Page 7 of Heart of Night and Fire

She approached it with a sense of wary caution, expecting Row’s magic to leash her down at any moment.

Nothing.

She stopped, her feet planted apart and her hands out, once again analyzing her surroundings. Was this the right spot? Of course, it was. She knew this place, every branch and leaf and bush like she knew her own heartbeat.

She continued walking, placing one foot in front of the other, hardly daring to believe this might be real.

The magic was gone.

More confident now, she sped up until she was running, her feet churning up dirt as she pounded through the brush. She let out a hoot, racing as fast as her legs would carry her, dodging the slender trees that stood in her path.

Her chest began to burn, and she came to an abrupt stop. She had never ventured this deep into the swamp.

That’s when her muddled thoughts focused into razor-sharp clarity.

This was her chance.

Moving too quickly to second-guess herself, Zarya ran back to the house and burst through the door. Her chest heaving with effort and a rush of hope, she checked the bedrooms again.

Empty.

Pressure built inside her head, her tongue burning with the tastes of panic and endless possibilities. With her hangover now miraculously forgotten, she dashed to her room. Her hands shook as she packed a bag, trying to think of practical clothing options conducive to running away.

Running away.

That’s what she was doing. Right?

An anxious lump formed in her throat.

Zarya changed out of the damp salwar kameez she’d slept in and into a pair of plum-colored leggings and a sleeveless cream kurta embroidered with purple flowers. She braided her hair and slipped into a pair of short leather boots, already imagining all the places she’d travel. The mountains she’d climb. The oceans she’d swim. The strangers she’d meet.

She reached for the weapons Row had spent a lifetime teaching her to wield with the proficiency of a soldier: her talwar, various daggers, and her bow and arrow. He’d made her train for hours every day, polishing her into a weapon of his own making. She’d never understood his motivations, other than he seemed to think everyone should want to learn the art of war. But it had at least been something to pass the time, and so she’d played along, reasoning that if she did ever get out of here, it would be a useful skill in her arsenal.

She gazed longingly at her sagging bookshelves, the worn spines evidence of how much these stories had been loved. But carting along the heavy volumes would be foolish and definitely impractical.

Besides, it was long past time to write her own story and stop living inside the pages of a borrowed reality.

But she decided one couldn’t hurt, so she stuffed her favorite—a steamy rakshasa romance with a happy ending that she’d read at least a hundred times—into a pocket, then slung her pack over her shoulder.

With blood pounding in her veins, Zarya retrieved Row’s saddlebags from where they sat in the corner of the living room and packed as much food as they would hold. Then she headed outside towards their small stable.

Row’s horse, Ojas, regarded her warily but allowed her to strap on his saddle and load on the bags. She was about to mount him when she stopped and ran back into the house. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in the backs of her teeth.

She found Row’s sword leaning against his bed. It was a different style than the talwar she used; its steel blade was straight, its hilt unadorned, save for a few shining runes embedded into the leather wrapping. She picked it up, clutching the scabbard in one trembling hand.

She wasn’t sure why she wanted it, other than it felt like something she’d need.

Then she crossed the room to where a desk sat against the wall. Zarya tugged open the top drawer and found several bags of gold coins. Choosing a full one, she tested its weight in her hand and then hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself.

This was stupid. The enchantment would stop her, as it always did. She’d imagined it. She had been standing in the wrong spot. She’d drunk too much wine last night.

With those thoughts nagging on a loop and the sword and bag of gold clasped in her hands, Zarya forced herself back outside. She wouldn’t play the coward. Not when she was finally being handed an opportunity like this on a golden fucking platter.

She’d regret it forever if she passed up this chance.

Zarya fastened the sword to the saddle, stashed a few coins in her pocket, and stuffed the rest deep into a bag. She touched her head to the horse’s saddle, whispering a silent prayer to the gods, wondering if they’d ever notice her.

Then she took a deep breath and lifted herself onto the animal. From her perched height, she peered through the trees, dizzy with anticipation, sure Row and Aarav would approach at any second, catching her in the middle of her crime.