Page 2 of Queen of Shadows and Ruin (The Nightfire Quartet #4)

ONE

Zarya’s hands gripped cold, slick scales as the soaring spires of her father’s dark castle appeared in the distance. It stood in miniature, nestled into the mountains, contrasting rivers of pure white snow.

Rabin banked left, swooping over the crystalline landscape, and she clung on tighter as the wind tangled her hair and whistled in her ears. Ducking low, she shrugged deeper into the warmth of her hood.

Yasen and Miraan sat in a row behind her with Miraan’s arms around Yasen’s waist. They’d been flying for days as the sun had set and risen, taking only short breaks for Rabin to rest. Despite Miraan’s best efforts to warm them with his magic, Zarya was frozen inside and out. Even her blood felt thicker, idling through her veins as she dreamed of wool blankets and roaring fires.

Rabin angled into a gentle descent, skimming over ice-capped lakes and an endless expanse of sparkling white. The sun hung low in the sky, a white orb glowing softly against a pale blue backdrop. The barest wisps of clouds hung in the air like the puffs of a giant’s breath.

The endless Pathara Vala Mountains surrounded them like a wall—soaring peaks of dark grey stone streaked with veins of shimmering ice and jagged summits climbing so high they were lost to clouds of mist and fog.

Zarya had only viewed them at a distance from her balcony in Ishaan, and though they’d always been imposing, now they loomed larger than life. How could anything so colossal just exist without the entire continent collapsing under their weight?

Rabin flapped his wings with a crack, dipping with a stomach-lifting swoop as he arched over a range of foothills, once again revealing a sight that stuck in Zarya’s chest.

There, it waited. Andhera .

He flapped again, dragging them towards the dubious future awaiting her as she began to make out the castle’s dark towers and windows.

Andhera.

A few months ago, the name had meant almost nothing to her. It had been a distant place she’d rarely considered except inside her daydreams when she’d longed to travel and see the world. But then her entire life had been blown wide open, and despite so many warnings and reservations about what she would find here, everything kept pointing her north.

She’d sworn she’d never come.

She’d planned to keep her distance and stay as far away as possible.

But a part of her knew that was never true.

She’d only ever had two choices.

To hide—and she would never do that.

Or to run towards him and force the possible consequences out so she could confront her fears and worries.

So that she could get this over with.

Thus, here she was, arriving on his doorstep willingly and into his waiting arms.

Would she be welcomed? Would she find something she’d spent her entire life seeking? After the disappointment of meeting her family in Ishaan, would Andhera offer the belonging she sought?

Rabin had found a home here when he’d arrived all those years ago, and maybe none of that had been by chance. He’d been so sure about his fated connection to Zarya and her father.

Or was this all a trap?

Zarya no longer doubted Rabin’s honesty. He’d bared himself to her, body and soul, and she trusted him implicitly. It had taken some time, but they’d bridged their divides. She believed everything he’d promised. He hadn’t meant to betray her. He hadn’t intended her any harm. But she still wasn’t convinced Rabin saw the king of Andhera as clearly as he should.

She recalled his assurances that Abishek only wanted to know her, and she swallowed a needle of guilt as she thought of Row’s warnings. She had planned to discuss it with him before deciding to meet her father, but there hadn’t been an opportunity thanks to their hasty escape from Ishaan.

No matter what happened, Rabin would protect her with his life.

She peered over her shoulder at Yasen, watching silver strands whip across his reddened cheeks. He studied the barren landscape, his dark grey eyes assessing everything.

“You okay?” she called, and he met her gaze with a tight smile.

“Sure. I can’t feel my balls anymore, but this is first-class travel all the way,” he answered with a thumbs up.

She snorted as her attention fell to Miraan next, his features arranged into his signature stoic expression while he also gauged their surroundings with a wary eye.

Her brother. Half-brother.

Until a few weeks ago, she’d never even spoken with another living soul who’d shared her blood, and now she had a brother and was set to meet the man who had helped make her.

She only hoped he wouldn’t also ruin her.

Rabin soared over the castle, and Zarya leaned in, trying to get a better look. The formidable structure was made entirely of matte black stone that stood in harsh contrast to its white backdrop. Built with durability in mind, the thick walls were almost featureless except for long banks of windows wrapping around each corner.

From there, the practical design gave way to something more fanciful with hundreds of soaring towers connected through narrow bridges. Each column was inset with dozens of arched windows, likely added to welcome in beams of weak winter light.

