Page 21 of Queen of Shadows and Ruin (The Nightfire Quartet #4)

TWENTY

Yasen and Miraan stood at the palace gates, staring up at the sky-blue walls and darkened windows. Dozens of soldiers manned the ramparts, crossbows aimed at their hearts. Ash hung in the sky like shadows, obscuring the sun into a burning red orb bleeding across the horizon.

Miraan pushed his hood back and ran a hand through his hair. As promised, he’d sent his sister a letter, and they’d agreed to a temporary truce.

Yasen didn’t trust it or her . He’d tried to talk Miraan out of this, but the prince wouldn’t be deterred. The longer the riots continued, the more he internalized everything as his fault. Never mind that Dishani, Gi’ana, and a thousand years of oppressive rulers had brought this misery upon themselves.

“We can still turn back,” Yasen said as he stared at the guards who flanked the entrance. Despite the crossbows trained on their movements, their welcome was more subdued than he’d expected. He’d been prepared for a hundred armed soldiers waiting to escort them into the palace, maybe in cuffs or chains.

Instead, they’d entered the empty courtyard where the massive astronomical clock dominating one wall stood silent. Yasen couldn’t help but compare it to a ribcage with its heart ripped out. Their footsteps echoed against the quiet while he noted the piles of wet, crumpled paper crowded into the corners. The notes that Yasen and Rabin had dropped over the city, sharing the truth about the Jadugara.

“We’re going in,” Miraan said, and Yasen nodded. Initially, Miraan planned to go alone, but Yasen had threatened to tie him up and toss him in a pit if he attempted to visit Dishani without him.

Eventually, Miraan conceded so they could at least walk into their deaths together.

“Let’s go,” Miraan said, and they approached the door. As they drew closer, guards shuffled into their path while more appeared behind them. It took a moment for another figure to appear—Talin, the youngest of the Madan siblings.

The guards parted to allow him past.

“Talin,” Miraan said, obvious relief in his tone. “How are you?”

Talin shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in a gesture so similar to his brother’s that something twisted in Yasen’s chest.

“Not great,” Talin said.

The younger Madan brother looked entirely different than when Yasen had seen him last. He’d been full of life and exuberance, but now he appeared on the verge of falling apart. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he wore rumpled clothing. The effect was compounded by the shadow growing on his chin. “Why did you do it?”

Miraan opened his mouth and then closed it while considering how to respond. “I had to,” he said. “I couldn’t sit idle anymore. You know I’m right.”

Talin stared at his brother, his expression blank, before he blew out a long sigh. Yasen couldn’t decide what he read in the younger prince’s demeanor. Confusion perhaps. A touch of betrayal. But also grim resignation.

“I’m to retrieve your amulet.” He said the words carefully as if he wasn’t sure how Miraan would react.

Miraan nodded, reached into his kurta, and revealed the token dangling from a chain around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Talin said. “She insists.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Miraan said as he pulled the chain over his head and handed it to his brother. “Though, I’d rather hoped she’d demonstrate some goodwill by allowing me to keep it.”

Yasen didn’t know much about how it all worked, but he did know the palace’s blue stone suppressed magic. Only members of the immediate royal family and those they deemed worthy possessed an amulet to nullify the effects. Without Miraan’s magic, they were truly entering defenseless.

“You know how she can be,” Talin said as his curious gaze fell on Yasen.

“This is Lieutenant Yasen Varghese of Daragaab,” Miraan said. “My…friend.”

Yasen’s gaze slid to Miraan, unsure what to make of his hesitation.

“Weren’t you in our dungeons?” Talin asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I was,” Yasen said. “It was an honor to experience the famous Madan hospitality.”

Miraan shot him an exasperated look, but Yasen only grinned.

Talin pressed his hands together and bowed. “Welcome back, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” Yasen said. “I’m here to watch his back in case your charming sister decides to stick a knife in it.”

Talin arched a brow. Yasen knew it was impertinent, perhaps even bordering on treasonous, to speak of the princess this way, but he’d never cared much about rules or decorum. He often woke up wondering how he’d managed to escape the end of a noose or a blade, but he’d enjoy his days while he had them.

“Fair enough,” Talin said, tipping his chin before spinning on his heel. “You’d better come with me, then. She’s waiting for you.”

Miraan and Yasen exchanged wary looks while the guards surrounded them. They had been allowed to keep their weapons, but it was only for show. Without Miraan’s magic, they were vastly outnumbered.

