Tiger Queen Read online

  My father stood right in front of the bars. A hair closer and the tigers would be able to tear a slit in his gut. He had stood there so often, he knew exactly how near he could get.

  “We caught another of the Desert Boys,” he had said with his back to me. But I knew he was smiling. “Pick one.”

  I hadn’t understood what he was talking about. But then he gestured to the two tigers.

  He’d always taken joy in selecting the tiger that would be present in the arena when a trial was needed, as if he alone controlled the outcome of what would happen based on his selection.

  When I didn’t respond, he turned toward me. “Are you afraid of them?” There was disappointment in his voice. I could tell he’d hoped this would be something we’d share. Something we would do together.

  He snapped his fingers and a servant entered through a side door, carrying a platter of raw rat meat. My father picked up the biggest slice and dangled it in front of the cage. He had walked it back and forth, watching the tigers claw at every available surface to get to it. But I couldn’t tell if the tigers wanted to get to the meat or him more.

  Eventually he pointed to each tiger. “I want both taken to the arena today.” My father handed over the key from around his neck.

  I knew what was coming next, and yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t flee.

  The servant gently moved my shoulder aside and slid the key into the lock. The chains clunked backward, forcing the tigers to go with them. Then he handed the key back to my father.

  The servant disappeared into the other room for a moment and reappeared with two men in metal armor thicker than that of any soldier. They had two long poles with ropes on the end. They entered the cage and moved toward the first tiger my father had pointed at. One man would loop his rope around the tiger’s neck and pull so tightly the tiger could barely breathe. Then the other man would remove the chain and loop his own rope around the tiger’s neck so that both men could work to control the beast—choking it anytime it got out of hand.

  “Why two?” I’d asked to drown out the roars of the tiger as it fought to escape its restraints. I stared up at my father as a torch cast his long shadow across the room.

  He crouched in front of me. “The Desert Boys killed your mother. We can’t let them get away. This is the first one we’ve caught since her death. We must teach our enemies a lesson.” He patted my head.

  I’d looked away, sick to my stomach from the smell and his words.

  I had wanted to escape, to get away from the stench. But there was no way I was going the way they’d just taken the tiger. There was a small door set into the back wall of the tiger’s cage. I had no idea where it led, but I definitely wasn’t going that way. Without waiting to see the look on my father’s face, I’d fled back the way I’d come.

  I took a breath as the memory faded. I steadied myself in front of the door I’d run out of all those years ago. This time I wouldn’t run away. I’d have to face whatever came.

  I squared my shoulders and pushed into the room.

  My father was standing in the same spot he’d been when I’d come there as a child, a finger’s width from where the tigers’ claws could reach.

  “You dishonored me today.” He didn’t turn to look at me as I entered. He had his hands clasped behind his back.

  “My apologies.” I lowered my head even though he wouldn’t see. I’d learned a long time ago that the only apology he accepted was one of complete and utter kowtowing.

  “It’s not only the fight you should apologize for. I’ve gotten word the Desert Boys attacked, threw you into a well, and escaped.”

  “They didn’t throw me into a well,” I countered, but he cut me off before I could go on.

  “You didn’t end up in a well?” my father asked, turning to look at me and eyeing my still-damp hair.

  “I did, but—”

  “No. There are no excuses.” The vein in his temple throbbed as he stared me down. “How do you expect people to believe you qualified to rule when you cannot best a street urchin? He depleted a good portion of the well. We must show the people we are capable of protecting them, providing for them. If they do not look to us, they will look to someone else. Don’t let them look away.”

  That was another favorite saying of my father’s when he was training me. He wanted my skills to be so great that no one would be able to look away when I fought. But it always felt like more than that, like it was also his way of training me to be queen, of passing his knowledge down to me so I knew how to rule.

  “I understand,” I said, clenching my fists.

  The closest tiger pulled at its chains. The other clawed the bars.

  “I will do better. I will make you proud.”

  “Will you?” His eyes drilled into me.

  I moved closer to him, closer to the tigers. “I will win the last fight and prove I am strong enough to be your heir. The desert will choose me.”

  “Are you so certain it will?”

  I stepped back, mouth agape.

  “If your rule is weak,” he continued, “that will negate mine. All history will remember is your weakness.”

  I’d always known my strength reflected his, but I’d done everything he’d ever asked to prove I was worthy. I’d practiced every day since my mother died. I’d pricked myself with cacti spines to keep myself awake countless nights so that the Desert Boys wouldn’t catch me sleeping when they attacked again. I’d trained until my feet were blistered from the sand and my scalp burned in the noonday sun.

  “If you do not have the strength to lead these people, I must provide them with someone who will.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

  He shook his head. “I see now that Rodric has been right all along.”

  “Rodric?”

  “He’s said that while you are strong, you could be even more so if you were married to someone yet stronger, someone the desert hasn’t crushed.”

  My stomach clenched together. The last person I wanted picking a suitor for me was Rodric.

  “I will win the next fight for you, Father.”

