Page 30 of Heart of Night and Fire

Again, Apsara walked off without explaining anything more. Zarya huffed but followed in her wake, catching up with her long strides.

“What about the queen?” Zarya asked. “Can’t she help fix the rift?”

“The queen is busy guarding the wall. We can’t have her expending her energy on trivialities we can learn to live with.”

Zarya wasn’t really sure how a giant crack in the middle of the city could be considered trivial, but she didn’t press the matter.

“How about your magic?” Zarya asked next. “What I saw of your powers was incredible.”

Apsara cast her a dubious look. “Yes. I’m vidyadhara, and my home is in Vayuu in the highest peaks of the Pathara Vala Mountains. My people are known for their abilities with snow and ice and wind.”

“What’s it like in Vayuu?”

“Cold,” Apsara replied. “But it’s home.”

They had arrived at a small but tidy haveli deep in the city’s heart. Apsara didn’t bother knocking as she swung open the door and gestured Zarya inside. Kindle stood up from a table situated at the center of the room. He blinked at Zarya as if trying to clear a nest of cobwebs from his vision.

“Zarya.” Kindle bowed to her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Please have a seat.” His eyes were kind and his manner gentle, and the tension in her shoulders loosened a fraction. She placed the book, still in her hand, on the table before sitting down.

Kindle was all elegance and polish in a black coat edged in scarlet velvet, along with black breeches and tall black leather boots. Midnight hair fell in curls just past his chin, and his light brown skin was as smooth as river-worn stone. Though his eyes seemed black, when they moved, flashes of red, orange, and yellow sparked in them like flames.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Apsara said you wanted me for something?” Zarya replied, tired of this evasiveness.

Kindle nodded and pursed his lips. “To the point, I see. Very well. Apsara, the vritrastone is in my top desk drawer, if you’d be so kind.”

Apsara, clearly not a fan of being assigned errands, stalked off to the adjacent room, throwing Kindle a glare.

“Is this where you live?” Zarya asked, surveying the simple but charming space, curious about the Chiranjivi.

“Yes, the queen was generous enough to provide me with lodging away from the palace. I find it suffocating to witness all the bowing and scraping of the noble courtiers. It gives me a backache just watching them.”

Zarya smiled, remembering the sycophantic crowd surrounding Gopal Ravana earlier, and thought she might like this soft-spoken man. A moment later, Apsara returned holding a shimmering grey rock.

“There is something I’ve been wondering,” Kindle said. “Perhaps a clue as to why Row kept you a secret. We were—are—good friends,” he said. “I was shocked to hear of your existence, though.”

A wave of hurt lingered in his expression, but Zarya supposed a smart man didn’t go around bragging about the young woman he had imprisoned in the forest. Zarya rubbed her chest, feeling that old wound that burned in her heart whenever she thought too long about Row.

Kindle gave her a sympathetic look, and the ache subsided to a smoldering ember. “I hope you don’t mind. There is so much anger in you, especially for someone so young.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am agni.”

“I thought you had the power of fire.”

“I do, but my abilities also allow me to sense and influence emotions in others. Bhaavana is the kingdom of love and passion, after all.”

He offered her a kind smile, but Zarya curled her lip, not appreciating the idea of having her feelings manipulated by anyone.

“Don’t be afraid,” Kindle added. “Rumors of our power are exaggerated. I cannot make you feel anything you don’t already feel. I can only influence those emotions one way or the other. In this case, I was taking the edge off your understandable rage.”

“Don’t do that again,” she snapped. “I am entitled to my feelings as they are. Row is a monster.”

Kindle gave her a sad smile. “I understand. If you ever change your mind, please come to me.”

Zarya threw him a look that suggested that would never happen.