Page 105 of Heart of Night and Fire

“A toast,” Gopal shouted a few moments later, the music and dancing coming to a pause.

He raised a large golden goblet, a slimy smile on his face. He had many reasons to celebrate tonight. After years of scheming, the fruits of his labor had finally ripened.

“It’s been—” A piercing shriek interrupted his words.

Gopal rolled his neck, looked skyward for a moment, cleared his throat, and pressed on.

“It’s been centuries since the Ravanas have been so close to the throne, and the time has come at last for us to resume our rightful place. Alongside the Vasvi family, of course,” he added, throwing an ingratiating smile to Amrita. Zarya scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest when another sound interrupted the nawab.

But it wasn’t the shriek of a demon this time.

It was a deep, rumbling voice that floated out over the garden, signaling a shift that pulled Zarya’s attention to a newcomer, who now stood at the edge of the crowd, his stance sure and loose, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Well, isn’t this beautiful? I’m thrilled you’ve finally got your wish, Father.”

Silence gripped the scene as the man strode forward.

Zarya stopped breathing as her heart tripped over itself.

It was Rabin.

His eyes flashed with darkness, intent on the nawab. His black armor was of a different style than the palace soldiers—a tunic and tight pants of light leather, black boots, all cut in an unusual and angular fashion, his black hair tied with a strip of leather. He was huge. Bigger than he’d seemed in her dreams.

Color drained from Vikram’s face, and Gopal Ravana sputtered, the goblet slipping out of his hand and clattering onto the table.

Rabin strode to a stop in front of Vikram and Amrita, his steps as heavy as thunder.

Palace guards lining the perimeter of the space stared as their whispers floated across the garden. “Commander Ravana.” Many raised fists and pressed them to their hearts. Some kneeled with their heads bowed.

Rabin watched them, his expression radiating unquestioned authority and registering no surprise that they were falling at his feet.

“Rabin,” Vikram whispered, stepping forward. Emotions warred on his face—confusion, anger, wonder.

Taking Amrita’s hand, Rabin pressed his lips to the back of it. “Your Majesty, congratulations, and welcome to this wretched family.” Turning to Vikram, he clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, little brother. I seem to have missed the ceremony. I guess my invitation got lost.”

“What are you—” Gopal said, his face red and his words failing him. “What are you doing here, Rabindranath?”

“Aren’t you glad to see me, Father?” He stepped forward, tilting his head at the nawab. “It’s been so long. I thought you’d be thrilled to have me here for such an important family occasion.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Gopal hissed, his eyes narrowing.

Zarya, who had been too stunned to move or even breathe, suddenly snapped.

“This is your brother?” she practically shouted, the words bursting out.

“Zee, what are you doing?” Yasen pulled her back. “Zarya, what’s wrong?”

Rabin turned at the sound of Zarya’s voice, and now he was staring at her, those endless eyes burning as the drums of warning resonated in her head. Her fingers went numb, her breath failing as he stalked towards her.

She tried to say something, but the words died in her throat.

He was real.

She hadn’t been sure until this moment.

He was blood and flesh and muscle and bone, and he was Vikram’s brother. The one who had run away. Whose joining this was supposed to be. The one who had made her feel something she didn’t have a name for.

He came upon her like a rolling tide, backing her up against a stone pillar. He caught her wrist in one of his large hands and pressed it against her chest. She clutched his arm, trying to pull him away, but he was iron and steel and marble.