  My father took a step away from the cage and moved toward the door. “Only if the desert wills it. Come. It’s time to find out who your last suitor will be.”

  His words burned through me as I followed him down the hallways and toward the great hall. I had never doubted that he believed I would win. Until now.

  He’d invested so much time training me when I was little. This was everything we’d worked toward. Everything we wanted. We were supposed to avenge my mother together.

  I’d always had visions of us striding out into the desert together after I was done training, after I’d won my place as the next queen—both of us chosen by the desert and ready to rid it of the plague of Desert Boys. I’d secretly thought the desert hadn’t allowed us to catch the Desert Boys yet because we were meant to do it together.

  But as we moved down the hallway, him striding so far ahead of me, it didn’t feel like we were in this together anymore. It felt like there was a gap between us—a set of bars thicker than those on the tiger cages keeping us apart.

  The only way to close that gap was to win my last fight, to show my father the desert chose me. It would put everything right. It had to. I fortified myself with that thought as we reached the large white sheets that hung across the entryway to the great hall.

  He strode into the room while I waited behind the curtain, the same curtain that would reveal my new opponent later that night.

  The crowd quieted.

  My father’s voice rang out. “Our champion has arrived.”

  The benches lining the tables moved backward in a loud squeak as the men and women rose and lifted their drinks into the air to salute me.

  The curtains parted, and I stepped into the room. The grandeur of the space always took me by surprise. Tall columns rose up to the arched ceiling, carved with the same snakes that twisted their way around the columns outside. But unlike the outer pillars, these snakes hadn’t been pounded by the endless sheets of sand. Black-and gold-painted scales winked in the light. Eyes as green as any rumbler cactus stared out above a forked tongue.

  Between the columns, sand dancers performed to the even beat of drums, swirling around and around, their feet weaving endless patterns in the sand they danced on. The celebration dance. I looked away. Their presence always reminded me of my mother’s absence, of how there was nothing to celebrate yet.

  My father’s eyes held no warmth as I entered. It was a far cry from my first fight, when he’d walked down the aisle with me—showing me off to everyone when I’d won. He’d draped his arm over my shoulder and smiled widely, beaming down at me. I’d felt like I was already queen.

  But now he stood stoically. I thought he’d at least smile, at least pretend to be pleased despite what happened.

  I managed to throw my shoulders back and keep my head high, but his earlier words still had me on edge. He hadn’t punished me outright, as I had expected; what he’d done was far worse. He’d left me to my own imagination—to wonder who my next opponent would be if he really didn’t think I was the desert’s choice. Every step closer to him suddenly felt like I was walking through Scorpion Hill, waiting for an attack to come.

  All the extra bodies packed along the tables formed an aisle leading to the dais where my father waited. The bracelets worn by the married noblewomen clinked together as they cheered my entrance.

  I walked down the aisle, stopping at every person who lined the way. All lowered their cup as I approached, and I took one sip from each. It was an old tradition that began when Tamlin made it across the desert and needed water so he could regain enough of his voice to speak with the then king. Nobles had offered him a sip of water from their glass as he made his way down the main hall toward the king’s dais.

  It had become a ritual used to reward champions and heroes.

  Only what was in the cups now wasn’t water. It was a spicy mead that burned my throat. I pressed my mouth against each rim, letting the liquid barely touch my lips before I moved on.

  By the time I reached the dais, my head pounded and my leg throbbed, and they weren’t even courteous enough to do so in unison. I bowed to my father and took my seat next to him.

  His throne, shaped like a giant scorpion, loomed large over me as he took his seat. He rested his hands on the scorpion’s claws while the creature’s tail curved behind his back, leaving the stinger to rest above his head as if the desert itself was pointing to him, anointing him its king. The throne had been made for Tamlin and was just another reminder of what I’d yet to accomplish.

  Servants carrying platters arrived the moment my father touched his chair. Two servants carried in a platter bearing heaps of three-headed lizards. My father scooped several onto his plate. Even though you could only eat the head with the purple tongue, my father insisted they be served whole. Although I didn’t blame him. More than one unruly noble had died from being served a head with a purple tongue cleverly tacked in where the green or red tongue had once been.

  Steam seeped out as my father opened each mouth, searching for the purple tongue. When he found it, he ripped it out and slurped it down. They always tasted like the razmin flowers smelled, and usually I loved eating them.

  But in light of the day’s events, everything turned my stomach.

  Course after course was brought out. White-tongue teaser snakes, whose own purple tongues mimicked those of the three-headed lizard to lure in prey, entwined on skewers. Dead scorpions posed with their tails aloft rested on platter after platter. Lily pad lizards, still bulbous from floating in the lagoon, steamed inside razmin leaves.

  I forced myself to eat a bite of snake as I waited for my father to announce my next opponent. My mother had always served me white-tongue teaser snake when I was sick as a child. She’d said it would settle my stomach. But the snake only ended up reminding me of those stupid rumors about Cion and did nothing for the knot growing in my stomach. Still, I forced myself to swallow.

