Tiger Queen Page 4

  He pushed me forward. Rocks glanced off his armor with more force and frequency. Their constant clink was what I imagined falling rain would sound like.

  As we pressed on, my vision cleared and the tops of buildings appeared around us. The crowd thinned on the narrow streets. We burst into the East Square, where a line snaked away from the well. Six guards stood around it, monitoring how many buckets each family took by collecting their ration coins in turn.

  The guards responded as they saw our approach, clearing a path. As soon as we got to the well, Sievers rested me on the ground nearby while the other guards held the crowd back.

  He inspected the wound on the side of my head. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” he said. “Head wounds always bleed more than anything else.” He lowered the bucket into the well and hoisted up fresh water. He gave me an apologetic smile before tearing a strip from my dress to use as a washcloth, then bathed the wound.

  He wrung the cloth into the bucket and stared at the bloody water for a few moments before throwing it out.

  “Just because you get extra buckets for being a soldier doesn’t mean the rest of us do,” someone called from the crowd. “Stop wasting our water and get back to your palace.”

  Sievers lowered the bucket back into the well, shaking his head. He and I both would’ve saved the water if we could’ve in this drought, but it’d been too bloody to salvage.

  A shadow fell across me.

  “These people would have killed to have the water you just threw out,” a voice said.

  I squinted against the intense sunrays to make out the figure as I scrambled to my feet.

  A man about my age stood on the ledge of the well, leaning against the wooden frame. He wore thin pants and a woven shirt that had seen better days. He lifted his head, shaking long, unkempt strands away from his face. “But water doesn’t mean the same thing to someone who’s never gone without it.”

  Sievers pointed his spear at the man. “Back away from Princess Kateri.”

  The man scoffed, and a sly smile spread across his face. His eyes examined my dirty face and torn garment. “You’d think they’d take better care of the famed Achran Flower. Maybe they’ve been overwatering you.”

  I studied him as well. The untamed hair. The confidence to approach the well. A Desert Boy. He had to be.

  “If anyone’s overwatered here, it’s all you Desert Boys. But I’ll be putting an end to that.” My hand went for the sword hilt that wasn’t there.

  He yanked the bucket up from the well and poured water into a container held by a small boy I hadn’t noticed. “I’m not just any Desert Boy,” he said. “I’m their leader. But you can call me Cion.”

  I didn’t breathe. I didn’t think. I reacted. I grabbed the sword from Sievers belt and leapt forward. My vision swirled, and the well hazed in and out of focus.

  “The cactus’s spines come out,” Cion said. He drew his own sword. It was a blade unlike any I’d ever seen. Instead of one shaft of straight metal, this one had two that forked away from the hilt like a snake’s tongue.

  Maybe that’s what had started those annoying rumors.

  “Keep pulling water,” he shouted over his shoulder to the boy. Then he leapt up, somersaulting through the air above my head and landing in front of me. He again flicked his long hair out of his eyes with annoying confidence.

  Sievers and another guard tried to leap between us, but I shoved them away. There was no way I was giving up a chance to face Cion in the flesh. I grinned. Bringing in Cion was exactly what I needed to make amends with my father.

  “I didn’t think you existed,” I said, jabbing my sword toward his throat.

  He easily sidestepped the blow. “That’s why I decided to put in an appearance, keep you on your toes. Maybe if I’d done that sooner, you wouldn’t have been so slow in the arena today.”

  I cried out as I lunged for him. He ducked out of the way, giving me a clear view of haggard boys taking up arms against the soldiers while another line of smaller boys pulled bucket after bucket from the well and passed it down the line and out of sight. Without the added weight of armor, the Desert Boys easily outpaced their opponents.

  One boy without shoes was knocked to the ground, but before the guard he was fighting could deliver his next blow, another boy slid through the guard’s legs and blocked it, giving his friend time to get back on his feet. Behind them, boys were climbing onto the buildings and vaulting off—landing behind two soldiers to retrieve lost weapons and gain the advantage.

