Page 114 of Storm of Ink and Blood

“Much more.” She winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just do it.” Without thinking about it, Zarya turned to Rabin, seeking his strength. She saw something in his eyes: worry, fear, love.

He’d said it so casually like it had been something on his mind for a while. Had he meant that? She was sure it was a slip, but the moment it had left his mouth, she felt something shift, like a bend in the air. It was like a key turning on a lock she’d been keeping bolted up for fear of being hurt again.

Sitting with him in this room, she could feel the altering of her course. Maybe it was the magic around them. Maybe it was the knowledge they were binding themselves together. He was doing this willingly. Giving up his autonomy for her. And though she had endlessly worried it would feel unbalanced, she realized then that it would never be that way.

They were two parts of a whole. Not master and servant. That was just a technicality—two words for the magic that joined them. They were equal. As Rabin had said so many times, he was her destiny.

After today she could push him away all she wanted, but he could only ever go so far. Everyone was doubting him. Row. Yasen. And with good reason. But they didn’t know him the way she did.

He loved her. One might say it was ridiculous. That they’d only known each other a short time, but they’d already been through so much together. They’d already crossed so many divides.

Love.

Maybe.

It was what she’d always wanted. The stories in her books had been the only thing keeping her whole during her lonely life. And a man like Rabin… well, he was exactly as she’d always imagined. Actually, he was so much better.

He squeezed her hand tighter, and she wondered if he could sense what she was thinking. If he could feel a transformation slowly taking place, the shedding of her old skin to reveal another version of herself underneath, one that wanted to release the past and embrace the possibilities of their future.

“You too,” Thriti said to Rabin. “Get your shirt off.”

She gestured to him, and he reached behind his head, yanking off his kurta in one smooth movement, exposing warm brown flesh. Zarya traced the lines of his body with an admiring look.

“Can you stand?” Thriti asked Zarya. “It’s best when you’re touching. The more the better.”

“Sure,” Zarya said, swinging her legs off the bench with a wince. Her shoulder throbbed as Rabin helped her stand and drew her close.

“Arms around each other,” Thriti ordered. Zarya slid her arms around his waist as he folded her against him. “Close. Close.”

She felt Thriti’s hand on her back as they shuffled together.

“Now hold on.”

Zarya looked up to meet Rabin’s gaze as he squeezed her tight. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the arch of her throat as Thriti began murmuring soft words. It felt like they were the only two people in this room as ribbons of silver light began to surround them, spinning in wide, lazy circles.

The light reflected in Rabin’s dark eyes, illuminating the slice of his cheekbone and the angle of his jaw, bouncing off the golden flecks in his pupils. She reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear before trailing a finger over his cheekbone.

She remembered during their first meeting when she’d thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But that was nearly too banal a description. He was raw animal magnetism and coalescing shadows all bound together to create this storm cloud of bone and sinew that would pull her apart and put her back together over and over.

He clasped her hand in his and brought it between them as their foreheads tipped together.

Thriti continued to chant as she felt a cool touch of magic against her new marking. And then… agony. Searing, mind-numbing agony. She cried out as she tried to hold still, squeezing Rabin’s hand so hard she worried it might shatter.

But he held on, his gaze never wavering as they stared at one another, lost in an abyss as deep and endless as midnight.

Another wash of pain had her gritting her teeth as she groaned.

Rabin pressed his mouth to her fingers, his jaw hard as he fought off twin waves of pain. “You can do this, Spitfire. I’m here with you.”

She nodded as tears leaked from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and under her chin.

“You’re so fucking strong,” he whispered as he brought his face closer, and anguish coursed over her in waves. His other hand found the back of her head. “Beautiful. Brave. Magnificent.”

Another twist of pain had her whimpering, and then, it finally eased, draining out until all that was left was a dull throb. She drew in several long, deep breaths, waiting for the worst of the pain to drain away.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.