Page 22 of Heart of Night and Fire

Vikram rolled his eyes at his friend. “These days, most rakshasas save their biting for the bedroom,” he said, twitching his dark eyebrows.

Zarya felt herself go red straight to the roots of her hair, so she grabbed a chapati, stuffing a piece in her mouth to cover her embarrassment. While she longed to know more about how exactly the biting worked beyond the pages of her books, she was also much too reluctant to ask. Sure, she’d imagined it, but what was the reality like?

To say she was curious was an understatement. Maybe she could find a shop and stock up on some new reading material. This was something she absolutely needed to know more about, and it was best to always do one’s research. Row had always stressed the importance of preparation, though she was pretty sure this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

They tucked into their food as Vikram talked about the city, and Zarya listened in wonder, her touch-starved senses intoxicated by Vikram’s careful attention. He kept grazing her arm and brushing her hand as he reached across the table. A bit more bread, a top-up of her wine.

Her thoughts wandering again to what Vikram had said about rakshasas and their teeth, Zarya caught a flash of his, and a surge, long held dormant, shot to the space just below her navel. She was an adult with all the needs and urges of a woman, and she’d had so little freedom to explore them other than with herself.

What would it be like to have Vikram’s arms around her with his bare skin pressed to hers? To have his weight on top of her body and his hand between her legs? She sipped her wine, fully immersed in her daydream now, as she imagined the feel of those teeth grazing her skin…

“Zarya!” someone shouted, dragging her from her reverie.

She closed her eyes in pained resignation, knowing that irritating voice all too well. How did he always manage to find her? Aarav stormed up to the table, murder in his expression.

“I have been looking everywhere for you! You thought you could sneak away?” Aarav glared at Yasen and Vikram, pointing a finger like the jackass he was. “With them?”

“Relax, Aarav. We went for a walk.” She pushed herself up from the table.

“This is enough. We’re going home. Now.”

He grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it from his grasp.

“How many times do I have to say it? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“This is quite the family squabble, isn’t it?” Yasen quipped, and Zarya whirled, planning to unleash her rage on him when, without warning, the ground began to rumble.

Frantic cries filled the air as diners leaped up from the tables that were now bouncing against the trembling earth. The buildings shook and debris rained down. People scattered in every direction, running for cover down the wide boulevards that led away from the palace, parents clutching screaming children in their arms. The palace’s slender minarets swayed like blades of grass in the wind, and the Jai Tree shuddered, its petals falling to the ground as the earth rumbled harder.

Zarya clutched the table, unsure of where to go.

A thunderous crack split the air, followed by more screams, their pitch growing frantic. Zarya turned to the sound and saw the earth itself had broken in two. A large fissure was spreading down the road. It raced along the paved street, growing wider and longer, people toppling off the edges and into the chasm, their final screams swallowed by the darkness below.

Zarya watched a woman tumble off the side just as someone grabbed her, pulling her back with a great heave before they landed in a tangled heap on the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief, but it evaporated almost instantly as she realized she was now standing directly in the path of the lengthening rift.

It continued to widen as the tables and chairs lining the boulevard toppled sideways and disappeared into the expanding hole. Zarya backed up as the fissure gathered speed. She turned and ran, the ground shaking so hard she struggled to keep her footing.

The crack gained on Zarya as clouds of black fog belched out of the opening, wrapping around her and blinding her to her surroundings. She gagged at the stench; it filled her mouth and nostrils, and her stomach roiled in protest. She stumbled and tripped, her knees slamming into the ground, sending sharp bolts of pain through her hips. Hacking and coughing, her eyes watering, she tried to regain her footing.

And then the earth gave way beneath her, and there was nothing but emptiness as she began to fall.

A scream tore from her mouth as Zarya reached out for anything to grab on to as she plummeted, her stomach lifting into her throat. But she found only air, the black fog muffling every sound and sight.

A moment later, she came to an abrupt, jarring stop, screaming at the jerk of her shoulder popping out of its socket. A hand gripped her wrist and began hauling her up.

She braced her feet against the side of the chasm, trying to find a hold, until another hand grabbed the back of her tunic and heaved her over the edge, where she collapsed to the ground with her face pressed to the stones. Her breath came in tight sips as she rolled to her side, coughing the black fog clear of her lungs. She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her stomach to settle.

“You’re okay; you’re safe,” Vikram soothed. She opened her eyes to find him kneeling over her. Covered in dirt, with blood smearing his cheek, he rubbed her back as she hacked and sputtered.

Nearby, she saw Yasen haul Aarav from the edge of the chasm before they both crumpled in the dirt by the edge. She’d have to talk to Yasen about rescuing that idiot later.

It took a moment for Zarya to realize the earth had stopped shaking. She sat up, stunned at the sight before her. The entire street was gone—the wide chasm now stretched at least half a mile from the palace and ran alongside its northern courtyard wall, leaving only a gaping rift of nothing.

Vikram was up on his feet and shouting orders to the palace guards to secure the area along the fissure. “Alert the fort!” he shouted as soldiers leaped into action, following his orders. “Get General Amjal and the Khada out here!”

Zarya clutched her arm as a sharp pain radiated from her shoulder. She winced, attempting to stand up so she could help, but collapsed to her hip at another stab of pain.

As she surveyed the aftermath, she noticed one of the Chiranjivi—the muscular, golden-eyed man—was moving between the injured, placing his large hands on broken limbs and bloody cuts. Even from here, she could see how careful and gentle his touch was. Flashes of soft golden light flared beneath his fingers that closed wounds and healed bones, leaving only the faintest traces of faded bruises and scars.