But she didn’t dare to read Zahril. Not when she stood so close.
“Stop staring,” said Zahril.
The wordsorryfluttered in her throat. She had said it so often of late that she reached for it more than any other word. When she wasn’t talking to Gauri or Vikram,sorrypreceded every complaint or question or suggestion.Sorry, but I hoped that… Sorry, but I think you… Sorry, but this was supposed to be…
Emboldened, Aasha spoke.
“How long have you been the Spy Mistress?”
“Long enough for the respect I earned to ripen into fear.”
“How long was your training?”
“Nigh on a century.”
It was strange how Aasha felt at once surprised and not surprised at all. Despite the centuries she had been alive, Aasha passed for a young woman in the human realm, though she was hardly more than a colt when it came to her experiences. Zahril was like her. Perhaps even older. It was not unheard of for proximity to the Otherworld to extend the life of a human.
Something in Zahril’s gaze turned daring. She lifted one eyebrow. Aasha looked down at her miserable food. She did not like the Spy Mistress’s glare.
“Why do you go through the trouble of creating the scent of beautiful food when you will not eat it?”
Zahril’s hand twitched.
“Because it is beautiful,” she said. “Beautiful things spark all manner of problems. Twisted things often carry the guise of something beautiful, and people let them into their hearts. They smile at the knife aimed at their throat. More fool them, but it is useful in espionage.”
Aasha didn’t know how to respond, but it didn’t matter. Zahril exhaled sharply.
“Have you ever seen avishakanya?”
Aasha stilled.Yes, in fact, I am onewas not the right thing to say. She had heard the namevishakanyauttered and draped in longing. She’d heard it hissed in shadows and chasing an averted gaze.
She had never heard it spoken as if it had broken someone.
“I know of them,” said Aasha finally.
“Think of those wretched creatures then when you consider the poisons. Think of how they might be beautiful and treacherous. Think of how all their kind is nothing more than a pretty vase full of venom.”
Zahril’s words clung to her skin. Hate was nothing new to Aasha. She’d heard the fury before, but she had never heard something so… personal. It was a hate that had not sprung up single-minded and empty, but was faceted like a cold, hard jewel. And when Aasha looked into Zahril’s hate, all she was herself was reflected back a thousand times. Aasha stood a little straighter. What did it matter to her that Zahril despised her and all her kind? She was only here to learn. Not to make friends.
Still, her hate made her curious. What had happened to the Spy Mistress?
“Perhaps not everything is quite as it seems or looks,” tried Aasha.
Zahril sneered.
“Leave me. Your room is the first door on the left downthat,” said Zahril pointedly.
A door shivered to life on the wall. Whoever had made this home had constructed illusions in the Night Bazaar, Aasha was sure of it. She made her way across the dining room and kitchen. Zahril said nothing, but her back was turned and so, Aasha let her curiosity take hold. She touched her throat. The raised edges of the blue star puckered against her fingertips. She waited. Something feltoff.
Zahril’s desires should have plumed like smoke.
Aasha should have been able to pluck them from the air.
But she couldn’t because the unexpected happened—
Of all the people in the world, Aasha couldn’t read Zahril.
5