  Another boy cried out as a blade cut into his arm, and I thought maybe it was a sign we could turn the tide back in our favor. But more boys materialized out of the crowd, some to carry away the injured boy and others to take up the fight where he’d left off. They had the timing and precision of thieves in the way they’d slide in and out.

  I pulled my gaze back to Cion. We circled each other. “You’re a plague,” I spat, “stealing water from these people.” I aimed my sword at his midsection. He deflected the blow, refusing to make any attack of his own.

  “I doubt you know anything about the plague,” he said. He hopped onto the edge of the stone well to avoid my blow aimed at his knees. “You were locked away in the palace while it destroyed everyone out here. Maybe”—he flicked his sword so quickly toward me it was a blur in the sunlight—“you should have used that time to practice harder.” His sword connected with mine, ripping it away from my hand.

  It spiraled toward Sievers, who was fighting off a Desert Boy with curly hair.

  Instinctively, I took a step back to avoid the sword now pointed at my chest, but I refused to drop my gaze. I stared dead into the dark eyes of the legendary leader of the Desert Boys.

  He smirked. “Too bad I can’t fight in the arena,” he said, lowering his sword and smugly crossing his arms across his chest. “Otherwise, you’d be engaged to me now, and I’d give Achra a leader who actually cares about its people.” He still stood on the edge of the well, leaning against its support beam.

  I lunged for him. He expected the move, leaping off the well as I sped toward where his knees had been. I’d been hoping to knock him into the water, where he’d be trapped. But the instant his feet left the stone wall, I realized my mistake.

  I ricocheted off the far side of the well, unable to get a hand on the edge. Cool air rushed around me until I splashed into the water below. When I surfaced, I punched my fists into the water and screamed.

  My dress clung to my legs, making it hard to kick, but I’d spent time in the oasis waters learning to swim because my father had wanted me to be a master of all aspects of the desert. And if I stretched out my arms to either side, I could touch the walls and keep myself afloat. Moss squished between my fingers, and droplet ants crawled over my hand, their transparent abdomens heavy with water to take back to their colony.

  A head popped into the circle of light at the top of the well, and a rope twirled down. “Try not to contaminate all the water with your royal stench while you’re down there,” Cion called. “People still need that to drink.”

  “If you’re so concerned about what they drink,” I screamed, my voice echoing hollowly up the walls, “then stop stealing it all for yourself!”

  I grabbed the rope and began to climb. The rough threads of the rope dug into my skin. My skirt tangled around my legs, and I gave up using my feet and pulled myself up purely with my arms.

  By the time I’d ascended high enough to grip the edge of the well, my palms were bleeding, and the Desert Boys were gone. The only signs they’d been there were a few overturned carts and the groaning guards scattered across the square.

  Sievers rushed over as soon as he saw me clinging to the edge of the well. He hoisted me over the edge, and I landed in a heap. Sand clung to my wet skin, chafing against me, but it was nothing compared to the intense heat filling my stomach and surging through my body. No one should have been able to wrestle my sword from me.

  Flashbacks to the day Rodric wounded me raced through my mind. I could already feel the hatred rising in my body.

  “Are you all right?” Sievers asked. He had a cut running down his cheek.

  I ignored him, searching for some hint of where the Desert Boys had gone. Slowly, people were repopulating the square. I shook Sievers away and raced toward a woman with a basket hoisted on her shoulders. “Did you see where they went?”

  She shook her head, refusing to look at me.

  I asked the woman next to her, and the man next to her. They all refused to answer, instead looking down into the sand.

  “Didn’t anyone see where they went?” I raged, returning to the center of the square. “Are you all so afraid of them that you’d rather have your daily water rations taken down to nothing?” I spun in circles searching for answers. I exhaled thick bursts of hot air through my flared nostrils. I must have looked like some sort of desert monster. A mixture of blood and sand covered my sopping dress. My hair hung in limp tendrils. I ran my fingers through it. The sun had dried it slightly, but clumps of sand had taken up residence.

