Page 33 of Heart of Night and Fire

Zarya thought again of the family she’d never known that might be out there waiting for her.

If Row ever came back, she wouldn’t rest until he finally gave her the truth.

FOURTEEN

Slowly, Zarya began to settle into a routine, though it was clear she’d entered a city teetering on the razor-fine edge of balance. At night, she’d lie in bed listening to the sounds of the creatures that attempted to breach the city’s defenses, worried about the welfare of those who fought valiantly to keep everyone safe. The wails of the demons against the cries of those defending the city formed a jarring, mournful melody.

She’d been spending hours at the fort with Yasen, watching the Khada train. The elite unit only allowed the most skilled within its ranks. Once a year, they held a series of trials for potential recruits. Receiving an invitation to participate from their leader, General Amjal, was regarded as the highest of honors in Daragaab.

Throughout the year, hopeful recruits were permitted to participate in some of their drills. Zarya had joined in several times, though Yasen had forbidden her from actually enlisting in the ones around the perimeter after the city gates closed at night.

She hadn’t fought him too hard about it yet, mostly because being in close proximity to the demons reminded her too much of her life in captivity. But she couldn’t deny her desire to see if she could succeed in the trials. She wore her fighting skills with pride. The next trials wouldn’t be for many months, though, and by then, she hoped to be far away from here.

Today she faced off with Yasen in the blistering heat in the palace gardens, their blades flashing in the sunlight. Her sleeveless kurta and cropped white pants weren’t doing much to keep her cool, nor was the hair she’d piled on top of her head in an effort to expose the back of her neck to a non-existent breeze.

“Who could read a foreign text for me?” Zarya asked.

“Why?” Yasen asked, swinging at Zarya.

“You remember the book with my mother’s picture? I was wondering if someone could translate it.” She had searched Row’s room several more times, but nothing else useful had turned up.

Zarya kept her voice low, aware of Aarav lurking nearby.

“Possibly, but hundreds of old languages in Rahajhan have fallen into obscurity,” Yasen said.

They fought, parrying back and forth as she tried to get in a hit. Finally, she managed to evade a swipe from his blade and then feinted before kicking a leg behind his knees, knocking him on his back. She raised her arms in triumph, thrilled to have finally gotten one over on him.

Never missing an opportunity to teach a lesson, Yasen leaped up, knocking her to the ground beneath him, the full weight of his body crushing her to the pavers.

“I’ve told you,” he said, growling in her ear. “Don’t start celebrating until your opponent is dead.”

She laughed. “Yes, teacher.”

Yasen lifted the corner of his mouth, pushing himself up and helping her stand.

She’d noticed during these past weeks that Yasen transformed upon entering the fighting yards at the fort. His usually furious demeanor shifted into something softer and far more benevolent as the soldiers clamored to learn from the army’s most beloved teacher, his lessons firm but kind. It was a picture so at odds with the scowling rakshasa she was slowly getting to know.

A tentative friendship had blossomed the more time they spent together as Yasen’s edges became less abrasive. On days off from teaching at the fort, he lived in the palace barracks, but he was too full of energy to actually take a day off and often roped Zarya into practicing with him in the gardens. She got the sense he struggled with attention from the other soldiers and needed to be around someone who wasn’t there to be mentored or impressed by him. She did her part by insulting him every chance she got, and he reciprocated in kind.

A scowling Aarav watched them with his arms crossed, still intent on his self-appointed role as Zarya’s bodyguard. It was driving her mad.

Aarav had also been spending a lot of his time at the fort, joining in the Khada’s drills and constantly acting as her shadow. But he’d declined to join them today, choosing instead to hang on the sidelines, making everyone irritable. Zarya attempted to ignore him, but it was becoming increasingly tempting to stab him with a rusty nail with each passing day.

“It’s sweltering out here,” Aarav said, glowering at the sky as though it was the sun’s fault.

“Then go inside,” Zarya said. “No one wants you here.”

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“Aarav, I’ll stay here with Yasen. I won’t go anywhere.”

Zarya launched an attack on Yasen, ignoring Aarav as his eyes darted between them. He grunted, then stomped into the palace’s cool interior.

“Gods, he’s a prick,” Yasen said, staring after Aarav. “I don’t know why you haven’t killed him yet.”

“At this point, it’s only a matter of time.” Zarya wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. A pitcher filled with ice, mint, and lemon sat on a nearby table. She dropped into a chair and poured a glass. “Gods, it’s so hot out here today.”

Yasen took a long drink from his glass. Despite the heat and activity, he hadn’t broken much of a sweat. Zarya couldn’t help but admire the pleasing lines of his profile and his finely honed body. Even with his bouts of surliness, he wasn’t the worst company she could have found.