Chapter 4
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?
There was also the question of what exactly Farida might be capable of once she was no longer bound, but the need to free her outweighed the worry of any potential consequences. It had to. This kind of evil couldn’t remain unchecked. Farida deserved to be free, as did the thousands of other vanshaj living across Rahajhan.
“I don’t really know, either,” Zarya answered. She picked up a bottle of the ink as that same tingling traveled up her arm before unstopping it and sniffing the contents. The scent was crisp and dry, though she sensed the cloying hint of rot deep between its layers.
“Have you done anything with it?” Rania asked, sitting down next to Farida. “You still haven’t explained why you needed it.”
“Not yet,” Zarya said. “And I promise to explain once I know what I’m doing. Do you have a bowl or something I could use? Something you’re not attached to if it’s ruined?”
“Sure,” Rania said, retreating to the kitchen and returning a moment later with a small silver dish. “How about this?”
“Perfect,” Zarya said, holding out her hand. She poured a small amount of ink into the well and sniffed again, detecting a pungent note that sent a shiver creeping down her spine.
She placed the dish on the table, once again shaking out her hand from the lingering effects of touching the bottle, and addressed Rania.
“What happens if you use your magic on it? Try some spirit.”
Rania controlled all five anchors typical of powerful Aazheri and nodded before she pointed her hand towards it, a soft ribbon of yellow light curling out from her palm. Unlike Zarya, Rania and her brother manipulated their magic with their hands rather than their hearts. It was a subtle variation in how they manifested their power, meaning the results and control were slightly different.
Rania’s light dipped into the small black pool, and they all watched as the ink started to glow, like it was lit from within. It flared bright for a moment before darkening again.
“Did you feel anything?” Zarya asked.
“It felt no different than filtering spirit into a glass of water or tea,” she said. “I just heated it up a bit.”
Zarya touched her finger to the ink, and sure enough, it was warm. She wiped it on her dark leggings before preparing for her turn next. She drew on her spirit anchor and sent a similar vein of soft light out from her fingertips. It curled over the ink, sliding against the surface.
CRASH
The ink blew apart, the metal bowl skidding off the table and slamming into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster. For several seconds, they all sat in silence, staring at one another, before Zarya stood up. She retrieved a towel from the kitchen and picked up the bowl before carrying it over to the sink. When she turned on the water, it hissed with steam, the entire thing now black and dented.
“What just happened?” Rania asked with narrowed eyes as she came up next to Zarya.
“I’m not sure,” Zarya answered, though this further confirmed her suspicions about her forbidden magic. But as liberal as the Chandras were in their views, she worried her sixth anchor would stretch those limits. She imagined horror in their eyes if she revealed what she was.
“Why did your magic do that?” Farida asked, now standing on Zarya’s other side, as she, too, stared at the ruined bowl.
“I’m not sure,” Zarya repeated, but that wasn’t really the truth. She looked up at Farida, and something exchanged between them. The woman’s eyes narrowed before Zarya backed away, hoping to avoid too many questions.
“Well, at least that was something,” she said, maybe a touch too brightly. She studied the tattoos on Farida’s neck. Her earlier fears about using her magic on the woman had just tripled. If Zarya’s magic elicited a similar reaction to the tattoo, she’d have to find a way to control it before trying anything on a living person. “I’ll keep looking into this.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder before stashing the ink bottles in a pocket. With only the two to work with, she’d have to be careful about how she went about this. She was still regretting the crate she’d lost, but that couldn’t be helped now. Their raid had destroyed most of the supply in Gi’ana and Rahajhan, for that matter, minus whatever was stockpiled in the Taara Den, where they inked vanshaj infants straight from their mothers’ wombs.
“Any time you need me again, let me know,” Farida said. It was obvious how badly she wanted this for herself and for everyone else. She would endure anything to achieve that goal. But Zarya couldn’t treat her like a specimen to be used and broken at her will. She would figure this out, but she would do it without hurting anyone.
“Thank you,” Zarya said. “I’ll see you later.”
Then she pressed her hands together in front of her heart and exited the building, emerging into the busy streets of Ishaan. She ducked her head down, threading through the crowd as the smell of smoke still hung in the air, obscuring the sun and the clouds, leaving the sky a muddled wash of grey. Posters she hadn’t noticed earlier hung at intervals affixed to lamp posts, offering rewards to anyone with information about the factory bombing.
Zarya allowed herself a small smile. They had done that. It had taken weeks and weeks of careful planning, but they’d all come together to deliver this crushing blow to the oppressive forces of Rahajhan. She scanned the paper, searching for clues on whether they had any leads, but it was only general information about the time and location, as if the blast hadn’t been heard for miles.
The reward offered in exchange for information had Zarya stalling in her tracks. People would do terrible things for that kind of money. If the wrong person discovered what they were planning, their cover would be blown wide open.
But Farida, Ajay and Rania knew what they were doing—they’d been at this for years—and had everyone’s best interests at heart. Thanks to their anonymous benefactor, they had more than enough money to carry out their activities, and Zarya had learned just how valuable that could be.
She proceeded with her head down, coming upon a street where a crowd gathered along the edges. A group of soldiers were busy clearing the road while people scrambled out of the way.
Unlike the city watch in their plain black uniforms, the royal soldiers of Gi’ana stood out in their violet-colored sherwanis with emerald-green sashes and red pants, almost like peacocks unfurling their feathers for a slice of attention. Their gleaming talwars hung at their hips, the sharpened edges flashing. They weren’t afraid to use them at will, and their army was considered second only to Daragaab’s, though she wondered if any of them agreed with that evaluation.
With people pressing in on all sides, Zarya elbowed her way through the crowd, hoping to find a way across the road towards her flat. She planned to find somewhere she could work with the ink in private.
She stretched onto her toes, attempting to see what the commotion was all about.
Up ahead, more guards preceded two massive elephants, decked out with ornate cloths across their backs and heads, covered in beading and small mirrors that reflected in the daylight despite the cover of smoke.
All this fanfare could mean only one thing.
At that realization, Zarya changed course, threading her way towards the street, now vying for a front-row seat, her mission with the ink temporarily forgotten.
A giant float rolled towards her, laden with marigolds, roses, and every flower one could conceive. The progression drew nearer, and Zarya watched with her eyes wide and her heart climbing up her throat. Her fingers tingled for an entirely different reason now.
She’d glimpsed them only a handful of times from a distance, but their presence never failed to make her stomach flip.
There they were.
The Madans.
The royal family of Gi’ana.
Her family.