As they walked, Talin snuck anxious glances over his shoulder, and Yasen suspected he was uncomfortable treating his brother like a criminal. Miraan had only spoken briefly about his relationship with his family, but Yasen knew that despite the brothers being very different, they were also close friends.

Perhaps Talin was hurt that Miraan had never confided in him about the Rising Phoenix, but he had to understand why his brother had to keep his actions a secret, even from those closest to him. Yasen looked at Miraan, who met his gaze. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but Miraan’s expression remained stoic.

“Is she really bringing in another army?” Miraan asked.

Talin shook his head. “Someone arrived, cloaked and hooded, to meet with her.”

“Who was it?”

“No one knows but her,” Talin said. “Only two blindfolded healers were allowed to accompany her to the meeting.”

Yasen’s brow furrowed. Who would be acting with such secrecy?

“But yes,” Talin continued. “I believe she intends to invite them into Ishaan.”

“It will be a massacre,” Miraan said softly.

Talin pressed his mouth together. “Possibly.”

They turned a corner and approached a massive set of wide doors painted white and gilded with flowers. Four guards flanked the entrance, also wearing white uniforms trimmed in silver. The queensguard.

Yasen wondered how long their mother’s body had been cold—metaphorically speaking—before Dishani had claimed these quarters that didn’t technically belong to her.

Talin came to a stop and turned to address them. “I’ll warn you. She’s in very bad shape. Try not to react. It makes her…angry. Pretend nothing is amiss, and you might leave here with your heads.”

Yasen snorted. “I wasn’t that attached to it, anyway.”

Talin cocked his head in a gesture that seemed to say Fair enough before they entered a palatial suite with windows running the entire length of one wall. The curtains were drawn closed, admitting only narrow slivers of light and casting the space into shadows.

Dozens of people filled the room, speaking in low, hushed voices. Miraan and Yasen exchanged another wary look as their shoulders brushed, almost as if Miraan was seeking reassurance in Yasen’s presence. He wished he could offer something to make this easier.

“Dishani,” Talin said softly. “He’s here.”

They moved deeper into the room and towards the sunken area in the center, where several curved divans lined the perimeter. At least a dozen healers surrounded her.

A moment later, Yasen spied a familiar figure.

Koura turned to look over his shoulder from his position kneeling before a divan. He nodded to Yasen and then stood, bowing to the princes before he moved away to reveal a shrouded figure lying on her back with several cushions propped under her head. Yasen inhaled a deep breath, suddenly nervous. He could feel the tension radiating off Miraan.

Talin looked over his shoulder yet again, then kneeled before Dishani. She wore a long, soft white dress and a white veil over her face. Through the light fabric, Yasen caught the barest shine of her eyes.

“Dishani,” Miraan whispered.

She lay entirely still, studying her brother.

Yasen could make out the inflamed skin on the right side of her face before his gaze wandered to her right arm, where her sleeveless dress exposed a rash of angry red blisters, glistening with a sheen of ointment.

Yasen had been a soldier for decades. He’d seen every injury under the sun, and it had never bothered him, but something about this room and its shadows sent a chill skating down his back. The healers, the pulled curtains, the hushed voices made it feel like they were standing inside a tomb.

He’d witnessed the moment when Rabin attacked with that blue fire, not caring who he hit. Yasen understood. He would have done the same, but he knew Zarya would carry this guilt with her forever.

Despite how Dishani had treated her, Zarya would always look for the good in people and situations. It’s why they were friends. Things would have gone as usual if she’d given up on him the way most people did. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for that, but trusting people was difficult.

“Dishani,” Miraan said again. “How are you?”

She remained still for several long seconds as the tension in the room stretched. Yasen wondered if she could speak.

“You come to ask after my welfare?” came her words a moment later. They were barely whispered, dragged over charred vocal cords. Yasen could distinguish them easily with his rakshasa hearing, but everyone else leaned forward.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Miraan said. “This is never how I wanted things to turn out.”

Dishani went silent as if gathering her strength to answer.

“And yet…here we are.”

Again, she whispered the words like they caused her immense pain.

“Dishani, I’d like to talk about what happened,” Miraan said. “Perhaps when you’re feeling a bit…more yourself. We need to discuss the resistance. They have demands, and we must hear them out.”

