But none of that had compared to the wedding itself. Arjun had come riding in on Padmini, the poor thing totally covered in golden-embroidered scarlet cloth. His father had arranged for a procession of dancers, shenai players, and drummers to march chorus alongside Padmini’s somber march through Nizam’s streets and my father’s fortress. Thunder zahhaks had flown overhead, shooting bolts of lightning to commemorate the occasion, and Sikander had led me to the tent to complete our public wedding vows to one another—a concession to Arjun’s family. After that, there had been so much drinking and dancing and eating that it had all become a bit of a blur.
Now my eyes were clear, because Arjun and I were alone at last, back home in Bikampur. I’d symbolically flown home with him like a proper bride, and his mother and his sister had led me into our bedroom and sat me on a mattress festooned with flower petals, my dupatta draped over me so that Arjun could unwrap me when he arrived. He’d taken his time, which was traditional, if a bit annoying. But he was here, right in front of me, his strong hand brushing aside the gauze-thin scarlet silk of my dupatta, just like in all those storybooks I’d been so fond of as a child.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he told me, his palm cupping my cheek as he stared into my eyes. “All day, in fact. It took every ounce of my self-control not to ravish you in the temple.”
“I don’t think that would have gone over well with my father’s clerics,” I murmured, but I loved the idea, because I hated my father’s clerics. They’d preached against me for years, though I supposed there was some small revenge in forcing them to attend to my wedding ceremony.
“No,” he agreed, leaning forward and planting his lips against mine for a moment. “I don’t think it would have.”
I reached up and twined my arms around his strong neck, pulling his body against mine, grateful that I didn’t wrench my back in the process, but I thought my injuries had finally healed. It had taken a month. I kissed his neck, and then his jaw, working my way to his mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
“Oh, is this your first time?” he teased as he eased me back against the mattress, the hard muscles of his arms supporting my back with a tenderness that had come from watching me whimper and grimace for weeks on end.
“My first time not having to worry about Lakshmi barging in on us with a nightmare, or Shiv telling us that he’s taking the bed, or Father showing up with a new suitor? Yes,” I answered.
He grinned and started working loose the loops and knots holding my peshwaz shut. “Well, we should enjoy tonight, then, because it’s only going to get worse.”
“Worse?” I raised a quizzical eyebrow, wondering what on earth he meant by that.
“You’ve got three Mahisagari girls coming to you to learn how to fly zahhaks. You’ll have Lakshmi back in no time to ‘help.’ And I know you, you’ll want children of your own someday too. I’m not sure how we’ll get them, but they’ll be along eventually, even if they’re just more girls like you in need of rescue.”
“You’re right, my prince,” I agreed, stroking his hair with my fingers, using my nails to send little shivers of pleasure into his scalp that I could sense in my fingertips.
“And you’ll be the coruler of Nizam,” he added. “Your father will want you enlarging the empire against its enemies. And your uncle will try to have us both killed, as will your cousins, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” I agreed, but I was smiling, because they were the furthest thing from my mind.
Arjun pressed his forehead against mine. “But in spite of all that, I want you to make me a promise.”
“Oh?” I asked, still massaging his scalp in the way I knew he liked best. “And what promise might that be?”
“No more adventures for a little while?” he suggested.
“I’m afraid I can’t make that promise, my prince,” I replied.
“No?” he asked.
I shook my head, biting my lower lip to suppress a big grin.
“And why is that?” he demanded, with a mock sternness that reminded me of a sweet puppy trying to learn to bark.
“Because I had planned to take you on quite a grand adventure this evening,” I said. “But, if you’d rather we didn’t . . .” I shrugged my shoulders and started wriggling my way out from beneath him.
I had scarcely moved an inch before his arms came down on either side of my shoulders, hemming me in. He leaned low over me, his voice husky. “All right,” he said. “I suppose one more adventure couldn’t hurt.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If first books are surreal, unexpected successes, then second books are definitely heart-wrenching slogs. I’ve heard many authors say that the second book is the hardest, and I feel like that was true with Gifting Fire. But I was lucky to have so much support in bringing this project to fruition.
To my parents, especially my mom, who reads every word I ever write—thanks. You’re the best.
To Maya Deane, thank you for letting me copy and paste random pieces of this book to you over Facebook Messenger so that I would feel like I was on the right track. I really needed a sounding board on this one and you delivered.
To Hallie Funk, Jeremy Van Mill, Sara Vega, and Nathan Eckberg, thanks so much for your support at a time when I really needed it. Without you, I definitely would never have managed to get this book in on time. Your inspiration and assistance are so appreciated.
To my friends Amrita Chowdhury, Ujaan Ghosh, Aarzu Maknojia, and
