The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(35)

“Where’s the gate, Tarek?” His gritty hand brushes down my cheek. I force myself to remain still. “This could redeem you. Anu could forgive your indiscretions and invite you to the Beyond.”

“The Beyond will never have me. I wish to return to the mortal realm.” Tarek’s grip tightens on my hair. “Udug stole my empire, but my name and power belong to me.”

I try tugging away, but Tarek pulls harder, dragging me into the darkness. A blackout obscures me, a whirlwind of dust and grime. Rough lips slam down on my mouth. I cannot breathe or see past the filth. A rush of panic throttles me, and I drive my dagger into his chest. The blade sinks up to my knuckles into squirming quicksand.

Tarek chuckles into my ear. “Should you choose to behave and respect your husband, all you need to do is request my company, and I will come.”

His dusty form disintegrates around me, vanishing to empty shadows. I draw in gasps of unsullied night air and search inside myself for my dying soul-fire. Finding my inner flame shrunken and weak, I tremble on the precipice of the evernight.





12

DEVEN

Torches bob around Rohan and me, like large fireflies illuminating the dark. We blend in with the other soldiers fanning out through the forest. Difficult as it is not to run ahead, we stay in the thick of the hunt. But as the troops disperse into smaller groups, we break out in front of the other search parties. Soon our torch is the only one for a hundred strides in every direction. We finally arrive at the place we last saw our comrades. The leafy covert is vacant.

“Where did they go?” Rohan asks, turning about.

“I don’t know.” They were not taken. No one from camp has searched farther out than this. The torchlights must have spooked them. I would suggest that Rohan send them a message on the wind, a whistle or birdcall, but torchlights close in on us. Too many men could become suspicious of our signal or any response our friends would send.

I sweep the torch over the ground and uncover a footprint of Yatin’s boot. As a boy, he often hid from his five older sisters so they could not dress him up like a doll, or, when he grew older, saddle him with their chores. He would only leave a footprint if he intended for me to find it.

“This way.” I hurtle over a fallen log and discover another footmark every few strides.

Rain begins to patter, dampening the fallen leaves to sticky mush and filling Yatin’s tracks with puddles. The drizzle drenches my turban but does not deter the mob or hamper their determination. Torchlights press farther into the forest as the hunt goes on.

A shout comes from directly ahead. “A rebel!”

My insides vault up my throat. Rohan and I set into a run, along with dozens of other men. We come to a halt at the gathering of lights.

A man dressed in all black grasps an imperial soldier by the neck with both hands. Droplets of blood cry from the soldier’s eyes and seep out of every pore of his exposed skin.

A soldier across the circle releases a bolt from his crossbow, striking the man in black in the spine. He arches in agony and collapses. The imperial soldier he strangled and bled falls with him, both landing in a heap. Another man checks them over.

The rebel and his assailant are dead.

The horde clambers over one another to claim the prize. Ultimately, the party with the soldier who shot the crossbow hoists the rebel and carries him back to camp. The rest of the hunters trickle after them, grumbling over the lost opportunity for coin. Bloodstains cover the fallen soldier’s body. The rain dilutes the scarlet drops to streams of pink running across his skin.

“What did the rebel do to him?” I ask.

Rohan curls into himself, a statue of misery. “Aquifiers can leech the water out of someone’s body little by little. Leeching is wrong. Bhutas should use their powers for good or we’re no better than demons.”

Opal once told me the same about winnowing when she explained a Galer can siphon air from another’s lungs, asphyxiating them to death. Rohan cries silent tears, but I doubt they are for the rebel or the soldier. He must be thinking of the Galer the demon rajah executed—and his sister.

I pat his thin back. “Tonight has been difficult, but I need you to stay tough.”

Rohan wipes his nose and nods glumly. The soldiers’ torches drift farther away, leaving us suspiciously alone. I regret not pausing to bury or pray over the fallen soldier, but time is short.

“We need to return to camp to keep up appearances,” I say. “After everyone turns in for the night, we’ll sneak away and search for Natesa and Yatin.”

Rohan falls in line with me, my feet dragging more with every stride. Two days of little food and even less rest hit me at once. It is all I can do not to keel over.

Halfway to camp, Rohan halts, and a sudden wind extinguishes our torch. The dark wicks away my exhaustion. I back up against a tree, my khanda ready.

Something hefty drops from above. Peering into the dimness, I distinguish Yatin’s shape. A smaller shadow also leaps down.

“Almighty Anu,” I whisper. “You could’ve warned me, Rohan.” He heard our friends and blew out the torch to mask their presence.

“Where’s the excitement in that?” Natesa thumps me on the chest.

Although meant as a playful jibe, the cuff hurts my tired body. “I found your tracks, Yatin.”

“I tried to leave more,” he answers, “but too many soldiers were around. Any trace of Brac or Opal?”