Page 150 of Storm of Ink and Blood

And from this day on, nothing in Rahajhan would ever be the same.

Zarya screamed. The sound ripped out of her in a breath of wretched agony. Dishani stood over her, glowering as she assaulted Zarya over and over again.

Pain. More and more of it as magic circled her limbs, sinking into her skin. They’d been at this for what felt like hours as the sky continued to rage and the world shrieked from every side. Desperately, she tried to reach Rabin, calling to him through her mind. But whether it was due to her dulled magic or something else, he remained frustratingly beyond her sight.

In the haze of her torment, she caught a fleeting glimpse of snow falling from the sky. Not snow. The pages they’d copied from Age of Ashes revealing the truth to the world. The vanshaj were Aazheri, and the Jadugara were built upon a smoldering heap of lies.

Zarya started laughing, verging on delirious as Dishani stopped, clearly confused by her behavior.

“What are you laughing at?” Dishani demanded and Zarya shook her head.

Her throat was raw, scraped dry by her screams. She could barely answer even if she wanted.

No matter what happened now, no matter what Dishani chose to do, the world would know the truth, and there would be no going back.

A door slammed, followed by hurried footsteps. Zarya watched as someone handed Dishani a damp piece of paper. Flurried whispers circled around the room as Dishani scanned the page. Zarya knew exactly what she was reading, and she began laughing again.

The sound drew Dishani’s attention as her nostrils flared. She crumpled the page in her fist, crushing it into a soggy ball. She hurled it to the ground, but the effect was lost as it slapped the tile and settled in a wet lump.

Slowly, Dishani approached, and Zarya looked up to see the rage in the princess’s face.

The deep-seated loathing. The anger. The fear.

Things hadn’t gone according to plan. Zarya would die under her sister’s hand, but she’d accomplished what she’d been sent into this world to do.

She’d been the catalyst. The striking point. The first step on a long road to redemption and retribution. Though she wouldn’t get the chance to witness the outcome, at least she’d been there to give people hope.

To show them anything was possible.

That good could win over evil.

Dishani held out a hand, closing it into a tight fist, and then… pain.

White noise and black static and an endless spiraling tunnel flashing with muted color and tiny pulses of wretched, mind-numbing agony.

Zarya screamed again, the sound echoing against the backdrop of a revolution that had been brewing for a thousand long, bloody years.

FIFTY-THREE

Rabin picked up a chair and threw it across the room before he resumed his pacing. It had been over twenty-four hours since Zarya had been taken, and he was ready to climb out of his skin.

He’d tried to reach her inside the mind plane, but she’d refused his calls.

Or rather, she couldn’t answer, sending him into a violent spiral.

He currently stood in the salon with several members of the Rising Phoenix.

“Where is she?!” he roared.

After Yasen had finished tossing the damning story of the Jadugara over Ishaan, they’d landed in the square as everyone scrambled to get away, fleeing to the sound of screams.

Rabin had started picking up guards and tossing them against the walls of the palace like rag dolls, reveling in the sick crunch of bone and skin meeting marble. It helped calm the seething churn in his gut. It also allowed Yasen to jump down and free the prisoners, untying their ropes and ushering them out of the square to safety.

Though Rabin had wanted to find her, he understood Zarya would have demanded everyone else be rescued first.

Methodically, Rabin picked off the remaining soldiers one by one as a few brave souls attempted to stand their ground. Eventually, they gave up, either escaping into the palace or the streets. Then he’d turned his attention to the palace. Their plans had collapsed under the weight of their mistakes. Instead of thousands of vanshaj tearing it apart brick by brick, they’d spread into the corners of Ishaan in a disorganized mess.

But the smell of smoke and the scent of ash in the air suggested they hadn’t been idle. The royals had retreated inside, armed on every side, and now sat safely behind thick enchanted walls as the city crumbled bit by excruciating bit.