Yasen tensed. He wasn’t exactly the most diplomatic in most situations, but even he was cringing at Miraan’s directness. Dishani was a wreck, and they were arriving to call for reform. It needed to be done, but this room and these people were seriously creeping him out.

“The resistance…” Dishani said after another long pause, “…will be crushed.”

Yasen felt the weight of those words hang in the room. The princess had been bent but not broken. At least not yet.

“Dishani, you can’t mean to keep this up,” Miraan said. “Let’s negotiate with them. Let’s meet them where they are and find something that works for everyone. They know what’s possible now. The collars will continue to come off, and they cannot be caged again. Disband the Jadugara and strip them of their power. The vanshaj are no longer defenseless. If you continue clinging to the old ways, you risk losing everything.”

As Miraan finished speaking, the room fell into absolute silence. Everyone was staring at him with a mixture of respect and fear. Several vanshaj stood around the room, and Yasen noticed a few absentmindedly touching their throats.

Sweat gathered on Miraan’s temples as he stared at Dishani, willing her to listen. To see reason.

“The city is in shambles,” he continued. “You have lost control. Soon enough, they will organize themselves again and storm this palace. Now their secrets are out, and they have no reason to hold back. You have already lost. Show them what kind of queen you can be. It’s not too late to fix this.”

Yasen bounced on the ball of one foot and then the other as everyone awaited her response. He was nervous. More nervous than he could remember being in a long time. He noted the queensguard stationed around the room with their hands all carefully cradling the hilts of their swords. Yasen wondered what their orders were. Hear them out and then attack? Or allow Miraan to walk out of here?

Yasen moved an inch closer to the prince, gripping his sword. A few noted the shift but displayed no outward signs of aggression.

Yasen’s attention returned to Dishani, who was struggling to sit up. A vanshaj attendant rushed to help using her good arm. She drew in deep, rattling breaths as she carefully placed her feet on the ground. She must be in immense pain despite whatever relief Koura had been able to offer.

Once seated, she reached for the edge of her veil and slowly lifted it.

Yasen had seen it all. Bodies blown apart. Men hacked to pieces. But he swallowed thickly at the sight of her ruined face. Charred skin and red oozing welts covered one half, her right eye was gone, and her lips were a twisted mass of cartilage.

“This is what they did to me,” she said. Her voice was weak but fueled with so much rage and anger that it practically vibrated in the air. “I will not rest until every single one of them suffers like I have.”

Miraan had gone as white as a sheet. “Dishani,” he whispered, his voice on the edge of cracking. “I’m so sorry it came to this. I never wanted anything like this to happen.”

“You did this,” she replied. “You are responsible for all of this.”

Miraan dropped his head, his dark hair falling around his face and his shoulders shaking. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to rush over and comfort him.

Yasen wasn’t really the comforting sort, but he had to admit that Miraan had found some secret place he hadn’t known was there.

“Dishani—”

“Get out,” she said with a bit more force this time. “I allowed you to come here only because we share blood, but after you leave today, you are dead to me. A price is on your head, and should you come anywhere near the palace again, my guards have orders to kill you on the spot.”

“Dishani!” exclaimed Talin from the corner. “You can’t mean that! He wasn’t the one who hurt you.”

Dishani ignored him as she dropped her veil and then leaned back, once again moving with great difficulty. Her servants swarmed around her, helping her get comfortable.

“Dishani—” Miraan pleaded as he stood. A moment later, the queensguard surrounded him with their blades pointed at him and Yasen.

“You’ve been granted leave to exit the palace,” one said. “Once you cross the threshold, all royal protections shall be removed. You have two minutes.”

Miraan opened and then closed his mouth as he glanced at his sister, clearly trying to understand how she could mean any of this.

“I think we’d better go,” Yasen said gently, and Miraan blinked before he turned, tears forming in his eyes. He looked at his brother and then back at Dishani. Finally, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Very well,” he whispered before the pair were escorted out of the palace and all but shoved out the exit. The door thudded behind them with a resounding boom, and Miraan spun around, staring back as if he couldn’t believe he’d just been tossed from his home.

Yasen noted the guards manning the walls with their crossbows cocked.

“Okay,” Yasen said as he wrapped a hand around Miraan’s arm and tugged him through the plaza, “let’s get the fuck out of here before one of those bolts makes a home in your chest.”

Miraan didn’t have another chance to protest as Yasen practically dragged him into the roiling streets of Ishaan.

Well, that went as poorly as it possibly could have.

Time to consider a plan B.

Whatever that was.