Page 4 of Heart of Night and Fire

“You know I took you in after your parents died.” He gritted his teeth, already losing his patience with this conversation. So much for those five seconds of sympathy.

“That’s the story you keep telling.” Zarya turned away, throwing back the rest of her wine. “But you are conspicuously light on details. Who were they? What happened to them? Why am I here?”

With his hands braced on his knees, Row paused, possibly debating what to say next.

“I realize this is hard for you. But I made a promise, and I vowed to keep it, no matter what.”

With that, he stood and walked back into the house, leaving Zarya alone.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night,” she said into the wind as she scrubbed away the tear that slipped down her cheek.

TWO

The next morning, Zarya awoke with the sun and dressed in a black salwar kameez, embroidered with silver stars that caught the light as she moved. She spun in the mirror, admiring herself from several angles.

Row trekked to the city several times a month and always returned bearing an armload of gifts. Romance novels and luxurious handmade clothing were Zarya’s favorites. He wielded them as a peace offering, as though material possessions would make up for this half-life. She supposed this was his way of communicating the emotions he seemed to have so much trouble expressing.

Regardless, it was at least a distraction from the monotony of her days, and, for a brief time, they’d ease into a weak sort of truce with one another.

She swept the top half of her glossy black curls from her forehead, securing them with a silver clip before she adjusted the tiny star-shaped stud that pierced the left side of her nose.

Satisfied, she quietly made her way down the hall. After passing the closed doors of Row’s and Aarav’s bedrooms, she emerged into the living room, dominated by a large stone fireplace. This far south, they used it only a handful of times a year on the stormiest nights. Row had installed it years ago in a rare bout of nostalgia for the cooler climes of his northern homeland, and Zarya loved to listen to the crackle and pop of the wood with a warm mug of chai in her hands.

On the opposite side of the room, the kitchen countertop lined the farthest wall, where a bank of windows faced the rolling sea. In between was a small wooden table surrounded by four chairs—not that they’d ever had a visitor to occupy the extra one—and an array of plush seating. The wooden floors were covered with intricately woven rugs that provided some much-needed color.

With everyone still asleep, Zarya started on breakfast, heading for the icebox and pulling out a plate of stacked aloo paratha. After setting a tava to warm on the cooktop, she dropped in a generous dollop of ghee before frying the potato-stuffed flatbread until it was golden brown on both sides.

While they cooked, she boiled a pot of chai on the stove, tossing in an extra cinnamon stick, just the way she liked it. Bracing her hip against the counter, she stared out the window, watching the sun rise over the churning waves of the sea.

Eventually, a bleary-eyed Aarav wandered out of his room, rubbing the top of his head, causing his short black hair to spike in wild disarray.

“Good morning,” she said in a singsong voice, knowing it drove him crazy when she was perky any time before eight in the morning.

Only acknowledging her with a grunt, he poured himself a cup of chai before downing the entire thing in one long gulp. Then he grabbed a flatbread from the table and tore into it, leaning his back against the counter. On his narrow frame, he wore a cream kurta that fell to his knees and a loose dhoti made of light beige cotton.

“Where’s Row?” he asked through a mouthful of potato.

“Good morning to you, too, Zarya. Thank you for breakfast. I appreciate all you do for me,” she replied in mock falsetto. Aarav squinted and ripped off another piece of paratha, baring his teeth.

“Maybe he’s still sleeping,” he said, ignoring her comment. He then pushed himself off the counter and tromped towards Row’s bedroom as Zarya frowned after him. It was unusual for Row to stay in bed this late.

“Are we heading to Dharati today or what, lazybones?” Aarav flung open the door and paused.

Zarya came up behind him, stretching on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“He’s not here,” he said, looking back at her.

“Then he must be in the garden.”

Zarya rushed outside, scanning the plants and trees for signs of her guardian.

“Did he already leave for the city?” she asked as Aarav came up behind her.

He shook his head. “I was supposed to go with him this morning.”

Zarya pursed her lips, biting down on the retort perched at the tip of her tongue. How very nice that Aarav was invited to Dharati today, and they would leave her here alone. Again.

Aarav strode back into the house. The morning air was already heavy and humid, pulsing with heat. She caught a tendril of a cooling breeze skimming off the turquoise water and closed her eyes with a deep breath. Maybe she’d go for a swim later.