Page 27 of Heart of Night and Fire

Zarya balled her fists, wishing she could punch him. Could she? What would he do?

Reining in her temper, she instead threw up her hands and stormed away, entering the hall and turning towards Row’s suite. She heard Aarav following her, and she stopped, whirling on him.

“Do not follow me.”

Aarav hesitated, clearly on the brink of arguing with her some more.

“Please,” she said, her tone softening. “I need some space.”

“Fine. But stay in the house.”

Eyes cast heavenward, Zarya huffed out a breath and stomped away, her grey skirts swishing along the polished marble floors.

Thunder now roared overhead, and the first drops of rain pattered against the windowpanes. As she entered the living area of Row’s suite, Zarya caught another glimpse of the rolling sea through a set of arched windows. Dharati was truly a magnificent city.

Apart from the fact she had no idea where to go, part of her reluctance to leave was focused on the desire to find out what Row had been keeping from her and why. He’d hid the fact he was one of the Chiranjivi from her, and there had to be a reason. What else had he been concealing from her all these years? If she left, then she wouldn’t be able to question him when he finally returned, and she couldn’t spend the rest of her life wondering.

His study seemed like the perfect place to start searching for answers.

Inside the room, a low table was surrounded by sofas covered in deep red fabric strewn with gold and black pillows. On the table were haphazard stacks of books and papers with no apparent method of organization.

She sat down on the sofa and started flipping through the books at random. The cottage had always been kept so neat and tidy, but this room was an absolute mess in comparison. Again, she wondered if she really knew anything about the man who had raised her and had been her only true sense of foundation.

She found texts on history and magic, as well as maps of Daragaab, but nothing that hinted at the answers Zarya sought.

A book of stories caught her eye, and she flipped it open, landing on a tale Row had told her many times as a child. She had always loved hearing about the Bayangoma—blind birds that bestowed great knowledge on the worthy. All they asked in return was for a few drops of blood, willingly given. As a girl who had grown up under a cloud of secrets, she had dreamed of voyaging to their grove someday and uncovering the knowledge they might bestow.

If Row wouldn’t reveal her secrets, then perhaps she’d have to resort to more drastic measures.

Of course, none of that answered the question of where she’d find the birds or how she’d ever get there. She let out a sigh, puffing a lock of hair from her forehead, and sank back into the seat, frustrated by everything.

“Find anything useful?” Vikram asked, startling her out of her reverie as he entered the room with Yasen on his heels.

Zarya closed the book and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I presumed after you told us about Row keeping you prisoner, you would be searching for some clues as to why that was. That can’t have been easy.”

She offered a wry smile as the rakshasas settled onto the sofa across from her. “You’re right. But no, I haven’t found anything.” She glanced at the door. “I’m surprised Aarav let you in here.”

“We didn’t give him much choice,” Vikram said with a quick smile before he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you spent twenty years locked up with that asshole.” Vikram opened one eye and peered at her. “I can kill him if you want.”

She snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it many times.”

Yasen picked up a book from the side table and began flipping through the pages. “We could make it hurt, too,” he said, still looking at the book and smiling to himself. “A lot.”

“You know it’s bad if even Yasen is defending your honor,” added Vikram.

In spite of herself, Zarya laughed. “My honor is very much intact when it comes to Aarav, I can assure you.”

“Zarya,” Yasen said, looking up with a puzzled expression. She was equally puzzled because she was pretty sure he had never said her name or addressed her directly before. “You’re in this book.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is a picture of you. Right here.”

Yasen held up an illustration, inked in black pen, of a woman wearing a dark sari covered in delicate white embroidery, a cascade of curls hanging over her shoulder. She sat on a chair, leaning over a thick book placed on a desk. The wall behind her was set with large rectangular stones and a scalloped window covered in intricate lattice. Papers and pens were scattered on the desk and floor, and a pen was tucked behind her ear.

But the woman in the image wasn’t Zarya. It couldn’t be. She’d never been in a room like that, and who would have drawn it?