The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(67)
I hit her hands straight up and lunge for her chakram. Anjali knees me in the mouth. Stars shoot across my vision, and she seizes my throat. Our skin-to-skin connection is all she needs. Her powers dive inside me and suffocate the sky from my lungs.
“Your kind are worthless scarabs.”
Her asphyxiation process is torture. She squeezes out every puff of air, first from my muscles to weaken me, and then my organs. My pulse thuds slower, each beat a hollow echo, and my vision distorts.
I hear a whack, and Anjali slumps over.
I gasp for saving breaths. Drawing in the precious air reawakens my senses. Asha stands above me, clutching the broken leg of the rajah’s throne. Still wheezing, I push Anjali off me and take her chakram. Asha tosses aside her makeshift club, her pale face stark against her red scars.
“Come on,” I pant.
Using the chakram, I pry out the rocks jamming the door and force it open. The antechamber is full of hand wagons stacked with the ranis’ weapons. Opposite our entry is the exit to the servants’ passageway Asha spoke of.
Anjali is still passed out in the throne room, but voices echo in from the entry hall. I pile more daggers, haladies, and swords on top of two hand wagons. Asha and I both grab handles. She checks the servants’ passageway and waves me forward.
Shouts erupt behind us. I only distinguish Hastin’s voice.
“Let them have their measly steel. We haven’t time for this. Return to the palace wall!”
We steer the hand wagons through the dim passageways and lug them one at a time up steep stairwells. Finally, Asha wedges open a low door, and we enter the Tigress Pavilion. Asha and I wheel the weapons out and stop to gather our breaths.
Natesa rushes over, Yatin stalking close behind her. The ranis, courtesans, and servants have congregated on the floor cushions. Opal stares up at the darkening sky, her eyes blank and ears listening.
Natesa lifts a khanda off the top of the pile. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. Good work, Deven.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Asha,” I wheeze. The timid servant blushes. “Where’s Brac?”
Yatin also chooses a khanda. “He isn’t back yet. He mentioned something about going beyond the palace wall and then left right after you.”
I bank down a rush of unease. This does not mean something went wrong. Returning from beyond the palace wall would take him longer. But how exactly did Brac cause the tremor that distracted the guards? I turn to Opal for her report.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “My range of hearing is lessening as the army approaches. Udug’s powers are dwarfing mine. I cannot hear anything outside the palace walls.”
Explosions go off in the city. Some of the women shriek and duck. The winds kick up, and storm clouds steamroll across the sky, blotting out the sunset. Thunderheads crash, chased by flashes of lightning. The rebel army is deploying, and we must too.
“Will the women fight with us?” I ask.
“They’re confused,” answers Natesa. “We told them Rajah Tarek is dead, but some of them only gleaned that he’s coming to release them and their children. We need to rally them.”
We will start by returning their control.
I select my old friend, a military-grade khanda, and pick up a second. I carry both khandas to the women and lift my voice. “The imperial army has been deceived by a demon. Their counterfeit commander does not care for us or our empire. The true ruler of the Tarachand Empire is Prince Ashwin, and Kalinda Zacharias is your kindred. She has not forsaken you. She fled here to find and protect the prince. She knows that to save the empire she must preserve its heir.”
Natesa comes to my side. “Tell them you trust the prince,” she whispers.
I bristle. She wants me to lie?
Natesa huffs impatiently and addresses her peers. “Prince Ashwin gave Kindred Kalinda the choice to wed him or go free. He has never spoken of retaining me as his courtesan, and he won’t force any of you to stay in wedlock or servitude to his inherited throne.” The women murmur to each other in astonishment. “Prince Ashwin is a fair and noble ruler. He cares for his people and the fate of our empire.”
A clatter of thunder foreshadows crooked bolts of lightning flashing overhead. The women cry out and stoop down. A baby wails, and mothers cradle their little ones nearer. I cannot bring myself to preach to these frightened women about the prince’s virtues, but I can warn them about Udug.
“The demon rajah doesn’t care for your well-being,” I shout. “He hungers to wipe out our world.” I hand my spare khanda to a rani with thick white scars on her arm. “You’re free to decide your own fate. You can fight for your homeland—or stand by and watch it fall.”
Parisa and Eshana rise and come forward to choose a weapon. Shyla passes her baby to a nursemaid and selects a sword. Asha would have received less training than most of the women here, yet she picks up two haladies. They and my friends join me, each armed, and we start for the doorway.
“Where are you going?” a rani calls.
“To fight,” I reply. “If you wish for your children to live through the night, you’ll pick up a weapon and come with us.”
Outside the Tigress Pavilion, through the corridor casements, I see rebel soldiers stationed in the garden. Tremblers fortify the perimeter wall, and Galers conduct the thunderstorm. Repeated lightning strikes glint above. Farther out in the city, Udug’s spooky blue flames flicker closer.