The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen Series Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Unnamed

  ALSO BY EMILY R. KING The Hundredth Queen

  Unnamed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2017 Emily R. King All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Skyscape, New York www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781611097498 ISBN-10: 1611097495 Cover design by Jason Blackburn

  For Marlene Stringer, a true sister warrior

  CONTENTS AUTHOR’S NOTE 1 KALINDA 2 KALINDA 3 DEVEN 4 KALINDA 5 DEVEN 6 KALINDA 7 DEVEN 8 KALINDA 9 DEVEN 10 KALINDA 11 KALINDA 12 DEVEN 13 KALINDA 14 DEVEN 15 KALINDA 16 DEVEN 17 KALINDA 18 DEVEN 19 KALINDA 20 KALINDA 21 DEVEN 22 KALINDA 23 DEVEN 24 KALINDA 25 DEVEN 26 KALINDA 27 DEVEN 28 KALINDA 29 KALINDA 30 DEVEN 31 KALINDA 32 DEVEN 33 KALINDA ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AUTHOR’S NOTE The religion of the Tarachand Empire, the Parijana faith, is a fictional variation derived from Sumerian deities. However, the Parijana faith, and the Tarachand and other empires do not directly represent any specific historical time period, creed, or union. Any other religious or governmental similarities are coincidental and do not depict actual people or events.

  1 KALINDA Death has a stench, and it is not decaying flesh but the bitter scent of smoke clawing into my pores. A wide, dark plume blots out the afternoon sun, an ashy stain rising to the heavens like a sacrificial trail. A lonely wind, hot as dragon’s breath, pushes black soot toward our caravan. Please, gods. Not again. I click my tongue and press my heels into my camel’s side. The long-legged animal grunts, exhausted from long days of tracking. I dig my heels in deeper, rousing a spurt of strength from the beast, and the camel’s feet crunch over clumps of dead grass as yellow as the harvest moon. Rays from the late-summer sun beat down, parching the land. We crest a short hill, and I yank on the reins, stopping to absorb the destruction. Across the expanse of golden hills, dark smoke obscures the temple roof, and red flames chew apart the crumbling stone walls and surrounding cobble courtyard. Another Brotherhood temple razed to rubble. Deven leans forward, his chest close to my bac

  2 KALINDA Something strokes down my nose, pulling me from sleep. A ruby silk canopy stretches over my bed. Curtains billow near the balcony, a hot breeze ushering in the rustle of palm fronds. I am in my chamber in the Turquoise Palace. A finger brushes my nose again. I blink fast, and a face comes into focus. Rajah Tarek’s white teeth flash predatorily in my darkened room. “I’ve missed you, love.” I try to jerk away, but my hands and legs are pinned. “Shh,” he croons. “We’re going to have the wedding night the gods intended for us.” He lies beside me, turns his body into mine, and buries his face in my hair. I wrench at my bindings, struggling to kick free, but my ankles are tied to the bedposts and my arms are stretched over my head. I reach inward for my powers to burn away the straps—and find a well of emptiness. No soul-fire flickers within me. “What did you do?” I ask, my voice hitching on terror. Tarek answers while kissing a trail across my cheek. “I poisoned you as you did me.

  3 DEVEN Opal’s wing flyer banks east, out of range from the deafening winds. Thank the gods. Kali got away. The driving rains drench me. Anjali hovers before us, the wind tunnel of hailstones whipping around her. While Rohan runs for the second wing flyer, Brac sends a heatwave at her from behind his boulder. The rainy gales extinguish his fire to smoke. Anjali’s relentless wind pushes aside my brother’s safe cover. He sprints to Mother and me and ducks beside us. Anjali pummels our boulder with gust after gust. I crouch over Mother, our heads bowed, while the hail thrashes against our backs. I have been trained for battle, but my sword is useless here. I have no way of defending my family against these higher powers. Something darkens my side vision—Rohan is airborne in his wing flyer. Anjali harnesses her ripping winds and thrusts them full force at him. He twirls, trapped inside the vortex. “Help him,” I command Brac. He throws several fire blasts in a row at Anjali, each weaker tha

