Gifting Fire by Alina Boyden

Author:Alina Boyden [Boyden, Alina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781984805485
Google: CgTyDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1984805487
Publisher: Ace
Published: 2021-04-12T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Just a week left,” Hina remarked as I sat on the southwestern tower, in my favorite spot beneath the domed roof of a cobalt-tiled chhatri.

I grunted an acknowledgment, but made no reply, because thinking too much about the impending battle tied my stomach in knots and made it hard to pretend to be “finding my place here” as Karim had commanded. I couldn’t control whether or not Haider came for me, couldn’t control whether or not Karim would leave for Ahura as I’d planned. All I could do was sit and wait.

“It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s a good plan,” Hina said, sinking to the cushion beside mine and taking my hands in hers. “Fate will decide what responses your letters will bring, but the important thing is that you were brave enough to send them.”

I glanced over at her, keenly aware of how much strain she must have been under, how angry she must have been. She was still grieving the loss of her brother, and here she was, sitting in his conquered palace, living cheek by jowl with his murderers, and she still had the wherewithal to comfort me.

“How do you do it?” I asked her.

She didn’t need me to explain the question. She just heaved a sigh that was as heavy as the ones that so frequently left my own lips these days, and said, “The same way you let Karim kiss you good night every evening.”

I shuddered at the memories of his lips grazing my cheek, my forehead, even my mouth from time to time. He knew just how far he could push things before Sikander would intervene, though the old guardsman spent most of his time keeping Lakshmi safe.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to kill him before he could drag you into this,” Hina told me.

I shook my head. “It’s my fault he came to Zindh at all. If I hadn’t been named subahdar, none of this would have happened.”

“If you hadn’t been named subahdar, we Zindhis would still be living under Javed Khorasani’s thumb, and that was no better, I promise you,” she replied.

“He wouldn’t have been subahdar if my father hadn’t killed your father,” I pointed out, recalling the aftermath of the Nizami civil war seven years before.

“I don’t miss him,” Hina replied with a shrug. “He was a terrible man. He beat me every chance he got.”

“My father always left it to Sikander to do the beating,” I muttered. I realized that the pair of us hadn’t had much chance to get to know each other these last few days, we’d been so busy plotting against Karim. “Did you run away from home too, then?”

“He didn’t leave me any choice,” she said. “He despised me. He said that I would be the death of Zindh, that I was worthless, that it was lucky he had Ali, because I had no chance whatever of reclaiming our independence.”

I managed a stiff nod, having more or less heard words to that effect for the whole of my life.

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