Page 28 of Heart of Night and Fire

Zarya walked over and took the book carefully from Yasen. It was true that the woman could have been her twin. With her finger tracing the image’s outlines, she stopped on a tiny mole that sat in the crease beside her nose. “No, this isn’t me—I don’t have a mole here.”

Then she noticed the teardrop pendant around the woman’s neck, identical to the one Zarya had worn for as long as she could remember. Her breath snapped in two as she looked up at the two rakshasas.

“I think… I think it’s my mother.”

TWELVE

Zarya’s legs trembled as she leaned against the sofa, her heart thundering in her chest. Tears stung her eyes with the enormity of Row’s betrayal. Her mother. After a lifetime of wondering, finally, a clue. He’d kept this from her. Willingly left her in the dark when he had a picture of her hidden in this room all along.

Knowing this existed would have meant everything to her.

She stared at the page, overwhelmed by the complicated snarl of emotions tightening in her gut.

“I had no idea Row was such a bastard,” Vikram said softly, as if he was worried she would shatter at the sound.

Zarya looked up. “I tried to accept there was a good reason. Tried to convince myself he was right, even if I didn’t understand why. But what does this mean? Why does Row have a picture of my mother in a book? Why would he keep this from me? Who was she?”

Her voice was rising to a hysterical pitch as she flipped the pages, looking for more. But there were no other images of the woman, and the text was written in a language she didn’t recognize.

“Can you read this?” She held it out to Vikram and Yasen like an offering, hoping they could help, but they both shook their heads. Even Yasen seemed apologetic about it.

The world tilted at a dizzying angle. Zarya’s head throbbed, tension building behind her eyes. She had come searching for answers, and finding evidence of her mother’s existence made the shadowed corners of her heart ache with a longing so deep it felt like roots grinding through hard-caked earth.

For years, she’d always tried to keep the worst of her loneliness at bay. Tried to separate herself from the need to belong to something, but this discovery was blowing through all her hard-won defenses. Every emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel came out in a rush.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said, clutching the book to her chest.

Vikram came over and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You are a little pale.”

“I think I need to lie down.”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, taking her by the arm. “You look as if you might faint.”

Zarya nodded, letting him guide her through the haveli’s wide halls. When they arrived at her room, she settled on the bed, her movements mechanical and stilted, like she’d been hastily screwed together. Vikram held her shoulders and directed her to lay her head on the pillow.

She clutched the book tight to her chest, curling around it into a ball.

“Do you want me to stay?” Vikram asked, and she shook her head.

“I’d like to be alone. If that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll check on you later,” Vikram said, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

When he was gone, she let out a long sigh as one thought toppled over another. The weight of her past, or rather the complete absence of it, sat like a boulder in the middle of her chest. She had no past that she knew of, but she had a family somewhere.

Family had always existed as an intangible idea. She understood its shape and its texture, but it wasn’t something she could ever claim. As much as Row and Aarav had been a sort of family all these years, their questionable relationship had always tainted any positive interactions they might have shared.

Even if her parents were gone, there must be aunts or uncles or cousins living somewhere in Rahajhan. Grandparents. Someone who would take her in and love her and give her the home she’d always dreamed of. For a heart-wrenching moment, Zarya pictured a different future for herself. A family. A life where she was wanted. Perhaps even cherished.

They might not even know she existed. Or what if they did? What if they’d been searching for her? What if Row really was the monster she’d supposed? What if she had been taken, not given, as he’d claimed? The only person who could offer any clarity was nowhere to be found.

She flipped the book open again and studied the image of her mother, searching for a clue. Something that might give her an answer.

A caption was printed beneath the image. Aishayadiva Madan. Was this her mother’s name? Was she Zarya Madan? Was Zarya even her real name?

Someone must be able to read the unfamiliar language, but she was ever cautious about being too open with anyone in this new world of hers. This knowledge might be risky. What if Row had been telling the truth about needing to protect her?

Aishayadiva Madan wore a large ring on her left hand. A wedding ring? What about her father? Had they loved each other? As her eyes closed, Zarya envisioned a jubilant gathering of dark-haired Madans. A family event—a wedding. Maybe her own, full of food and laughter and dancing.