She bared her teeth.You wouldn’t dare.
He only smiled back at her. “Mr. Arun,” he said, stopping in front of the other man. “Congratulations on your achievement. I heard the vote was tight.”
Arun dipped his head modestly, but a small divot formed between his brows. “Have we met before?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I read about your delegation in theViryana Post. I’m curious: What are your objectives, now that you’ve been able to see Poppy Sutherland seated in the vicereine’s office?”
Arun’s expression became guarded. “We’ll have to decide as a delegation. Rest assured, we will advocate for the best interests of the Virians.”
“Naturally,” Zeyar said. “I assume your strategy will be less... intense than storming the House of Representatives? I was sad to hear about the casualties of that day. All power comes at the price of blood, so they say.”
As Zeyar had expected, Arun’s smile faded. Rushing the House of Representatives was so reckless and stupid; he’d known there was only one man who could have led that charge: Hasan. And if the glower on Harithi’s face was anything to go by, that one action had become a sore spot in the delegation?—which was exactly why Zeyar had pressed on it.
Arun regarded him warily. “None of the major newspapers reported the deaths of the protestors.”
Zeyar flicked nonexistent dust off the shoulder of his blazer. “I have more than one way of gathering information, which is why I’m here. I know things about the nobility that may be of interest to you. I’d be happy to share... if I were part of the delegation, of course.”
He avoided looking at Harithi as he spoke the last bit, but her gaze seared into him anyway. He could picture her hazel eyes, hot with fury.
“Information such as?” Arun tilted his head, eyeing him with interest.
Zeyar cocked his head to the side, mirroring him. “We’d be here all afternoon if I were to say. Once I join the delegation, we can decide which parts of my knowledge are more advantageous to our objectives.”
Arun glanced back at the other members. Zeyar tracked the way his gaze jumped from face to face, landing on Harithi’s before turning back to him.
“We’ll think about your offer,” he said. “What’s your name?”
He produced a calling card from his pocket, extending it to Arun. “Zephyr Devar.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Homecoming
The morning after the inauguration, Hasan waited outside the Marnapur jail, every limb taut. In one hand, he clutched the envelope Poppy gave him, his grip so strong that it had creased the paper. Printed in neat script on the page inside was an official pardon, from the new vicereine to one Paranjay Devar.
When the door swung open, his heart jumped painfully. An officer walked out first, followed by Paranjay, holding only the clothes and shoes he’d been arrested in, dressed in his prison uniform. A lump swelled in Hasan’s throat. His brother was gaunt, dark circles prominent on his ashen face. For the first time in Hasan’s memory, Paranjay no longer smelled like the sea he so loved. Paranjay wasn’t merely haunted by this experience; he had become a wraith himself. The sight landed like a kick to the ribs. Hasan could live a hundred years, but he would never forgive himself for every single day that his brother had been a prisoner and he had failed to rescue him.
His hands shook as he reached forward to take Paranjay’s clothes from him. “Let me get those.”
Paranjay didn’t protest. He let Hasan take the clothes, then moved obediently as Hasan draped one of his arms around his shoulders so that he could lean on him.
“Watch yourselves, Devars,” the officer warned. His stare could have melted iron. “Weak leadership never lasts. And when we have arealviceroy in office, we’ll come for you first. Don’t forget; we have your number.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Hasan told Paranjay, but deep down, the pig’s words made his stomach twist. Clarence Sutherland had signed the Registry Act, one of the last things he’d done before he’d passed away, and Paranjay was now on there. Hasan himself had not yet been registered, as the police had not yet gathered enough evidence on him, but it was only a matter of time. He did not regret saving Paranjay’s life?—how could he??—but he wished fervently that he had been able to stop the Act from passing too.
Once they were out on the streets, Hasan paused so that Paranjay could tilt his face up to the sun. His elder brother closed his eyes, basking in fresh air for the first time in months. “I’m free,” he said quietly. “I would think I’m dreaming, but my dreams of the sun were never this good in prison.”
Hasan pulled him into a hug. He tried not to squeeze too hard, not until Ma had a chance to examine him for lasting injuries, but he held Paranjay close. “You’re free. It’s over now.”
Paranjay nodded, sunken eyes shining. “I know,” he said. “I... I can’t believe it.” Then he spotted the empty car parked curbside. His face fell. “Why didn’t Zeyar come?”
The innocent question wrenched at Hasan’s heart. He couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. Now that Paranjay was free, there was no keeping the news from him. Silently, he cursed his bastard of an eldest brother for sullying Paranjay’s first day of freedom like this.
“Get in the car,” he said. “I’ll explain it on the way to Ma’s. She’s positively frantic to see you.”
“Gods”?—Paranjay tilted his head back, smiling?—“I hope she made fish curry.”
Hasan chuckled at that. Their mother had been up since dawn, preparing every single one of Paranjay’s favorite foods. Knowing her, there would be atleastthree different kinds of fish curry.
