Page 9 of Storm of Ink and Blood

FOUR

PRESENT DAY

City of Ishaan

The morning after the factory explosion, Zarya made her way towards the Chandras’ flat. She inhaled the scent of smoke still hanging in the air like a reckoning. Flakes of ash drifted from the sky, settling gently on her clothes and hair. Wild theories were already circulating about what had caused the blast, but most understood it was the work of the Rising Phoenix.

Despite many rumors, the royal family had always claimed the resistance was a myth, doing everything they could to deny their existence. In secret, they’d tried to root them out, but the Phoenix had been careful, operating quietly in the background, slowly drumming up support. Yesterday, they’d finally stepped into the light, declaring their bloody intentions, but they all knew this act couldn’t go unchallenged.

Ishaan awoke with the sun each morning except on Sundays, when everyone lingered inside their homes until noon, enjoying a slow, leisurely breakfast and time with their families. Since it was the middle of the week, the streets were already alive with activity. Horse-drawn carriages that resembled wide black lanterns bumped over the cobbles as mischievous children scattered out of their way.

Women dressed in elaborate saris adorned with strings of pearls, lace, and delicate netting strolled with their arms linked, making their way to one of the city’s many fashionable tea houses that glittered with crystal chandeliers and served sparkling wine in wide-brimmed glasses. Shops were busy hawking every item one could conceive, from fruits and vegetables to trinkets and fabric.

Zarya crossed a square, passing a giant bronze astrolabe squatting in the center as an homage to Gi’ana’s love of science and learning. Dozens of similar structures could be found throughout the city made from various materials like crystal, jade, and copper.

She then approached the building where the twins lived with Farida and wound up the staircase to where they occupied the entire fourth floor. When their parents had cut off their income, they’d allowed Ajay and Rania to remain in their flat, at least. She was pretty sure the Chandras hadn’t worked a day in their lives, but Zarya wasn’t really one to talk.

Rania opened the door and eyed Zarya from head to toe.

“Hi,” Zarya said. “I’m here to see Farida.”

Rania nodded and opened the door wider, allowing Zarya in. On more than one occasion, Rania had made it excruciatingly clear she didn’t approve of Zarya’s interest in Farida’s tattoo, but Farida herself had no such qualms.

The Chandras’ flat was notably more spacious than the one she occupied with Yasen. The large living room boasted ornately carved furniture upholstered in heavy jewel-toned velvet that matched the curtains hanging from the tall windows. Thick woven rugs covered wide honeyed wooden planks, and a fireplace sat at the far end of the room. There was even a layered crystal chandelier suspended over it.

Rania led her into the large kitchen, where Farida was boiling a pot of tea on the stove.

“Zarya,” she said cheerfully. “What brings you here?”

Farida was a small woman, coming barely to Zarya’s shoulder, with a round face and an easy smile. Her dark hair was usually pulled back in a neat bun, highlighting a pair of deep amber eyes and a scattered line of freckles bridging her nose. Today she wore a lemon-yellow salwar kameez complemented by a sky-blue dupatta.

“I was hoping to examine your tattoo again. If you’re willing?”

Farida always grew quiet at the mention of the binding mark, but she nodded firmly. “Of course. Let’s go into the living room. Can you finish this, Rania?”

“Sure,” answered Rania, and Zarya followed Farida to sit down next to her on the sofa. She pulled the stolen bottles of ink out of her pocket and placed them on the table, noting the wary look in Farida’s eyes. Zarya’s fingers tingled at the contact, and she shook her hand out as Farida tracked her with a curious expression.

A moment later, Rania bustled out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a teapot and a few mugs. She placed them on the table and then backed up, giving them space but keeping an eye from the doorway.

“May I?” Zarya asked, reaching out to Farida. She nodded, and Zarya gently touched the woman’s throat, tracing the line of stars, feeling a tug deep inside her chest. Her anchor flared to life, spinning in her chest as if waking to its call.

They’d done this before. Many times, in fact. And each time she did it, Zarya felt it. Just like she had when she’d touched Meera’s tattoo in Dharati all those months ago. Just like that first moment when she was sure her magic was somehow connected to this marking. The problem was that she couldn’t understand what any of it meant.

Farida had been her willing subject, allowing Zarya to carefully examine the stars while she sat patiently for Zarya, who kept her secrets close. She didn’t want to use magic on Farida yet, worried about its effects, but this was also getting her nowhere. Sooner or later, she’d have to try, though Rania would flay her alive if she did anything to hurt Farida. And with good reason, of course.

Zarya continued to trace the lines of Farida’s tattoo, closing her eyes as she sensed a swirl of magic move in her blood, her anchors glowing brightly. They flickered and pulsed in a pattern unique to this moment, but what did it mean?

She focused on her sixth anchor despite thousands of reservations. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was sure it was the key to this puzzle. The darkness. She hadn’t used it since the day she tried to help Amrita and had inadvertently hurt her. After that and Dhawan’s little speech before she’d killed him, she’d sworn she’d never touch it again, but what if that was a promise she couldn’t keep? Freeing Farida and the other vanshaj was so much more important than her fear.

Exhaling a frustrated huff, Zarya sat back while Farida reached for her chai and took a calm sip. She was unflappable, her back straight and her chin up, and nothing seemed to shake her.

“I’m sorry,” Zarya said, trying to keep the dejection out of her voice.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Farida said, “though I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to do.”

Zarya caught sight of Rania watching the two of them with her brows pinched. While Farida’s patience appeared infinite, Rania never allowed Zarya quite as much allowance for her failings. Or anyone’s, for that matter.

Whether the women would still be prevented from marrying even if Zarya managed to remove the tattoo was a question yet to be answered. What made one vanshaj? The presence of the collar itself or their very essence? Did it matter? Surely, to some, it did. Even if it were gone, how would Farida be received by others?