Page 66 of Dance of Stars and Ashes

“Yes. Oh, my gods. You are so embarrassing.”

“Then what?” Yasen asked, perched on the edge of his seat.

“He lifted me up, and he was kissing my neck and—” She stopped again, the heat of her memories overwhelming.

“Do not stop now, Zee. I forbid it.”

“He kissed my neck, and it was so passionate and—”

“Hot?” Yasen supplied.

“Yes. So hot,” Zarya breathed. “He was about to take things further. I’m pretty sure. No, I’m very sure. And then he just stopped. Pulled away. Told me we shouldn’t do this and left.”

“He did what?” he asked.

“I know.”

“That’s it?” Yasen was wild-eyed. “Who does that?”

“You see why I’ve been in such a mood?”

“You were right, he does deserve to be killed.”

Zarya snorted. “Now, I can’t get away from him. He’s always around me and looking at me, and he’s so brooding and so beautiful, and I have all these conflicting urges, and I don’t understand what he wants. It’s making me crazy.”

Zarya flopped over on Yasen’s lap, burying her face into her arms.

He chuckled, stroking her hair softly.

“Oh, my poor Zee. Look at you. What a fool that man is.”

“Don’t say anything nice to me. I don’t deserve it. I’m sorry I’ve been so mean.”

Yasen tipped Zarya back up, wrapping an arm around her.

“I’ll forgive you this time. After hearing why, I can’t really blame you. What a dick.”

She gave him a teary smile. “Yasen, I know I’m not very experienced with this stuff, but this seems significant. No offense, but it’s nothing like it was with Vikram.”

“Good, I’m glad this isn’t how you felt about him. Vik would have broken your heart. And you don’t need experience to recognize that.” Yasen pointed a finger, placing it on her heart.

“Thank you. I actually feel a little better.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Yasen boasted. “You really do need to get laid, though.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

EIGHTEEN

Zarya flipped through the notebook she’d stolen from Row, seated on the divan in the haveli’s living room. After the incident with Rabin in the forest, she was having trouble rousing herself from her funk, so she retreated into herself, turning to her oldest companion—books.

She’d retrieved the ‘borrowed’ journal from the drawer where she’d hidden it and was now deciphering the script. Upon closer inspection, this wasn’t Row’s handwriting. It didn’t sound like him, either, so it must be her mother’s, given her previous relationship with Row. Or maybe Zarya was grasping for a connection with the woman who’d borne her, and this wasn’t hers at all.

But the picture of her mother was there, along with the very prophecy Row had recounted upon his return to Daragaab. The one predicting Queen Aishayadiva of Gi’ana would be the one to birth a child who would wield nightfire. Zarya traced the words with her finger, tasting the bittersweetness in the lines. They were an answer to a question she’d been asking all of her life but were also a nexus to a thousand more.

She continued studying the picture, remembering what Row had said about her mother being an artist. Had she drawn this image of herself, or had someone done it for her? Zarya touched the pendant dangling around her mother’s neck, the same as the one Zarya wore. After performing the translation spell, additional marks of ink had appeared around the jewel, dark swirls curling in the air.

Flipping through the pages, Zarya realized her mother had been documenting both the magic and history of Aazheri.