  Several scales that hadn’t gotten scraped off before cooking clung to my father’s lips and shimmered in the firelight as he chomped off the midsection of a snake. He flicked the scales off his lips, and one landed on my lap. I didn’t dare move to brush it away.

  Eventually, the sand dancers stopped and the traditional Achran dancers took their place. Men and women in garments the color of sand stood in a circle around one dancer—the sun dancer—dressed in a short yellow garment. A servant with a torch came forward and the sun dancer extended her hands, coated in a thick green substance. The servant lit both her hands and the tops of her feet.

  As soon as the servant exited, the outer ring of dancers moved in unison around the sun dancer. They circled her with arms linked over each other’s shoulders—signifying Achrans’ unity in fighting the constant battle the sun waged against us. Then they started kicking sand, trying to be the one who put out the flames the sun dancer held.

  Nobles around us were taking bets on either how many loops the dancers would make before putting out the fire or who would be the lucky dancer to put out the last flame and claim victory over the sun.

  Only after a short dancer extinguished the last flame and the applause died down did my father rise from his chair.

  The room went silent.

  “Close the curtain,” he called.

  The white sheets swung downward and swished together, blocking the entryway. My father loved this part because the anticipation was like waiting to see what was behind a chosen door in the arena. And I used to love it too.

  “My daughter has faced eleven men who would claim my crown for their own,” he said. “She is ready to face her last opponent. Should this suitor be strong enough to be our next leader, he will beat her in single combat if the desert wills it.”

  The audience pounded their cups on the table in response.

  The clanking made my head throb worse, but that was nothing compared to the pressure pushing tighter against my chest.

  My father threw up his arms. The curtain parted.

  The figure behind it stepped forward into the light.

  It was Rodric.

  CHAPTER

  5

  I put one hand over my mouth to stop myself from vomiting. I steadied myself against the table and looked again to be sure. Rodric stood there, staring straight at me.

  My father looked at me sideways. “Much like Tamlin, Rodric was sent to us from the desert. He has mastered its ways, and you must master him if you wish to have my throne.”

  Breaths caught in my chest. Each of my father’s words were like grains of sand stinging my skin during a sandstorm. Rodric wouldn’t rule. He would annihilate. Anyone who opposed him would be thrown from the palace towers or have their tongues ripped out for criticizing him.

  Yet this was the man my father thought the desert had chosen to be our leader and the man I was to marry. If I lost.

  The knot growing in my stomach tightened. I would lose.

  A thought struck me. “He’s not nobility,” I blurted, turning toward my father. Tamlin hadn’t been nobility either, but the people had been so grateful for his saving them, they’d claimed he was the desert’s choice to fight in the arena trials. And so he’d been allowed. All my other suitors had some ties to royal blood. Rodric had simply appeared out of the desert boasting of his skill with a sword. Just like Tamlin.

  My father turned away to address the crowd, as well as me. “Rodric may not be royalty, but it is only fair we honor the desert’s will and pit its champion against our own. Just as Tamlin was given the same chance.”

  My stomach dropped. I had promised my mother I would lead her people. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let Rodric waltz in here and take everything. The people had loved Tamlin. No one loved Rodric.

  Except my father.

  I’d known they’d been spending more time together, and my father had thought Rodric’s skill so great he’d allowed him to take over training me these last few months. I didn’t think it had gone this far. I didn’t think Rodric had twisted his mind so much that my father actually thought Rodric was the next Tamlin.

  But I could see it now. The gleam in my father’s eyes when he turned to look at Rodric. And I wondered if he thought he was seeing a new way to keep his legacy intact, one that would link his name with the greatest king we’d ever had. Or maybe he was seeing the brother I always should have had.

  A thought tore through me. My father didn’t care who won. If I did, I’d prove his strength. If I didn’t, picking Rodric despite his lack of nobility would be seen as his way of backing the desert’s choice, of ensuring the strength of the throne.

  No one else would speak up about the lack of nobility. Not against Rodric. The soldiers who crossed him had an odd way of disappearing. Sometimes their bodies were found in the desert by the caravans coming into the city. Sometimes they were discovered in their beds covered with scorpion bites. Sometimes they were never found at all.

  Rodric saw anyone who questioned him as questioning the will of the desert itself since he was a product of the desert—no, a master of it. He saw ruling with an iron fist as the only way to rule. I hadn’t really cared before, but now I might find myself under that fist.

  I’d spent years training, years trying to live up to my father’s legacy, to gain the strength to take the throne and protect my people like my mother had always wanted me to do. And now I would be stopped at the bitter end by Rodric?

  He sauntered forward and bowed before my father. When he righted himself, his eyes were on me. “I’ve trained you well,” he said. “Now it’s time to find out how well.”

  I balled my hands into fists. I wanted to wipe the smile from his face, to wipe away every memory of him, because he’d done this. While I’d been so busy training, he’d been poisoning my own father against me. And I’d played right into his script by getting injured today.