The Fire Queen (The Hundredth Queen #2)(16)
Yatin and Natesa are already on the wing flyer. I climb in beside Rohan, and the flyer rises. Brac wraps his arm around Mother’s shoulders. They shrink below us until they are the size of ants. Rohan’s winds switch direction, and the wing flyer banks deftly, agile with less weight, like a moth instead of a fat bumblebee. We turn southeastward over the wetland, and my family sinks out of sight.
On the horizon, I spot a regiment of soldiers bearing the Janardanian flag traveling the roadway alongside the Morass.
“Why are those troops this far west?” I call to Rohan.
“Routine patrol,” he yells over the wind.
The ranks of the slow-moving battalion—about a thousand men—and numerous wagons suggest they are hauling heavy artillery. They are well within their borders yet are marching northwestward, nearer to Tarachand. They could also be traveling around the Morass.
Before I can determine their destination, we turn east into a red dawn.
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 our party waits in the corridor. Prince Ashwin offers me a shy smile.
“You look lovely, Kalinda,” he says.
Having every inch of me clean is a luxury I have missed. I woke to the noises of servants filling a bath for me and leaving. I bathed in the mint-scented water for nearly an hour and then spent longer than usual combing my hair. I wear no eye kohl or lip stain, as I never bothered to learn how to apply them. Any attempt would be heavy-handed and make me look garish.
Brother Shaan bows. “Kindred, please behave in the meeting today. The sultan doesn’t often allow women into the war room.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say stiffly.
Opal leads the way. The palace is opulent, with plant life at every corner, and swathed in tapestries of the land-goddess Ki. We leave the corridor to a covered walkway. A tall bamboo fence lines one side, so high I can only see the treetops peeking overhead.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
“That’s the tiger paddock,” Opal replies. “They’re the sultan’s pets.”
Tigers are pets? I have come a long way from home.
We are lead to an entry, past two tall potted plants on either side of a door. I step into the chamber with Brother Shaan and Prince Ashwin, and my inner flame snuffs out.
I back out of the doorway and grip Opal’s arm. “I lost my powers. What’s going on?”
“Protection.” She waves at the potted plants. “White baneberry and snakeroot.”
The plants she speaks of are noxious to bhutas, given to mortals from the land-goddess Ki as a defense against us. They block bhuta powers, leaving us exposed. White baneberry and snakeroot have been used as safeguards from bhutas for centuries. I assumed the greenery was for decoration, but the palace is covered with poison. I must have experienced its effects last night while I walked the corridors.
“The sultan doesn’t allow bhuta powers in the war room,” Opal whispers, glancing at Prince Ashwin, waiting for me inside. “Sultan Kuval doesn’t know what you are. The prince might, but I don’t know for certain. You should go. The sultan has limited patience.”
Looking inside, I see a stout white-mustached man sitting on a pedestal across the sunken room. More pots of white baneberry and snakeroot line all four walls. A knee-high, rectangular table occupies the middle of the oblong chamber, with richly colored cloth floor mats laid about. Military officers are seated and ready to begin the meeting.
Prince Ashwin eyes me with concern, attune to my discomfort. I am tempted to go back to my chamber, but I have come all this way to support him. Moreover, I have faced a room full of ranis, all experienced sister warriors. These men cannot be scarier than them.
I step to the prince’s side in the war room, and my powers shrink to a useless ember.
A middle-aged military officer with a gaunt face greets us. “Kindred Kalinda, I’m Vizier Gyan, the sultan’s head military adviser. We’ve heard much about you.” His gray-streaked hair is tied back, and he carries two machetes, one on each hip. His poor attempt at a welcoming smile broadens his austere appearance. He, with the other Janardanian men, wears a loose-fitting skirt instead of trousers, folded so there is a slight crease separating his legs. The vizier sizes me up in turn but with scrutiny that surpasses polite interest.
Prince Ashwin leads me to the steely-eyed man on the throne. “Sultan Kuval, this is Kindred Kalinda.”