Page 102 of Queen of Shadows and Ruin

Yasen blew out a breath. “Can we find Tarin?”

“I know where he is,” Row said. “I will send a message.”

Yasen nodded, his jaw firm. He started pacing again and ran a hand through his hair. He stopped and stared at Row and Koura. “What are we going to tell everyone? What are we going to do?”

When neither one could answer, he began pacing again. Yasen was no stranger to feeling helpless. He understood the emotions that came with utter despair and the sense that nothing would be the same ever again.

But as he stared at his friend and the fine dark lines creeping over his skin, Yasen had never felt more helpless in his life.

Koura hadn’t been wrong about Vikram. When he awoke, he couldn’t remember anything. He was disoriented and babbling about things that had never happened.

When Yasen pressed him about speaking with Amrita, he recited a string of banal sentiments about taxation bills, land claims, and pointless things that meant nothing. The darkness was eating him alive.

When Row asked him to speak with Amrita about her rotting roots, Vikram gave him a bemused look and told him there was nothing to worry about.

As they waited for Tarin, Vikram went about his days. Yasen couldn’t stop staring at those black veins reaching above his collar. On more than one occasion, he would stop and give Yasen a quizzical look and ask, “What?”

Yasen would shake his head and mumble, “Nothing.”

Vikram didn’t seem to understand anything was happening, and maybe that was the most terrifying thing of all.

A few days later, Tarin arrived. He moved as slowly as ever, shuffling into the throne room, where Yasen waited with Row, Koura, and an increasingly confused Vikram. Gopal Ravana had also arrived, claiming he had a right to know about the state of his son.

“Since when do you care what happens to him?” Yasen asked, and the heat in Gopal’s gaze could have melted iron from the center of a mine. He turned his back to the nawab and vowed to forget his existence.

Yasen had to resist bombarding Tarin with a thousand questions. He could have kissed the old tree. Thankfully, Row walked over, holding out his hand.

“Tarin,” Row said with a breath of relief. “Thank goodness you’ve come.”

Tarin dipped his head, leaning on his cane as he slowly approached Amrita. “Tell me what’s been happening,” he said, his low voice rolling like tumbling stones across the chamber.

They quickly filled him in while he listened with a curious expression.

“You’ve freed the vanshaj,” he said with a touch of awe in his voice. “I never thought I’d live to see it.”

“Zarya figured it out,” Row said.

Tarin dipped his chin, a small smile stretching over his gnarled lips. “I remember the day she arrived in Dharati, a ball of energy ready to burst. I smelled destiny on her, and I’m pleased to hear I was right.”

Then he turned to Vikram and assessed him up and down.

Vikram watched warily as Tarin approached. “How’s Amrita?” he asked.

“She’s… well?” Vikram said.

Tarin cocked his head and studied him with calm scrutiny. “With your permission, I should like to speak with her.”

“Can you do that?” Yasen asked.

Tarin raised a hand. “With the steward’s blessing, yes.”

Tarin returned his attention to Vikram and waited.

“Vik,” Yasen urged, and again, Tarin silenced him with a wave.

“Do not rush him. The relationship between a steward and his queen is extremely personal. It is difficult to consider, and it would be natural to refuse my request. I never once allowed it in my many years at Rani Vasvi’s side.”

Yasen pressed his mouth together but stepped back, giving Vikram space to decide. He shared a look with Row and Koura, who wore their worry in their expressions.