The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(45)

“The longer he is out of the Void, the weaker he becomes . . . unless he feeds off bhuta soul-fire.” Anjali wrinkles her nose. “You know that disgusting thing you Burners do? Parching? Udug does the same, only he parches his victim’s whole soul.”

The rebels have also learned the Voider’s name, but Ashwin does not disclose if her knowledge about the Udug upholds his own findings.

“Creatures of the evernight thrive in the dark,” Anjali explains. “They’re the strongest in the shadows. Through feeding off bhuta soul-fire, Udug is expanding the powers he brought into our realm. By the time he reaches Vanhi, he will be more powerful than the demon you battled. He will be unstoppable.”

Ice radiates in my gut, stemming from the cold-fire strangling my inner light. Udug’s powers work the same way on me as they do the rest of the world.

“The Lestarian Navy is on its way,” says Ashwin, calm and focused. “With the rebels also on our side, we’ll have sufficient bhutas to defeat Udug.”

She wags her finger at him. “You unleashed the Voider, yet you need bhutas to vanquish him?”

“I don’t share my father’s hatred. An alliance with the rebels will ensure a place for bhuta Virtue Guards in the empire’s future.”

“An alliance is one answer,” Anjali admits. “But we have another.”

Ashwin boosts his chin. “And what’s that?”

“For you to die.” Anjali’s smirk widens at his flinch. “Udug is tied to you through your heart’s wish. If your heart stops beating . . .” She makes a poof motion. “He returns to the Void.”

My powers hum just below my skin. “Your theory is unfounded.”

“We won’t know until we try. Your Majesty?” Anjali leers at his title. “You unleashed Udug. Do you have the courage to send him back?”

I step in front of Ashwin. “The prince won’t forfeit his life.”

“My father told me you’d say that, which is why for every hour the prince lives, one of the palace prisoners will die in his place. The warlord will start with your favorites. Your rani friends, Parisa and Eshana. Or maybe your servant, Asha. No, it will be Shyla, the one with the baby. She has a little girl, I believe.”

Anjali’s threat wrings me breathless. I raise my dagger to slice away her sneer, and she summons a wall of wind between us, halting my opening to strike her. Satisfied that I cannot touch her, she twirls a chakram—a circular throwing blade—around her wrist and switches her gaze to Ashwin.

“Decide quickly, Prince. My father will kill a rani every hour starting at sunup unless he hears that you’re dead.”

All warmth drains from Ashwin’s pallor. He opens his mouth, his dry lips sticking together. “Are you certain this will stop Udug?”

I slice my blade in front of him. “You cannot consider this. Hastin is trying to frighten you into conceding your throne, and the only way to do that is through your death.”

Anjali laughs lightly. “Oh, let the prince die. It’s his right.”

“Quiet,” I snap. “Ashwin, we cannot believe anything she says. Hastin has the palace and he’s afraid you’ll win it back. This must be a trick.”

“But if it isn’t . . . ?” he asks.

“Then we’ll find another way.”

“Your friends will be killed,” he whispers, holding the machete at his side. “My father’s wives—my family—will die.”

My throat aches, thinking of the ranis and Asha, my servant. Hastin could kill them no matter what Ashwin does or does not do. They are innocents, bystanders in this race for power. But they are more than prisoners. Every one of them is a sister warrior by heart and deed. As such, they would relinquish their lives to protect their families and their homeland’s future.

“They aren’t the rightful rajah. You are.” I scrub away the flaking henna on the backs of my hands. “As the kindred, I’ll stand at your right-hand side.”

Ashwin sees my rank marks, and tears flood his eyes.

“Please give me the machete,” I say. With my guidance, he gradually lowers the blade. “Now let it go.” He does not, so I pry the weapon away.

He gasps for a saving breath, his chin quivering against more tears.

Anjali ejects a sigh and stops twirling her chakram. “You never know when to lose, Kalinda.”

My instincts prickle. I back up for the trees. “Ashwin, get to the temple.”

He pivots to run, but before he takes a single step, Anjali slings a chakram at him, boosted by one of her vicious gusts. I knock Ashwin down, away from its path. The chakram whirrs off into the forest and embeds itself in a tree trunk. We scramble up, and Anjali hurls a follow-up wind at us, flinging us back.

I land hard in the snow and drop the machete. Ashwin flies into a log, hitting his head, and lies in a daze. I throw up a flame, a signal to Indah and Pons, and draw my dagger. As I stand, I notice Anjali has disappeared.

The sun has sunk, and the dusky twilight rapidly fades to dark. I scan the shadowed landscape for her. The northern winds blast, each gust stronger than the last. I cannot discern which are Anjali’s and which belong to the sky-god.

I back up toward Ashwin, and a wind whips at my ankles. I fall, dropping my dagger. Another squall lashes my back. The sting goes through my tunic to my skin. Then another strike belts me, followed by Anjali’s laugh.