  4 KALINDA Hours later, after flying over the seemingly endless eastern rice fields and marshlands, the road twists south, but Opal stays her course southeast over an endless expanse of trees. We fly above the jungle while I watch the treetops rippling beneath us like emerald waves. “I need to rest,” Opal says an hour or so later. “Be ready to descend.” The wind lessens, and we dip. I grip the navigation bar as the greenery comes nearer. The emergent trees, tualang and kapok, rise above the rest of the canopy. We dip past one, still coasting downward. “Um, Opal? Where are we going to land?” “Ever see a myna perch in a tree?” I groan. Oh no. Opal decreases the wind again, and we drop. I turn my face away from the incoming leaves. Branches snap and slap my face and legs. Opal’s wind dwindles off, and foliage surrounds the wing flyer, slowing us to a jolting halt. Our legs dangle behind us, our bodies held up by the passengers’ plank. The wing flyer suspends high above the ground in a gian

  5 DEVEN I slog across the marshlands, surveying the inky edge of the Morass in the distance. In the other direction, Yatin and Brac forge for cattails and Natesa and Mother pick long-stemmed reeds. Rohan is resting from our long flight. The wind told him Anjali and Indira are retreating back to Vanhi, so we have the wetlands to ourselves. At last, we are on the ground again, but I cannot see where I am stepping in the dark. I misjudge a mound of grass and slosh through a puddle. Cold, muddy water pours into my boots. Son of a scorpion. I finish surveying the area—with wet boots—and then squish back to Rohan, propped up against the wing flyer. His young face is disconcertingly pale. I heard no complaint or grousing from him today, but it was clear from his shaking arms that his Galer powers were overexerted by too many riders. Natesa and Mother huddle upon a higher mound of land, piling willow reeds. Brac holds his glowing hand to the heap of grass, and it ignites. Firelight brightens t

  6 KALINDA Opal waits while I strap my daggers to my thighs. She arrived moments ago, wearing the loose dark-green uniform of a Janardanian palace guard, and summoned me to meet with the sultan. “Any word from Rohan?” I ask. “Not yet, but he and the others are probably a day or so behind.” They could be here by tonight. If I can win over the people’s affection for the prince today, we could leave tomorrow. “Before we go, put this on.” Opal offers me a veil. I recoil like it is a lit match. Married women wear veils. I am not married. “Brother Shaan said you mustn’t be seen in public without the lower half of your face covered.” She attempts to put the veil on me, but I tug it from her hand and crush the flimsy cloth in my fist. “My husband is dead.” I toss the veil, and it flutters to the floor beside my unmade bed. The sheets are crumpled, like my nerves. My nightmares of Tarek were worse last night, heightened by this strange place and the deception that brought me here. The rest of ou

  7 DEVEN We soar into Iresh on a tailwind and land in the grounds of the Beryl Palace. I have never wanted to stand on my own two feet more than I do now. The gardens are magnificent and clean, luxuries afforded to the affluent. No sooner do we jump down from the wing flyer than footsteps drum around us. Janardanian guards flock into the courtyard, and one points a machete at my nose. This isn’t the warm welcome I expected. I lift my hands away from my sword. One green-clad guard confiscates it, and another pats me down for hidden weapons. More guards disarm
Yatin and Rohan, but when they reach Natesa, she shoves them away. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses. She is promptly wrangled and her haladie taken. Unarmed, she tosses them a look that would send a pig squealing. A narrow-faced older man wearing a Janardanian military uniform strides into the garden. “Who are you?” he asks, coldly scrutinizing us. “Vizier Gyan,” Rohan answers, “I’m an imperial guard here at the palace. These people are

  8 KALINDA I spend the afternoon with Opal, though she is not much for company. She naps while I stare blankly at a book. The colorful inks and sketching parchment call out to me, beckoning me to open them. My mind floats with imaginings of all the vivid pictures I could draw, but I go no further. I will not be bribed, even by so lovely a gift. Sitting by the hearth, I ignore the book in my lap and scratch at the rank marks on the backs of my hands. I wish they would go away. But even if they do, the prince still has first rights to me. What if he compels me to compete in the tournament? What if he doesn’t? Will he exercise his first rights to me regardless? Opal sits up and tilts a listening ear to the sky. “Brother Shaan needs me.” She jumps up without further explanation and leaves. My sigh hitches on disappointment. She said Rohan and my party were a day or so behind us, so they must not be here yet. I return my attention to the book, but in the stillness of the chamber my awareness

