Page 120 of Storm of Ink and Blood

He stepped towards her before slowly sinking on his haunches as he studied her face. His cheeks went pale, and his eyes widened with the barest hint of surprise.

Then he reached out a hand. Zarya jerked, trying to move away, but he held it up in a gesture that implied he meant no harm. She blinked as Miraan touched the turquoise stone Zarya always wore around her neck, exhaling a soft, strangled breath.

“Mother,” he whispered.

FORTY-ONE

Zarya, Rabin, and Yasen were hauled into the palace and forced to kneel on a hard marble floor in the center of a large circular room. Her vision blurred, making it difficult to focus on the colorful tiled mosaic of swirling patterns.

The room was bordered by rounded niches set with life-sized statues of stuffy-looking people in opulent clothing. The ceiling curved in a dome overhead, painted in gold. There was no other furniture or ornamentation, only a circle of queensguards in their crisp white sherwanis standing at various points around the perimeter.

The sounds of chaos seeped through the windows as an angry tear slipped from the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

The pained look on Miraan’s face had been unmistakable. After all these months of carefully avoiding the Madans and their attention, she’d flung herself right into their path and hadn’t saved a single person in the process. How could she ever live with the fact she’d let Vikas and his family down so spectacularly?

In the silence of the room, Miraan watched them with a severe expression. Her half-brother. He was even more handsome up close, with long dark lashes, a strong jaw covered with a trimmed beard, and a straight nose. With that confident posture, he was dashing in a navy sherwani and pants expertly tailored to his slender frame.

She dropped her head, unable to face the enormity of what she’d done. She tried to call on her magic, but it was dulled to almost nothing. An effect of the enchanted blue stone that surrounded them. Even if she could touch it, Miraan would stop her. He was powerful and had more experience. She’d been able to destroy the palace exterior, but that was only because she could still access her anchors while standing in the courtyard.

Sharp footsteps sounded from behind where they kneeled. From the corner of her eye, Zarya watched someone circle around them.

“What is your name?” asked a crisp voice, and Zarya peered up, looking over at Rabin and Yasen before directing her gaze to the speaker.

Zarya’s half-sister Dishani looked down at her, her arms folded over her chest. She wore a bright green sari decorated with silver beading, and her long hair was pulled into a thick braid, woven with pearls, that hung over her shoulder. Silver jhumka dangled from her ears, and more silver jewelry covered her throat and wrists. She dripped with authority and self-assurance.

“Me?” Zarya asked.

“Yes,” Dishani answered with the slightest flare of her nose.

Zarya understood they were in a delicate position, but nothing good would come of the Madans knowing too much about them. “Uh. Why?”

The princess arched a dark eyebrow, her gaze simmering with bottomless anger. “You will do as I command.”

Zarya hesitated. It wasn’t like her name would mean anything, but they all believed the prophecy, and it seemed imperative to hold on to any information she could. Dishani approached on sharp steps, her heels echoing around the room.

She grabbed Zarya’s chin and wrenched her head up. Too surprised to move, Zarya grunted as her half-sister squeezed, her sharp nails digging into her skin.

“Do not touch her,” Rabin snarled, but Dishani didn’t so much as blink at the menace in his tone. Four guards immediately peeled themselves from the wall and surrounded him, their spears pointed at his chest.

“Who are you?” Dishani asked Zarya, clearly not interested in or intimidated by Rabin. “Why are you the spitting image of our mother, and why have you stolen her necklace?”

Zarya inhaled a deep breath, understanding she had no choice.

“I didn’t steal anything. I’m… your half-sister.”

Dishani glared at Zarya, her grip tightening.

“Was that you destroying our palace?” she asked.

“Maybe?”

Something dark flickered across Dishani’s expression, her grip pinching to the point of pain. Zarya tried to jerk her head out of her sister’s hold, but Dishani only held on tighter.

“Let go of me,” she snapped.

“Why did you interrupt the execution?” she asked, ignoring Zarya’s demand. “Are you with the resistance?”

Her jaw hardened and she pulled again, finally wrenching herself from Dishani’s grasp. She worked her sore mouth, wishing she had use of her hands.