She shivered, tucking the collar of her jacket tighter at the thought of the icy wind seeping through every crack on the coldest nights. Before they’d left the Saaya, Rabin had insisted on purchasing proper attire for their journey. She’d called him dramatic and overprotective, but as another blast of cold wind tore through her clothing, she realized he’d been right.

As they drew closer, Zarya made out the walled city surrounding the castle where the people of Andhera made their home. Unlike Rahajhan’s other realms, Andhera had no main capital. Most of the region’s population lived within these winding streets and its sturdy houses designed to withstand the bite of winter’s chill.

Zarya had read enough about Andhera to know that a few mountain clans inhabited the caverns and passes at the Pathara Vala’s higher altitudes. They were a hearty bunch who practiced their own customs and worshiped their own gods. They rarely came down to mingle with Andhera’s citizens unless necessity forced them out.

Dozens of guards stood on the castle’s ramparts, their faces tipped up to monitor their approach. They traced Rabin’s movements as he turned another loop.

He shook his head, his giant wings snapping before he lost altitude. His trajectory curved downwards in a wide circle as he aimed for the surface of a large flat tower where someone had painted a massive black dragon with its wings spread out.

Zarya’s heart twisted at the sight.

This really was his home. This really was where he belonged.

And perhaps…it was where she belonged, too. The thought eased a trickle of nervousness from the tense set of her shoulders as they continued their descent.

After another moment, Rabin landed softly with a thump, his wings beating steadily before they collapsed at his sides. Zarya and the others scrambled off before Rabin dissolved into a puff of smoke and appeared again in his rakshasa form.

Something about witnessing him standing on this tower overlooking the mountain valley made her chest ache. His dark hair tossed in the breeze, and his black armor offered a stark contrast to the blanket of white, almost like he’d been placed here by a divine hand from the sky.

As if sensing her distress, he strode over and caught her in the protection of his arms. He brushed a hand down her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She started to nod and then stopped before shaking her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. For…him.”

Rabin pressed his nose to her temple and inhaled deeply. “I swear everything will be fine.” He pulled away. “You’re sure you’re okay with…everything?”

Zarya pressed her mouth together and nodded.

Before leaving the Saaya, they agreed to keep their marriage a secret from Abishek until they could find the right moment to break the news. Rabin was worried about the king’s reaction, given he’d defied his orders to break off all romantic ties with Zarya. She’d been reluctant but also didn’t want to ruin her first meeting with the king. They’d tell him when the time was right.

Yasen and Miraan had agreed to go along with their deception if that’s what they wanted. Zarya didn’t want to lie to anyone, but it was for the best, and this was only temporary.

“We’ll tell him soon,” Rabin assured her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Then you should probably let go of me,” she whispered.

He paused with his hand mid-air, his eyes flashing, before nodding and pulling away. The cold hit her then, and his absence left a hollow emptiness that did nothing to ease the tension vibrating through her frame.

He stepped back and gestured. “It will be a challenge not to touch you.”

“We’ll always have the mind plane,” she promised, and he nodded, the softness in his eyes opposing the tense set of his jaw.

Rabin then turned to Yasen and Miraan. “You’re both still with us?” he asked.

Yasen raised his hands. “Whatever you need. I’m not sure I understand, but you know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Rabin said, pressing a palm to his chest and dipping his chin.

Then he returned his attention to Zarya again. “Are you ready?”

“Please,” Yasen said. “My cock is about to freeze off.”

They smiled as he made a show of adjusting his crotch before crossing the roof. The wind howled across the mountains, almost sounding like ghosts. Zarya looked up, studying the pale sky. She squinted up at the castle and its high towers, noting the light reflecting off the windows with tiny flashes of silver.

She couldn’t see the city from where they stood, but the sounds of people going about their day floated up from below. The wind gusted, tearing at her long wool coat, screaming in her ears, almost as if it were trying to deliver a message. Or maybe a warning.

She shook off the sensation. She was just nervous.

A pair of sentries guarded the entrance. They bent at the waist, aiming their welcome at Rabin before turning to Zarya and the others.

“Welcome home, Lord Ravana,” one said as they stepped aside and opened the door.

Rabin gestured for Zarya to enter, and they all filed into the dim interior of a small landing.

“This way,” Rabin said, directing them towards a narrow spiral staircase. “I’m sure they’ve seen us coming and are already expecting us.”

He inhaled a deep breath and then paused briefly before plunging down the stairs. Zarya hesitated for another moment before following, her stomach twisting with nerves as she spiraled lower.

Warm air drifted up, almost like an embrace. The black stones were hard under her feet, and she dragged a hand along the wall to steady herself, feeling the deep chill living in every crack and crevice.