  9 DEVEN The sunlight under the door weakens to pale silver. Footsteps approach, and the door swings open. I squint at the dusky sky; weak as it is, my eyes still sting in the twilight. “You may come out now, Captain,” says Vizier Gyan. I push away from leaning against the wall. Days of traveling without much food weaken my knees, and I weave a step as I exit the hut. Vizier Gyan waits with guards. One of them holds out a whip, the other a sword. I force my face to granite. Vizier Gyan links his hands behind him. “I’ve spoken with the soldiers. They informed me of your prior accusations. Do you admit to conspiring with the bhuta warlord Hastin and betraying Rajah Tarek?” Be humble. I draw in a shallow breath. “Yes, sir.” Vizier Gyan’s staid expression does not change. “I reported my findings to Prince Ashwin. He has no room in his army for traitors. Fortunately for you, he is more lenient than his father. He said if you confessed he would spare your life and deliver a less severe senten

  10 KALINDA Ashwin and I step out of the tunnel into sticky air and the persistent night calls of creatures hunkering in the dark. Predatory plant life walls us in, gray-emerald shadows partially blocking the starry sky. “Brother Shaan said there’s a path,” Ashwin remarks. He walks to the thick trees with the torchlight. My fingers hover over my dagger as we search for a trail into the Morass. He notices my hand near my weapon. “Expecting a monster to jump out?” “Can you guarantee me one won’t?” He expels a breathy chuckle. “Here it is.” A narrow path has been scored into the jungle floor, hardly wide enough for a rabbit’s trail. I draw my knife and step into the darkened trees. I pause and listen intently. Branches rustle around me, and animal noises quit or carry away, but the awareness of something watching me prickles at my scalp. I have heard clouded leopards, porcupines, and macaques call this jungle their home, none of which I would like to disturb. Ashwin joins me, our shadows c

  11 KALINDA As Natesa finishes brushing kohl around my eyes, her knuckle grazes my nose, triggering an itch. I reach up to scratch it, and she smacks my hand away. “You smudged the corner!” she fumes and then fixes the blemish with impatient brushstrokes. After I slept until the early afternoon, Natesa dragged me out of bed to ready me for the declaration ceremony. I have been avoiding the mirror glass since earlier, when I stole a glimpse of my pallid reflection. Every broken shard of my heart was visible in my bloodshot eyes. Natesa stands back to admire her work. She has been short with me since we were told servants are not allowed to attend the tournament proceedings. She does not like being left out almost as much as she dislikes people ordering her about. “That’ll do,” she proclaims. I brace myself for disappointment and look at my reflection. My makeup is flawless. My hair is brushed to a shine that could outdo a brass gong in the sun, and the plum sari is elegantly majestic. Na

  12 DEVEN I lie on my stomach, all strength bled out of me. To blink is to harness the power of a thousand men. To swallow is to employ the gods. The Aquifier pours more healing waters over my back. The warm liquid releases a cascade of fresh smells, from sun-warmed muslin to coconut to white sandalwood. My skin tautens painfully and then tingles with welcome coolness. A member of the brethren has not come to offer a healing blessing on my behalf, as is customary in Tarachand, but I did not expect it. During my time training with the brethren, I learned Janardanians do not worship the Parijana faith as we do but a varied sect that places the land-goddess above her husband, the sky-god. Janardanians believe returning to the ground to feed the land, Ki’s domain, is an honor. They accept that they will die when the land-goddess chooses, and they do not interfere with her will through prayer. The Aquifier trickles more of his fresh-scented water over my back. Foggy dreaminess drifts over me

  13 KALINDA A host of servants rearranges the terrace into an outdoor banquet hall with low tables and candlelight. The sultan dines among his wives and courtesans, away from the rest of the attendees. Eunuchs stand guard around them, scrutinizing any patron who comes too close. Prince Ashwin is seated at a table on the dais, and my competitors and I are invited to feast beside him. He saves the floor rug to his right for me, leaving the left one open. Princess Citra plunks down on it before Indah and Tinley have a chance. While servants set dishes of food before us, down the short steps a toddler seated with the sultan’s court screams and throws food at his nursemaid. “Who is that?” I whisper to Ashwin. “The heir to the sultanate. Kuval has a lot of daughters, but that is his first son.” Princess Citra must be fifteen years older than the young prince, yet her baby brother is to inherit the throne. Such dynamics seem unfair given the princess’s loyalty to her homeland. The nursemaid pi

