purpose. Natesa cannot suppress her curves any more than I can change my skinniness.

As former rivals in my rank tournament among the rajah’s wives and courtesans, for a time we could not stand each other. Natesa and my other competitors fought to gain a better life in this world of men. Only I won the rank tournament. My second victory in Iresh’s trial tournament secured my throne as rani of the Tarachand Empire. I competed against four female bhutas in a series of contests designed to test our powers. My prize is to wed Prince Ashwin as his first wife, his kindred. I respect Ashwin, but marriage to him hardly feels like a reward.

“The prince left rather quickly after the burial,” Natesa notes.

“He’s avoiding me.”

“He’s avoiding Deven. Did he tell you about their altercation?”

“No . . .”

Natesa’s lips twist wryly. “Right after we left Iresh, Deven struck Ashwin and nearly threw him overboard.”

Gods help me. As captain of the guard, Deven’s duty is to protect the prince, but he blames Ashwin for unleashing the Voider. The demon came disguised in the physical form of Ashwin’s father and my deceased husband, Rajah Tarek. For releasing him, the Voider must grant Ashwin his heart’s wish—to unseat the bhuta warlord from the Turquoise Palace in our imperial city of Vanhi.

The demon rajah has set out to do just that. He delivered our people from the awful encampments in Iresh, earning their devotion while preying on their suffering. Our army intends to march with the Voider to far-off Vanhi. The rest of Tarek’s wives and his courtesans are trapped there; my friends and fellow sister warriors, held captive by the warlord and his band of rebels. I want to see the ranis released, but the demon rajah cannot be allowed to overthrow the warlord. If he succeeds, he will be free to inflict terror on our world.

“I’ve tried to explain,” I say, “but Deven won’t listen.”

“Maybe he’s right to be angry.” Natesa’s gaze wanders to the river. “Even Brother Shaan feared our fate.”

Unfortunately the loss of Brother Shaan is another tragedy for Deven to blame on the prince. “Ashwin couldn’t have known that the demon would disguise himself as Tarek and convince our people he’s their rajah.”

We round the stern of the boat and nearly bump into the prince. He holds an open book, appearing as he did when we first met. Only, this time, I do not mistake him for his father. Ashwin may possess Tarek’s compelling good looks, but he is kindhearted. From his wounded expression, he overheard our conversation.

“Your Majesty,” Natesa says, bowing. “We didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly.” He snaps his book shut. “I’ll go around.”

He starts to pass, but I loop my arm through his. “Walk with me?”

Ashwin slowly pivots and rubs the side of his head as though massaging a headache. I tug him forward, and Natesa gladly goes, leaving the other direction.

“How have you been?” I ask the prince.

“Well, thank you.” His perfunctory answer quiets me. The clack of my cane on the wooden deck is the only noise between us. I have nearly given up on a conversation when he asks, “How are you feeling?”