Page 71 of Heart of Night and Fire

Deep inside her heart was something new and tangible she couldn’t name. A presence she’d never noticed before.

“Do you feel it?” he asked.

“What is it?” A part of her already knew, but she needed to hear the words.

“It’s magic,” he said, and at that precise moment, she understood that, despite everything, she had always known.

“Hold out your hand and search for a fire anchor,” he told her. “It’s different for everyone, but you’ll know when you feel it.”

An anchor, she thought, recalling the conversation she’d overheard between the Chiranjivi. So Zarya closed her eyes and focused on the new and sentient presence that sparked inside her.

Fire.

It called her name, flaring and flickering. Zarya opened her eyes, bewildered.

Rabin took her hand and flattened it so her palm faced up between them. “Focus on directing it here.” He rubbed his thumb in the center, dragging it away almost reluctantly, sending a warm tendril of something directly into her stomach.

She did as he said. Fixated on her palm, she aimed the spark towards it, and a tiny flame ignited.

It hovered above her hand—a flickering sliver of destiny.

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting into an almost smile.

“That’s better.”

His hand flexed against her back, where it still rested. He leaned over and blew at the flame, his face close enough that she could smell freshly tilled earth and spring leaves. She longed to reach out and run the backs of her fingers along the dusting of stubble that covered his jaw.

The fire sputtered and died.

“Do it again, Zarya.”

Her name resonated like a whirlwind blowing through a tunnel, and she didn’t understand why she wanted him to say it over and over. She did what he asked again, the small flame winking into existence where it hovered over her palm.

He pushed himself up and studied her for a moment.

“Keep practicing,” he said, before he turned and walked into the trees.

She watched his broad back until he disappeared.

Zarya turned back to her fire, watching the tiny light quiver in the palm of her hand as the entire universe reflected in the depths of the fire.

And for the first time in days, she smiled.

TWENTY-SIX

Sleep finally came. Freed from the pain, Zarya crumbled into exhaustion.

Koura came and went regularly, his magic filling her up and healing what had been stripped away. While Zarya had been lost, the queen’s health had continued to decline, and thus Koura still spent most of his waking hours by Rani Vasvi’s side but assured Zarya he’d find time to come.

As she dozed, medicine fogging her thoughts, Yasen, Vikram, and even Aarav sat by her side. They waited, they read—sometimes out loud to her—and sometimes they even sang. Zarya had a vague memory of Yasen plucking the strings of a small veena propped up on one knee, the sun turning his hair into starlight. Kindle sat with his head in his hands while Apsara watched her quietly, nibbling on her lip, questions written on her face.

Finally, Zarya woke in the familiar palace guest suite.

The lattice-covered windows filtered in a cool, gentle breeze, and the rushing sounds of the ocean soothed every tired muscle in her body.

Someone had cleaned her up, washed her hair, and put her in a pair of soft pants and a sleeveless shirt. Scars ran down her arms, a ladder of thin lines forming a crisscross pattern. Self-inflicted fingernail scratches, she realized. They were already healing, but they must have been deep to still linger, even after Koura’s care.

She shivered, grateful she couldn’t remember that part at least.