She heard the clatter of Yasen and Miraan behind her, grateful to have them both along. She watched Rabin’s dark head circle down, hoping he was right about all of this.

Hoping she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

When they reached the bottom, they were greeted by a vanshaj man with silver hair who wore a tailored black sherwani. He stood with his hands behind his back and his nose up. Surrounding him were more guards.

Zarya swallowed at the sight of the stars collaring his throat, suddenly thrown off. She’d spent so many months around people who supported vanshaj freedom, but this was a reminder that their actions had only been a tiny fracture within a much larger battle they’d have to reconcile soon enough. She couldn’t abandon what they’d started. And she’d never give up on this fight.

“Omar,” Rabin said, his tone polite but devoid of emotion.

“My lord, you’ve brought guests,” Omar replied, assessing Zarya and her party with a critical eye.

“I apologize for not alerting you,” Rabin replied.

Omar sniffed. “What’s done is done, though I hope we won’t be making this a habit. I shall see to their rooms.”

“Will you please place them in my wing? We’ve all been through a lot, and I’d prefer everyone remain close.”

Omar tipped his chin in agreement.

“Thank you. Where is the king?” Rabin asked.

“In his throne room, my lord,” he answered, eyeing Zarya, Yasen, and Miraan again. “He is most eager to meet your companions.”

“This way,” Rabin told them, and he turned left, leading them through the straight and orderly corridors.

Black stone stretched underfoot, and Zarya studied the dark walls covered with an array of colorful tapestries, some embroidered with geometric patterns, some with organic styles like flowers and vines, and others depicting a great city nestled within the mountains, the streets crowded with people, buildings, and life. Her eyes caught on a giant silver temple with a star floating above it, but they passed before she could examine it more closely.

The high ceilings were capped with curved glass, the edges covered in snow, offering a view of the watery blue sky. As they walked, Zarya caught a closer glimpse of Andhera’s bustling city and the market below.

Rabin gave her a sidelong look. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but to keep up this charade, they’d have to maintain a physical distance in both the king’s presence and any of his people. She curled her fingers against her palms, her nails digging into flesh.

She understood Rabin’s reservations, but it also stung in a way that she was trying to move past. This wasn’t about her. This was far more complicated than her feelings.

Finally, after several minutes of walking, they turned a corner into a hallway so wide it could easily accommodate half a dozen wagons side by side. A massive black arch stood at the end, framing the entrance of a large room beyond.

“Ready?” Rabin asked, and Zarya swallowed the itchy lump in her throat.

Ready as she’d ever be.

They continued their stride, passing under the arch into a sprawling chamber lined with tall windows stretching several stories high. Black velvet curtains puddled on the silver-tiled floor, and the vaulted ceiling was adorned with thick beams of silver and painted with hundreds of colors, depicting what must have been a great battle.

She couldn’t help staring up, wondering who had spent so many hours creating such a masterpiece. It was stunning, but she didn’t really care about ancient battles, and her interest was feigned as she avoided the inevitable.

With a deep breath, she forced her gaze forward. The air and sound in the room suddenly evaporated. She took a step, and the click of her boots against the tiles was so loud she could feel it to the backs of her teeth.

At the far end of the room sat a massive black throne carved from what looked like marble veined with silver and gold. Given the grandness of the room, it was simple but regal, suggesting great power and influence.

Zarya stopped walking.

Suddenly, she couldn’t will herself to take another step.

There he was.

Sitting on his throne, his posture casual, with one knee tossed over the other.

Abishek. King of Andhera. Her father.

He sat up straighter, his hands clutching the armrests as they assessed one another from across the room.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been picturing.

Someone with the same features. Someone with the same dark hair and eyes. What she wanted to see was something that proved she belonged to him. Something that confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she belonged here .

She could sense Yasen and Rabin on either side, half a step back as they waited for her to react. She placed one foot in front of the other as the king slowly rose from his seat. Zarya briefly noted the woman dressed in fighting leathers standing on his left, her arms folded and her stance wide, before returning her attention to Abishek.

As the king watched her intensely, she slowly approached—another step and then another.

She stopped a few paces from the dais, and they stared at one another.

Tracing the shape of his nose and his mouth, she realized these were the pieces she’d inherited. This man was a part of her.

Maybe she still hadn’t believed any of it was true.

Maybe a tiny part of her had still doubted until this very moment.

But suddenly, she understood that her arrival had always been inevitable, no matter her reservations or Row’s warnings. She’d spent too much of her life wishing for a family to ignore that he lived and that he’d been waiting for her.

“Father,” she whispered.