The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(8)
Deven and I swap a look. Our decision to meet up with the Lestarians has already proven beneficial. I just hope our meeting with the datu goes well.
The other navy ships arrive and surround us. Admiral Rimba shouts for his crew to retrieve the sailors who were cast overboard. A crewman cleans up the deck, tossing aside debris so the others may more easily work.
Deven groans and leans against me, but his complaint is of exhaustion, not of injury. “I’ll help so we can be underway,” he says. “The sooner we’re on land, the better.”
I hold on to him longer than necessary . . . and then another breath or two after that. He finally pulls back, and I reluctantly return to the cabin to check on the others.
Chitt intercepts me at the broken sliding door. “I’d like a quick word, Kindred.” Since he is blocking my way, I wait for him to go on. “Have your powers always been that greenish hue?”
“They’re usually the color of a star, but I’ve been unwell lately.”
“Perhaps it’s of no concern,” Chitt answers, though his tone implies otherwise. “Each Burner’s powers have a unique color. Mine is a deep currant, and your father’s was a vibrant tangerine. But I have never seen a Burner’s fire any shade of green.”
I had not thought to compare my fire to another’s. Burners are too few for such an opportunity to easily arise. The only other Burner I have met and fought alongside is Brac. I wish he was here so I could ask him if the color of my powers is abnormal.
Ashwin squeezes past Chitt and hooks his arm through mine. “Kalinda should rest, Ambassador.”
“Of course. Thank you for your time, Kindred.” Chitt bows, his expression no less troubled.
Ashwin and I stroll down the deck and rest on an overturned crate. When no sailors are near, he speaks. “The attack was our fault.” His small voice is packed with regret.
“No one was hurt.”
“Thank the gods. Do you think we’ll be safe in Lestari?”
I look to the stone breaker in the distance. “Let’s pray so.”
Ashwin scoots closer to move out of the path of a working sailor. I should put another gap between us, but the prince’s touch tames the chill prowling inside me.
Since the Voider tainted me, I carry his malevolent powers like an invisible brand mark. I told him I am nothing like him. I am a bhuta, a half-god, so I must be good. Whatever sickness he put inside me cannot change my heritage. But something is amiss. My powers are different, and not just their color. I feel . . . less in control.
Leaning into Ashwin, I watch the sea and try not to think about what lies beneath the surface of my skin.
We sail up to the monstrous breaker in a long line of vessels. Seabirds screech above our procession, some of them nested along the craggy cliff. The crew slows our approach, and we wait our turn to slide under the bridge on the low tide. Water cannons are mounted on the span, aimed at the open water. They’re larger than the raiders’ cannons, I think. They should keep the raiders out.
Enki’s Heart glides up to the opening, next in the fleet to pass through. Soldiers watch us from the guardhouse on the bridge, and then we coast beneath them into the shade. Through the shadows, I make out runes etched into the underside of the arch.
“What do they say?” I ask Ashwin beside me.
“Water in our blood,” he answers, reading the ancient script. I saw that line once in a book about bhutas. All mankind was created in the likeness of the gods—sky in our lungs, land beneath our feet, fire in our souls, and water in our blood. Ashwin grimaces at the etchings. The last time he read runes, he released the Voider.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t think.”
Before he can reply, we emerge into a sparkling blue cove. A verdant island awaits across the water. The city of Lestari rises from the sea with dignified refinement. A labyrinth of waterways weaves beneath picturesque houses built on platforms and secured to stilts erected upon the beach. Thick columns, endless windows, and wide-open terrace balconies line every level of the staggered structures. Palm trees thrive on patches of white sand. Arching bridges span the azure inlets, connecting the city without disturbing the ebb and flow of the tides.
The Pearl Palace, the grand centerpiece of the Southern Isles, extends into the sunset sky with spindly spires glossy as the inside of an oyster. As I watch, residents light torches to illuminate the roads and homes darkening in the failing daylight.
Our vessel slips down a main channel toward the heart of the city and past water mills that power textile, paper, and flour mills. The Lestarians use the tides resourcefully, though I suspect they have ongoing Aquifier aid. A woman guides one of the water wheels, pushing a stream through the wheel’s slats.
An outdoor market runs alongside the opposite bank. The sea breeze flutters orange-and-lime-colored sunshades stretched between lean-tos. Merchants present a spread of enticing goods, from painted pottery to ripe bananas. Fish hang from rafters, drying in the late-day sun as buyers purchase their wares before nightfall. Everyone’s clothes and faces are clean. Everything about Lestari is immaculate, like a perfectly round pearl.
The waterway pushes us through the open gates of the Pearl Palace, where Enki’s Heart bumps against a dock. A medium-height old man dressed in all white waits there. Several guards, also in white, flank him. The man’s gray hair hangs past his shoulders, and a strand of pink shells rings his neck. His deeply tanned brown skin is sun worn, like cracked leather.