Page 11 of Heart of Night and Fire

Aarav came up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Let’s go. You can’t be seen.”

Zarya threw him a dark look and turned back to the rakshasas, watching their graceful movements, wishing desperately she could speak with them.

They were still talking to one another when something heaved in her stomach, and a moment later, two naga burst from the swamp. They were massive, like tree trunks—longer and thicker than the one she’d killed two days ago.

Zarya gasped as she watched one of them wrap itself around the dark-haired rakshasa’s torso, pinning his arms so he couldn’t reach the sword that hung from his side. His silver-haired companion was now occupied by the second naga, which was currently taunting him, darting its mashed face in and out, snapping its mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

The dark-haired rakshasa was being dragged off the log and towards the water, his legs kicking and his body bucking as he tried to free himself. Zarya parted the bushes, preparing to dive through, when Aarav grabbed her and pulled her back.

“Where are you going?”

“To help them. He’s going to die!”

“No, Zarya, they can’t see you. We’re leaving. They can take care of themselves.”

Zarya made a face of disgust. “You’re pathetic, Aarav.”

She shoved Aarav with all her strength and plunged through the trees with Row’s sword in her hand. With her feet planted apart, she lifted the sword high before slicing through the first demon’s neck, shearing off its head in one neat slice, freeing the dark-haired rakshasa from its hold. She’d killed enough of these things to know exactly where to strike.

At the same moment, the second naga turned its attention towards her and lunged, clamping its mouth onto her leg. White and pulsing, the gelatinous mass of its body slithered on the ground, pulling her off her feet and flat onto her back. She cried out as the sword tumbled from her grasp, the naga’s sharp teeth digging into her calf and shin. She screamed as it dragged her towards the murky water.

Clawing at the boggy ground, she tried to find something to grasp, but the soft mud came away in her hands, her fingers trailing deep gouges in the earth. Row’s sword glinted where she’d dropped it, too far out of her reach.

Another scream tore from her throat as the naga’s fangs ground against bone, burning as blood mixed with mud. The smell of rotting flesh wafted from its maw, its hot, fetid breath making her gag.

She twisted towards the snake, using her free leg to kick its face as hard as she could, hoping to dislodge its grasp.

Then something fast and small whizzed by Zarya’s head, followed by a sickening squelch just before the pressure eased on her leg. She gawked at the arrow now sticking straight out of the naga’s forehead right before it flopped over, dead.

FIVE

Her heart beating wildly, Zarya collapsed to the ground, panting. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the black spots twirling in her vision.

“What were you thinking?” asked a curt voice. The silver-haired rakshasa was crouched next to her, setting down a large wooden bow and throwing an angry glance her way.

Zarya frowned at him and then at her leg, surprised at the amount of blood. Long gouges punctured her skin, leaving her pants in tatters and her boot lost forever.

“I was trying to help you,” she snapped, irritated at his tone. In fact, she’d almost died trying to help them, and she didn’t appreciate the attitude.

The man offered her a skeptical look, his eyebrow arched in disdain, as he dropped the bag slung over his shoulder and then rummaged through its contents. He pulled out a small box and opened it.

“This will neutralize the naga’s venom. You’ll need to hold still.” He held up a vial of colorless liquid and looked at her with clear, grey eyes. “And it will hurt.” His tone suggested he wasn’t about to apologize for that, though.

Zarya nodded, her heart still thumping erratically in her chest.

“Squeeze my hand,” said his darker-haired companion, who had recovered from his own confrontation with the naga. With his knee planted in the mud, he clasped Zarya’s hand with both of his.

“Hold on,” said the first rakshasa as he poured the clear liquid over Zarya’s wounds. The sting hurt almost as much as the naga’s teeth. She sucked in a breath, willing herself to stillness as the pain flared hot and then slowly subsided. The silver-haired man continued scowling, saying nothing as he worked with practiced efficiency, cleaning her wound.

“You don’t want an infection,” he said. His tone again suggested he didn’t care either way.

“Vikram, put this on.” He held out a roll of white gauze. Vikram took it and began wrapping it gently around her calf. He wore a dark green, high-collared jacket with gold buttons and detailing at the cuffs. The other man wore a similar uniform in dark grey. Both wore black pants and tall black leather boots, along with an array of weapons strapped to their bodies.

“I am Commander Vikram Ravana, and this is one of my officers, Lieutenant Yasen Varghese.” Vikram gestured to his companion. “We are soldiers in Rani Vasvi’s army.”

“I’m Zarya,” she said as Vikram helped her sit up. Aarav hovered behind Vikram, a deep scowl marring his face. “And that idiot is Aarav.”

“Where did you come from?” Yasen asked, his eyes narrowing. “And why are you out here? It’s dangerous to go beyond the city walls.”