Page 8 of Heart of Night and Fire

But her surroundings remained quiet. She was alone. She was doing this.

Taking the reins, she nudged Ojas into a slow walk. It had been years since she’d ridden anywhere. There had been no need since Lahar had succumbed to the blight. She wasn’t a skilled rider, but she knew enough not to fall off and break her neck.

Ojas obeyed her gentle nudges as they once again approached the spot she knew so well. She closed her eyes, praying to any gods who were listening, to the gods who had abandoned her, that she hadn’t been hallucinating.

As they ambled forward, Zarya still felt nothing. Only lightness. Only a tangible scream of elation sparking against her skin. No press of magic to hold her back as Ojas stepped through the trees. They kept moving deeper while Zarya’s lungs constricted, her breath coming in snipped gasps, her hands sweating on the reins. Her heartbeat wild.

They passed the point where she normally blacked out, and again nothing happened. This was impossible.

Now it was time to contend with the biggest decision of her life.

She swallowed the searing knot of conflict in her throat and hesitated. She had little sense of what waited beyond the boundaries of her prison, and Row would never forgive her for running away.

But freedom beckoned.

Zarya tasted it in the air, sweeter than the ripest fruit. More tempting than the rarest treasure.

And right now, nothing else mattered.

This was the only thing she had ever wanted.

This wasn’t the moment for indecision.

This chance might never come again.

And seriously, fuck Row.

Wherever he was, he was a powerful Aazheri who could take care of himself. He would be fine. And Aarav? Zarya was content to never lay eyes on his ugly face ever again.

With a last glance back, Zarya studied the home that had been her entire existence for nearly twenty-one years. It stood serenely on the shore, its tidy whitewashed walls belying the truth of what it had contained. Who it had contained. A pretty prison sitting by the sea.

Zarya closed her eyes, hoping it would be her last glimpse of this place, too.

Not allowing herself to waver any longer, she pressed forward, flicking the reins and shouting, “Run, Ojas, run!”

The horse sped forward, and Zarya lifted her face to the sun, the wind whipping at her hair.

And in that moment, she didn’t just run—Zarya finally flew.

FOUR

The initial exhilaration of Zarya’s freedom soon gave way to sobering reality. She was unprotected for the first time in her life, exposed and vulnerable. For all her bravado, her earlier confidence offered only a thin shield against the outside world, as ephemeral as smoke.

She shifted in the saddle, her body unused to riding for extended periods. It ached, sore spots forming where her skin rubbed against the leather. The sun beat down, forming beads of sweat on her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand before she reached for her canteen and took a deep drink.

As she picked through the trees, Zarya headed north, keeping the ocean at her back. The queendom of Daragaab was the largest territory in Rahajhan, occupying the southeastern corner of the continent where her home lay. It sat bordered by the Dakhani Sea to the south and the Nila Hara Sea on the east. Zarya’s destination was the capital city of Dharati, which lay northeast of the seaside cottage, about a day and a half’s ride away.

Numerous villages and farms once dotted the southern portion of the region, but these, too, had been abandoned as the blight had spread. No one knew where the blight had come from or what it meant, only that it was growing day by day. She’d often listened to Row talk about the challenges it presented and how no one understood its source, nor, more importantly, how to push it back.

The ground beneath Ojas’s hooves was boggy, his weight leaving deep depressions in the soft earth, where murky puddles and mud oozed in every direction.

While Zarya maintained an uncomfortable truce with the swamp back home, out here, alone, a faint nausea settled in her stomach, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention.

As she continued, her surroundings grew more intimidating. Worried she’d taken a wrong turn, her confidence wavered. She’d been riding for hours and had no sense of how far she’d come or how far she had yet to go. She’d spent the day watching and listening for signs of Row or Aarav, and she’d paid little attention to the route she’d traveled.

Right now, floating lights would be casting their coppery glow over the vibrant greenery of her garden as the sun set over the azure ocean. The comfort of her snug bed and her room full of books and treasures called. Here in the swamp, the ground crooked a finger, bleak and uninviting, as she allowed thoughts of returning to the cottage to seep into the hairline cracks of her conviction.

She peered over her shoulder, watching the trees sway in the dimness. She wasn’t sure she’d even be able to find her way back anymore.