Page 10 of Storm of Ink and Blood

There was also the question of what exactly Farida might be capable of once she was no longer bound, but the need to free her outweighed the worry of any potential consequences. It had to. This kind of evil couldn’t remain unchecked. Farida deserved to be free, as did the thousands of other vanshaj living across Rahajhan.

“I don’t really know, either,” Zarya answered. She picked up a bottle of the ink as that same tingling traveled up her arm before unstopping it and sniffing the contents. The scent was crisp and dry, though she sensed the cloying hint of rot deep between its layers.

“Have you done anything with it?” Rania asked, sitting down next to Farida. “You still haven’t explained why you needed it.”

“Not yet,” Zarya said. “And I promise to explain once I know what I’m doing. Do you have a bowl or something I could use? Something you’re not attached to if it’s ruined?”

“Sure,” Rania said, retreating to the kitchen and returning a moment later with a small silver dish. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” Zarya said, holding out her hand. She poured a small amount of ink into the well and sniffed again, detecting a pungent note that sent a shiver creeping down her spine.

She placed the dish on the table, once again shaking out her hand from the lingering effects of touching the bottle, and addressed Rania.

“What happens if you use your magic on it? Try some spirit.”

Rania controlled all five anchors typical of powerful Aazheri and nodded before she pointed her hand towards it, a soft ribbon of yellow light curling out from her palm. Unlike Zarya, Rania and her brother manipulated their magic with their hands rather than their hearts. It was a subtle variation in how they manifested their power, meaning the results and control were slightly different.

Rania’s light dipped into the small black pool, and they all watched as the ink started to glow, like it was lit from within. It flared bright for a moment before darkening again.

“Did you feel anything?” Zarya asked.

“It felt no different than filtering spirit into a glass of water or tea,” she said. “I just heated it up a bit.”

Zarya touched her finger to the ink, and sure enough, it was warm. She wiped it on her dark leggings before preparing for her turn next. She drew on her spirit anchor and sent a similar vein of soft light out from her fingertips. It curled over the ink, sliding against the surface.

CRASH

The ink blew apart, the metal bowl skidding off the table and slamming into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster. For several seconds, they all sat in silence, staring at one another, before Zarya stood up. She retrieved a towel from the kitchen and picked up the bowl before carrying it over to the sink. When she turned on the water, it hissed with steam, the entire thing now black and dented.

“What just happened?” Rania asked with narrowed eyes as she came up next to Zarya.

“I’m not sure,” Zarya answered, though this further confirmed her suspicions about her forbidden magic. But as liberal as the Chandras were in their views, she worried her sixth anchor would stretch those limits. She imagined horror in their eyes if she revealed what she was.

“Why did your magic do that?” Farida asked, now standing on Zarya’s other side, as she, too, stared at the ruined bowl.

“I’m not sure,” Zarya repeated, but that wasn’t really the truth. She looked up at Farida, and something exchanged between them. The woman’s eyes narrowed before Zarya backed away, hoping to avoid too many questions.

“Well, at least that was something,” she said, maybe a touch too brightly. She studied the tattoos on Farida’s neck. Her earlier fears about using her magic on the woman had just tripled. If Zarya’s magic elicited a similar reaction to the tattoo, she’d have to find a way to control it before trying anything on a living person. “I’ll keep looking into this.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder before stashing the ink bottles in a pocket. With only the two to work with, she’d have to be careful about how she went about this. She was still regretting the crate she’d lost, but that couldn’t be helped now. Their raid had destroyed most of the supply in Gi’ana and Rahajhan, for that matter, minus whatever was stockpiled in the Taara Den, where they inked vanshaj infants straight from their mothers’ wombs.

“Any time you need me again, let me know,” Farida said. It was obvious how badly she wanted this for herself and for everyone else. She would endure anything to achieve that goal. But Zarya couldn’t treat her like a specimen to be used and broken at her will. She would figure this out, but she would do it without hurting anyone.

“Thank you,” Zarya said. “I’ll see you later.”

Then she pressed her hands together in front of her heart and exited the building, emerging into the busy streets of Ishaan. She ducked her head down, threading through the crowd as the smell of smoke still hung in the air, obscuring the sun and the clouds, leaving the sky a muddled wash of grey. Posters she hadn’t noticed earlier hung at intervals affixed to lamp posts, offering rewards to anyone with information about the factory bombing.

Zarya allowed herself a small smile. They had done that. It had taken weeks and weeks of careful planning, but they’d all come together to deliver this crushing blow to the oppressive forces of Rahajhan. She scanned the paper, searching for clues on whether they had any leads, but it was only general information about the time and location, as if the blast hadn’t been heard for miles.

The reward offered in exchange for information had Zarya stalling in her tracks. People would do terrible things for that kind of money. If the wrong person discovered what they were planning, their cover would be blown wide open.

But Farida, Ajay and Rania knew what they were doing—they’d been at this for years—and had everyone’s best interests at heart. Thanks to their anonymous benefactor, they had more than enough money to carry out their activities, and Zarya had learned just how valuable that could be.

She proceeded with her head down, coming upon a street where a crowd gathered along the edges. A group of soldiers were busy clearing the road while people scrambled out of the way.

Unlike the city watch in their plain black uniforms, the royal soldiers of Gi’ana stood out in their violet-colored sherwanis with emerald-green sashes and red pants, almost like peacocks unfurling their feathers for a slice of attention. Their gleaming talwars hung at their hips, the sharpened edges flashing. They weren’t afraid to use them at will, and their army was considered second only to Daragaab’s, though she wondered if any of them agreed with that evaluation.

With people pressing in on all sides, Zarya elbowed her way through the crowd, hoping to find a way across the road towards her flat. She planned to find somewhere she could work with the ink in private.