Page 96 of Dance of Stars and Ashes

“You keep pretending you don’t want it, but I can read it in every line of your face.”

She shook her head. “Just when I was starting to dislike you a little less, you have to go and open your big mouth and say something arrogant.”

He laughed again, but it was cut short as he was hit with a wave of nausea, and he buried his head in his hands and groaned. She decided he deserved it and was done trying to make him feel better.

She reached into her bag, pulling out her mother’s notebook. Leaning back, she flipped through the pages. She was slowly working through her mother’s careful research, treasuring every loop and scratch of ink and its mere presence, knowing she had created these words.

“Where did you get that?” Row sat down on her opposite side.

Zarya opened the book to the picture of her mother and passed it to him.

“I stole it from your study,” she said matter-of-factly. She no longer felt guilty about taking it. He should never have kept this from her, but she didn’t have the energy to remind him of that. The look on his face suggested he’d already realized it.

He took the book and traced the image of her mother’s face. “I haven’t looked at this in ages. She was so beautiful.”

He looked at Zarya, blinking heavily.

“Have you read it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I couldn’t translate it.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t?”

“I mean, it never changed for me.” He gave her a sharp look. “Why? Have you? How?”

“I saw Dhawan translate a book in the library, so I just tried the same thing. A bit of my blood and some spirit woven with fire and earth.”

That made Row’s face pull into a frown. He handed it to her.

“Show me.”

“Sure,” she said, pulling out the dagger from her belt and performing the same spell again. “It’s my mother’s notebook,” she said once she was done. “It outlines all kinds of history and knowledge about Aazheri and their magic. Where did you get it from?”

“When your mother was pregnant with you, I took it as a souvenir before I left Gi’ana,” Row said, conflict passing over his expression as he stared at the page now open across her lap.

Zarya smirked. “So, you stole it, too?”

Row smiled slightly. “I guess I did.” He opened his mouth and then closed it. “May I see it?”

“Of course,” Zarya said, handing the book over. He flipped through the pages, going back and forth as the line between his brows grew deeper and deeper.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Zarya, this isn’t your mother’s handwriting.” He looked up at her. “It’s been many years, but I would know his mark anywhere. This notebook belonged to your father.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Are you sure?” Zarya asked, peering at the page. The words somehow looked different now. Less like a warm hug and more like a snarling monster with teeth. The soft curves and swoops she’d traced so many times with her fingers morphing into harsh points and slashes. A pen carved into paper with brutal force.

Row rubbed two fingers to his forehead and blew out a breath.

“I’m sure. He must have given it to your mother.”

“Or she stole it, too,” Zarya said, and Row nodded.

“Or that.”

“Why couldn’t you translate it?” she asked.