  I shook my head.

  Sievers put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ll find no answers here,” he said.

  I let him lead me back to the palace, but I stared down every person we passed, daring them to challenge me or say anything about my appearance, to give me an excuse to release the anger throbbing in my heart.

  In fact, I was so focused on looking for someone to fight that I nearly clobbered Latia when she ran into me.

  “Latia?”

  She cast her eyes around the scene, obviously disturbed by what she saw. The note she’d been drawing earlier trembled in her hands, and her face was pale when she met my gaze. “I heard the soldiers call out that you’d been injured by the crowd. I came to help.” She lifted her hand up toward my scalp.

  “I’m fine.” I shook her away and kept walking, fuming all the way back to the palace.

  Though when the shadow of the palace fell over my body, a chill crawled across my skin. My heart was no longer throbbing with anger but with emptiness and regret.

  And fear.

  The only thing worse than letting the Desert Boys get away was having to face my father afterward.

  CHAPTER

  4

  The palace courtyards were as different from the city as a desert night was from a desert day. A sea of green replaced the sandy stretch that led up to the gates. A row of cacti grew along the base of both sides of the palace walls. Chunks of sanded brick littered the base of the inner side of the wall.

  I was told the walls had been beautiful once—carved by hand to mimic the scrolling vines and sagging flowers of the razmin plant that once grew alongside the lagoon. They’d even used dyes to bring the flowers and vines to life. But now the wall looked like it had been drilled into by countless colonies of assassin wasps.

  Past the walls, palm trees curled around the natural lagoon the city had been built around, and ornate gardens sculpted out of shrubs with roots long enough to reach the water dotted the area leading to the doors.

  Tiled terraces surrounded the lagoon, bright red-and-blue patterns zigzagging across the floor. Each tile had been handcrafted by the best artisans in Achra. But now so many of the tiles lay broken or were missing entirely. Even the snakes carved in loops around the columns across the back of the palace had pieces missing and holes worn through where sandstorms had hit them. The few artisans who’d survived the worst of the drought either didn’t have enough water to craft more or didn’t have enough skill to replicate what the master crafters had done.

  Though the drought had started before I was born, I’d always been told stories of how the artisans were the hardest hit at first. They had no extra water to make their tiles and dyes and earthenware. And many of their skills had died with them, leaving Achra to decay as it continued its fight to not succumb to this new, harsher desert we weren’t used to.

  Ever resourceful, though, the Achrans had adapted by crafting new tiles by grinding up assassin wasps in place of water. But this made the tiles lumpier and more prone to breaking. Not to mention they didn’t take color as well. And I wondered if the old ways would be lost for good before I could rid the city of the Desert Boys and find a way to get more water.

  But I couldn’t dwell on the past. I had to look toward the future first. Toward my final opponent. Right after my father learned what happened at the well.

  Leaving my guards at the door, I slipped in through the kitchens. Warm fires greeted me. It was too much heat for the afternoon, but it would be welcome when the sun set in a few hours. Raucous laughter filtered out from the doors to the main hall.

  I snuck up a back staircase and into my room. Latia’s small footfalls echoed my own.

  I needed a moment before I faced the wrath of my father in front of everyone. I flopped down on the bed, sighing.

  New gauzy spider silk curtains that hadn’t yet been weighed down by sand fluttered inward from my balcony, touching the ends of my gold-encrusted bed. Even my sheets were sewn with gold silk thread imported from the eastern kingdoms.

  The numerous caravans that once passed through Achra, bringing rich goods like these, had all but stopped when the drought and sandstorms came. Only my father’s royal caravans were given enough water to cross the desert to bring in new supplies. And even then, some of them never made it back because of the sandstorms that had increased each year since the drought started.