  14 DEVEN I part my eyelids at the creak of the cell door. The Aquifier healer comes in carrying a lamp. He is followed by a man with a haunting face. I blink fast, questioning my sight. Rajah Tarek . . . except he looks as he did when he was younger. While growing up in the Turquoise Palace, I would sneak glances at His Majesty from behind my nursemaid’s skirts. His domineering presence and lust for cruelty petrified me. Rajah Tarek controlled my mother’s life and sought to destroy all bhutas, including my brother, who was forced to hide his powers. When I finally stood against Tarek, my years of loyal service as his soldier meant nothing. “Captain Naik, I’ve come to view your progress.” The stranger’s voice is higher and smoother than Tarek’s. Prince Ashwin. I did not get a fair look at him when he came for Kali the other night, but his voice matches my memory. The Aquifier moves behind me and runs his hands down my back, over my still-healing wounds. I hiss at a brief flare of pain,

  15 KALINDA Darkness smothers me. The air is thinner and enclosed inside the ruins. I lie on my back and stare into nothing. I cannot see my hand in front of my face. My hand. I push my powers into my fingers. They cast a pale glow, uncovering walls strangled by vines and an uneven rocky floor buckled with tree roots. After getting up, I wrench a dry root free. I cup the top of the wood and shove my powers into it. A small flame sparks. I blow on the flame, and my breath caresses the new embers into a blaze. The torchlight brightens the caved-in entry. The rock pile is too high and packed thick, well within the doorframe. I have to find another way out. Extending the torch in front of me, I hazard my way into the ruins. The floor slopes, leading me into the trenches. Every few steps I pause and listen for sounds above my thumping heart. Water drips nearby, but the rowdy jungle noises are absent. The corridor breaks off into dark doorways. I choose the path in front of me over and over a

  16 DEVEN A bright stream of light falls across my face, waking me. Two bhuta guards step into my cell. “Vizier Gyan wants to speak to you,” one says. “Why?” He kicks the leg of my cot. “Just get up.” Meathead. I rise slowly, allowing my body time to adjust. The Aquifier
came once more last night and healed the last of my scars; even the arrow wound is gone. But the memory of the pain lingers. Shielding my vision, I step out into the sun. The guards lead me to the quad where the other prisoners are gathered. I spot Yatin, his head higher than the sea of men like the peak of a wave. Worry puckers his brow. Not a comforting sign. Vizier Gyan waits near the pole where I was lashed. The guards leave me there, facing the glares and confused frowns of my fellow soldiers. The vizier holds out a letter. “I received a message from Prince Ashwin. He requested that I read it to you all. It says: ‘I have made a gross error. I was made to believe Captain Deven Naik betrayed his post of command. In t

  17 KALINDA The guards dump me in an empty antechamber far away from the throne room. I rest my forehead against the cool tile floor, the frightened cries of the sultan’s court still booming in my ears. I search my mind for something else to think about and find the image of Deven cringing from my glowing hands. Sultan Kuval throws open the door and stomps in, Ashwin on his tail. I stay lying on my side, the toxic snakeroot binding my hands behind me, and stare up at them. “You deceived me,” bellows the sultan. “She’s a Burner.” He spits my god-given powers at me, like I am the dead dragon cobra I flung at his feet. “Kalinda isn’t dangerous,” Ashwin replies. “She’s Kishan’s daughter.” “Kishan was an idealistic fool. He was always lecturing others about unity and the need for Virtue Guards. I will tell you what I told him—I have no place for Burners in my nation! Burners are soulless children of the Void.” I have heard this slander before. Rajah Tarek twisted the truth of bhutas’ godly o

  18 DEVEN Gods, it’s hot. The absence of a breeze is stifling. Lieutenant Eko offers me a wet cloth for my face. I dab the rag against my bloody lip where I was hit by a staff. Manas scowls at Eko and me from inside the dining tent with the other soldiers. Friendly as usual. Midday meal comes to a close. I hardly touched my mushy rice, leaving it for Yatin to finish. My whole body is sore from sparring. “You take a beating well,” Eko says, sitting with me. “I’ve had practice.” “General Gautam was your father,” he notes. “I was surprised to hear of his death.” Interesting that I say I’m used to a beating and he mentions my father. Did Eko know the general as I did? The general tortured me for information about the rebels before he died. I remember the general bleeding out on the dungeon floor, but I suffer no powerful ache or loss. Everything I understand about honor and respect, I learned from my mother and other sister warriors. My father does not deserve my sorrow, only relief. He can