Page 47 of Dance of Stars and Ashes

Neither of them moved as their breaths sawed in and out. She felt every inch of him against her—his hard chest and thighs. The slab of his stomach. The heat of his breath tickling the hairs on her neck. She was frozen in place, ignoring the ache in her leg, feeling the warmth of blood dripping down her knee. The sensation was nothing but a sneeze compared to the intensity of his body lined with hers.

“Do you concede defeat?” he asked.

“I concede nothing.” She gritted her teeth as he moved in closer, forcing her cheek against the stone.

“Yield,” he said, his voice a strained snarl, his hand bunching under the yoke of her braid, his fingers lightly digging into her scalp.

“Never,” she said as she pressed against him. He was too strong for her to move out of his hold, and even if she did, how far would she get? “Let. Me. Go.”

“You’re already hurt,” he said. “And you will never best me. Yield.” The command in his tone nearly made her relent. Something about the way he was so damn bossy made her thighs clench as she imagined them in this same position but maybe with far less clothing between them.

Gods, what was wrong with her? He’d stolen her book, threatened her, and literally just sliced open her leg, but he also hadn’t coddled her. He’d treated her like a worthy opponent, and she would prove she’d earned that title.

“I’m fine. What do you care?”

He said nothing for a moment before he dropped his hand, his fingers wrapping around her hip as they dug into her bone. Her stomach flipped as she suppressed a groan borne of a confusing combination of aches. The sweep of his thumb over the sliver of her exposed skin nearly had her knees buckling. Thank the gods she had this damn wall holding her up.

“You want to keep fighting, Princess?” he asked, speaking directly in her ear, so close that his warm breath snaked down the line of her throat and crept lower.

“Yes,” she squeaked, hoping he didn’t notice the way this was affecting her. “I want my book back. And I want an apology for stealing it in the first place.”

“You’re okay?” he asked, and she frowned. He said the words with anger like he was mad at himself for asking them.

“I’m fine.”

There was another paused breath before he finally pulled away, releasing her from the sphere of his overwhelming presence. Maybe a part of her was disappointed, but she wasted no time, diving for her sword and then pointing it at him.

Their blades clashed again, and they fought until Zarya nearly collapsed with exhaustion. She sunk on the edge of the fountain, her chest heaving in and out, a stitch pinching her ribs.

“Fine,” she panted. “I yield.”

She clutched her chest and let her blade fall to the ground, her head hanging between her legs. Sweat ran down her temple and dripped off the edge of her nose.

Rabin stood over her, and she looked up, expecting to find him gloating, but he watched her with an emotionless expression, his dark eyes sparking with those dazzling golden flecks.

He reached behind him and dropped her book on the edge of the fountain.

“Get that cut on your leg examined by Koura,” he ordered before turning on his heel and storming away.

“Yeah, fuck you, too!” Zarya yelled at his back.

THIRTEEN

Zarya stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, examining the patch of blue and purple mottled skin spreading over her hip and thigh. The slice where Rabin had cut her had been bandaged and still ached. She hadn’t bothered with the infirmary, maybe for no other reason than to be contrary to his demand. She could decide for herself what injuries needed tending.

Instead, she’d limped back to the haveli, cleaned up her leg, and collapsed on the bed.

Some kind of primal energy had taken hold of her during their fight, scorching through her blood. She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. They’d thoroughly bludgeoned one another, and she hoped Rabin was in a similarly bruised state. Unless he was made of iron, he had to be wearing some evidence of their fight.

She’d used every single trick Row had taught her, holding nothing back. It rankled that she had been the one to yield first, but she’d had nothing left.

She could still hear his random accusations of her so-called deception. The demands to know how she’d created the forest, over and over. Asking how she’d brought him there. If only she knew the answer to any of those questions. Was it her? He seemed so sure.

Or was he trying to trick her? Maybe he had been the one to create all of it. That didn’t seem possible, though—he was so angry about it.

Zarya gently prodded the bruise and winced. Her muscles screamed as she limped to her bathroom, gasping in agony as she stripped off her clothes, now stiff with dried sweat. She wrinkled her nose at her own filth, but she hadn’t been able to move after she’d collapsed on the bed last night.

She ran a hot bath, hoping to loosen her tense muscles. When she was done, she dressed in her light Khada training uniform and went to raid the kitchen. She was due at Ambar Fort but hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and her head swam with lightheadedness.