The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(40)
The commander, who has dismounted and joined the group of men pushing, leans into the back of the wagon and shouts, “Go!”
We rock one wheel up onto the dry branches. My footing slips. I switch places on the wagon, shouldering the weight of the lagging wheel, and we muscle it up onto the other branches.
“Forward!” the commander orders.
We impel the wagon onward until the burden of our load transfers to the horse team, and they plod along the trail. I bend over to collect my breath. Yatin pats me on the shoulder, his own rapid breathing loud. Rohan fastens his attention to the other soldiers, and Natesa lowers her chin and tugs at her turban.
Light rain lays a thin vapor over the forestland. We trek on, and the commander mounts his horse and paces us. I am certain I do not recognize him. He was not in the military encampment in the sultanate. But Yatin and I have served with many soldiers, and he could identify either of us. Or even Natesa if he frequented the rajah’s courtesans’ wing.
In short order, we unite with a lumbering ammunition wagon, and our horse team slows to a plodding walk in the long line of wagons and soldiers.
The commander rides up to my side. I pretend the rain bothers my eyes and fixate on the muddy ridges on the ground. “Where did you and your men hail from?” he says.
“South. We heard word of the imperial army marching and came to join you.”
“The southern outpost was abandoned last moon,” he replies, fists firm on his reins.
I correct my statement as smoothly as possible. “We rerouted to Iresh and followed the troops.”
The commander rides alongside us for several tense steps, evaluating my group. His attention carries over to Natesa. She leaves her chin down. He looks past her to Rohan and then lingers on Yatin’s sturdy bulk. “Do you have experience leading your men?” he asks me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I do not miss Natesa’s lips twisting dryly. “Sir?”
“These other soldiers have been hauling the catapult since Iresh. You and your party will take over.” He excuses the current team of soldiers, and they advance with the troops on foot. “You’ll lead this horse team and catapult the rest of the way to Vanhi. Don’t slow us down.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
The commander taps his heels against his horse’s flank and trots to the wagons ahead.
Natesa shifts to walk next to me. “That was unexpected.”
“Not really,” I answer. “The first rule of successful soldiering is to make yourself indispensable. No one will look twice at us so long as we follow orders.”
“How will we look for Opal if we’re stuck watching this big hunk of wood?” Rohan grumbles. Natesa had rolled up Rohan’s sleeves so the ill fit of his jacket was not so apparent, but the imperial army uniform still drowns him.
“We’ll search at night,” I say. Rohan mutters, his strides short and agitated. “Trust me, Rohan. I know the army. We’re safe so long as we keep our heads down and do our work.”
Yatin grunts in agreement, but we both remain on guard and keep our weapons close. Our small unit fans out, Natesa and Rohan upfront. Yatin walks just ahead of me, patting his pocket every tenth or twelfth stride.
“Do you mean to give her that ring or go mad worrying that you’ve lost it?”
Yatin hikes up his trousers, which are roomier since he lost girth. “She wouldn’t accept it.”
I double-step nearer to his side. “What? Why?”
“She wants to meet my mother and sisters to make certain they approve of her first.” He scratches his beard. “I told her it would be some time before they met, but she’s decided.”
Traditionally, Yatin would meet with Natesa’s father to discuss the wedding, but her parents are deceased, so she can make the arrangements herself. A strong rapport with his family must be important to her, but I would wed Kali regardless of whether I had my mother’s approval.
Our speed stays consistent as the day wears on, and we soon surpass clambering wagons and catapults. Once we reach the center of the ranks, I slow to uphold the pace of those around us. A mediocre position in the marching line will draw less notice our way. My feet already hurt and my back aches, but I ignore my protesting body and settle into the familiar monotony of military obedience.
15
KALINDA
The Claiming chamber is locked from the corridor, so I enter an adjoined room around the corner and close the door behind me. The cold, gray inspection chamber that is used for the first stage of the Claiming ritual is empty.
Circling the hollow area lit by wall lamps, I feel gooseflesh spread up my arms. Here in this very spot, the other recipients and I stood nude before Healer Baka for evaluation of our physical health, a practice to determine whether we were fit to be shown to the benefactor.
An inner door leads to the next chamber. Near it, on a table, is a pot of henna. The sisters used the henna to draw the mark of Enki down our spines. The single wave represented that we were in submission to the most fearsome benefactor who had ever visited our temple.
I am tempted to throw the pot and shatter the memory of Tarek’s arrival, but I pick it up and cradle it close. I once carried the mark of the kindred, dyed in henna on the backs of my hands. The number one was a symbol to all that I was the rajah’s first wife. Tarek may have avowed that I will only be remembered in association with him, but I earned my rank and nobility despite him.