Page 11 of Storm of Ink and Blood

She stretched onto her toes, attempting to see what the commotion was all about.

Up ahead, more guards preceded two massive elephants, decked out with ornate cloths across their backs and heads, covered in beading and small mirrors that reflected in the daylight despite the cover of smoke.

All this fanfare could mean only one thing.

At that realization, Zarya changed course, threading her way towards the street, now vying for a front-row seat, her mission with the ink temporarily forgotten.

A giant float rolled towards her, laden with marigolds, roses, and every flower one could conceive. The progression drew nearer, and Zarya watched with her eyes wide and her heart climbing up her throat. Her fingers tingled for an entirely different reason now.

She’d glimpsed them only a handful of times from a distance, but their presence never failed to make her stomach flip.

There they were.

The Madans.

The royal family of Gi’ana.

Her family.

FIVE

Zarya stood rooted to the spot as she watched the royal procession draw near. Musicians walked alongside the float, pouring out the strains of a medley, and it was clear this entire spectacle had been choreographed for a reason.

A distraction. The Rising Phoenix had gotten one up on the Madans, and they would not lose face by cowering behind the walls of their palace.

Dancers cartwheeled down the street while bare-chested men blew fire from their mouths. The crowd watched on and clapped with delight despite the ash raining from the sky.

Surrounding the float marched the fabled queensguard, decked out in pure white sherwanis trimmed with silver and bright red sashes crossing their chests. The elite branch of guards was charged with protecting the royal family, particularly their queen, and culled from only the very best soldiers in the continent.

The float came into Zarya’s line of vision, and she felt something twist in her chest at the sight of the five people standing atop. She’d yet to see them this up close before, but she had learned enough from Row and her time spent in Ishaan to recognize the various members of the royal family.

The king consort, Kabir, stood at the front, waving to the crowds below. He looked about Row’s age, closer to a middle-aged human, with wavy midnight hair and the slightest crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

He wasn’t Zarya’s father, and she had no blood connection to this man, but he had been married to her mother, and she wondered if he might have become her pseudo-father had things gone differently. What kind of man was he? He looked regal in his cream sherwani embroidered with gold, more gold adorning every finger on his hands.

Next to him stood the woman who occupied most of Zarya’s focus. Dishani, her sister. Half-sister. The woman who waited in the wings for her crown. Her coronation had been announced weeks earlier, and finally, she would become Gi’ana’s queen.

The laws of Ishaan included a statute of limitations that expired after twenty years in the event of a missing royal who was presumed dead but whose body was never found. Given Asha disappeared shortly after Zarya’s birth, the timing lined up for Dishani to assume the mantle.

She was beautiful—her entire disposition dripping with confidence and the indefinable noble quality of someone raised in a life of privilege. The way she held herself. The exact angle of her nose held in the air. The careful way she waved to the people below and the calculated manner in which she turned her neck, slowly but not too slowly. She wore a sari of the deepest royal blue, covered with silver beading. In her hair was a piece of black netting pinned to the side of her perfect bun.

Dishani was absolutely breathtaking to behold. She was already a queen. There was no doubt this was her destiny and her purpose.

Suddenly, Zarya felt a rush of insecurity sweep into her bones. How could she ever present herself to these people? They were different than Amrita had been—she was humble and down to earth—but it was clear Princess Dishani wouldn’t tolerate even a speck of dust on her shoes. The crowds cheered as she passed, while that practiced smile never wavered. Her dark eyes weren’t exactly cold, but they lacked any kind of warmth. She was driven to do her duty and would do it with every fiber of her being.

The crowd dipped their heads as she passed, many murmuring soft words of benediction and prayer. Zarya continued to watch in wide-eyed fascination.

Finally, she turned her attention to the rest of her half-siblings.

The other woman she knew was Advika, the second youngest of the lot. Her round cheeks were dusted with pink blush, and her big green eyes were surrounded by thick lines of kohl. She wore a bright pink lehenga adorned with colorful beading and flowers woven into her hair. It was said she was the easygoing one between the sisters, more interested in parties and her numerous suitors than politics of state. Her warm smile clearly endeared her to the mooning crowd.

The two men were her brothers. She wasn’t entirely sure which was which, but she guessed the one facing the side was Talin, the youngest. She’d heard he was considered a bit of a loose cannon, drinking, gambling, and enjoying the brothels that filled the Khushi District. He sat on a small divan, upholstered in red velvet, with one ankle crossed over a knee. His hair hung in loose, disheveled waves around his ears, and the opened buttons of his crisp white shirt showed off a sliver of warm brown chest.

He offered an insouciant smile to the crowd, not bothering to wave, just waggling his eyebrows as a greeting. The way everyone reacted to him made it obvious he was one of the royal favorites.

Finally, Zarya watched the last man, Miraan, her eldest brother and the second oldest of the Gi’ana siblings. It was said he was Dishani’s right hand and her most trusted advisor. The way he radiated competence even from this distance made it easy to understand why.

He wore a tailored black sherwani absent of adornments, and his straight shoulder-length hair was neatly tied at his nape with a strip of black leather. Watching over the crowd with his posture straight and his hands behind his back, his thick eyebrows were drawn together in a tight V, his dark eyes assessing everything.