  A knock at the door roused me. I sat up as Latia shuffled over and opened it.

  “The king has requested a private audience with the princess. He’s waiting at the tiger cages.”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what was said.

  I froze. Alone? Not in front of the great hall?

  I swallowed. Between the incident in the arena and what happened at the well, I didn’t know what he had in store.

  My arms moved numbly as I pulled off my dress and slid into the new one, hurrying so as to not keep my father waiting.

  Latia silently moved forward and yanked any tangles in my hair as she worked quickly to twist my hair into a tight bun.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked, eyes downcast.

  “No,” I snapped, too dazed to give her credit for her loyalty. It would only be worse with her there.

  I made my way through the palace and down into the windowless depths beneath the sands. The tombs, as I’d called them as a child. But it was the only place cool enough in the palace to house the beasts.

  I was secretly glad they were kept so far from everything else. I could still recall the events of the annual Tiger Feast a few months before, commemorating the arrival of the tigers. As always, my father had sat in the main hall with the tigers chained at his feet as he recounted how he’d found two tigers lost in the desert a few days after taking the throne. He said the tigers contained the spirit of the desert because their orange-and-black pattern mimicked the golden waves of sand and the darker valleys that hid between the peaks. When the beasts had bowed before him, he brought them back to the palace with the knowledge the desert had gifted these creatures to him, confirming he was not only meant to lead, but that he would be fiercer than any creature—a true king of the desert.

  Just as my father finished the story, describing how he’d strengthened the tigers he’d found, servants approached to taunt the tigers with bits of meat to show the crowd their raw power—how my father had taken them from docile beasts to trained monsters. But one of the servants got too close. Claws raked across his thigh. He went down, and there was nothing anyone could do to save him before the tiger pulled him closer and sunk its teeth into the man’s neck with a sickening crunch, staining its fur a shade of red that didn’t exist even when the setting sun hit the sand waves.

  I had swallowed down a cry as my father laughed, spreading his arms wide and crying out for everyone to witness the power he controlled.

  I hadn’t seen the tigers since that day. But I could still hear the scream of the servant as it gurgled to a stop.

  That sound rushed through my ears as my footsteps clicked in hollow echoes, taking me closer and closer to the beasts and my waiting father. The weight of the ceiling pressed down around me. Dim hallways flickered with the weak light cast from torches situated at even intervals. But they were too far apart. Stretches of darkness waited between them. As a child, I’d always thought tigers were hiding in those shadows.

  I paused at the door that led to the cage.

  The last time I’d been down here was just after my mother had been killed nearly ten years ago. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t keep the memory from surfacing.

  I’d trembled back then as I’d walked behind my father’s large form. I wanted to reach for his hand, but I held back.

  Claw marks ran down the long chamber housing the tigers. Each beast had a chain around its neck and was kept just far enough from the other that it couldn’t swipe it with its claws. That didn’t stop them from trying.

  The moist room had reeked of feces and wet hair. I could barely stand it.

  When the tigers saw my father and my small form walk in all those years ago, they threw themselves at the bars separating their chamber from the narrow walkway in front. Claws screeched down metal. Whiskers were thrown back to release hisses toward us. Sharp teeth longer than my bony fingers gleamed.

  Their orange hue was muted with only the light of two torches illuminating them, but it made their eyes come alive. Deep oranges and reds burned when they stalked back and forth just behind the bars. But instead of a reflection of the flames, it appeared their pupils contained fire coming from inside—a rage that burned for anyone who dared keep them caged.

  The shadows they cast seemed to grow higher and higher along the wall behind them until I thought they would slip through the bars and drag me closer to them.

  I’d plastered myself against the wall. To get my mind off the tigers, to remind myself that my father did control them, I ran my finger along the small keyhole in the wall, to which my father had the only key. Not only did it open the cage, it activated a mechanism that pulled back the chains secured around the tigers’ necks, allowing the handlers to go in and collect them for the arena.