The Claimed: Rashika's Resistance

Chapter 32: Important

Mud brushed my face, tickling my nose. I lifted a hand to scratch the itch, but something trapped my arm. My eyes fluttered open. Soft sheets? My hand slipped free and swam in front of my face before my vision cleared. Fading scars criss-crossed red and pink over clean dark skin.

"You're awake."

I blinked and shifted to see Izra leaning against the doorframe. Morning sunlight spilled through the open window beside her, along with the smell of fresh rain and the jubilant twitter of birds, but Izra's shoulders locked stiff and eyebrows pinched. Her usually sleek hair snarled, and dark lines underscored her eyes.

"You've been out for two days," she said. Her tone was sharp — accusatory — but it strangled and choked at the end.

I shrugged. "I think I earned a long nap after killing the King."

A snort of laughter escaped her. With a shake of her head, she paced toward me and planted her palms beside my shoulders. Then her lips crashed into mine, bruising and desperate.

Hot desire erupted inside me, an explosion of pent-up pressure that melted my core and singed my skin. The need for Izra's flesh against mine surpassed all ability to think. I slipped a hand under her tunic to skim the taut muscle of her abdomen. Her hands found the swell of my breasts through the tunic and sheet, her thumbs skirting my hardened nipples. I arched my back to push into her touch.

And dropped back down with a gasp of pain.

Her eyes widened and cheeks pinkened. "Oh gods, did I really just — how are you feeling? Do you want some water? Or something to numb the pain?"

"I'm fine." I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "How is everyone else?"

Izra edged onto the corner of the bed and lifted one of my hands, squeezing my fingers one by one. "Plu's vision hasn't returned yet, and Janafir will probably never walk again."

I gave a slow nod as somber reality replaced the giddiness. "And the rest?"

"Miraculously, Rashika's Resistance all survived."

I released a sigh. "Thank Goddess."

"Not thank Goddess. Thanks to you." She smiled, but her smile faded quickly, and her eyes dropped to our interlaced fingers. "Though no one knows you killed Makapu. Everyone is saying Taroom did it."

An image flashed before my eyes of Makapu's hands clutching his throat as he slumped to the ground, my blade dripping his blood. It still didn't feel quite real, like some bizarre fever dream. Even in my vengeance, even to his own detriment, the King had controlled my hand. And because of the King, I had almost slain an innocent child.

I had almost lost myself.

"Good," I said. "Let them believe that. I want nothing more to do with politics."

Her brow furrowed. "But now Taroom is King, and he's not..." She hesitated, tongue flitting over her lower lip. "He legalized the worship of Lesser Gods across Najila, but instead of demanding that Kulas and Kalasiki free their slaves, he asked them to create a code of conduct for the treatment of the enslaved."

I scoffed and shook my head. "Makapu said his Claimed were treated humanely."

She blew out a sigh and traced a thumb over my knuckles. "I know. Also, Taroom made Makandi the chief of Rakim."

My heart sank lower with each piece of news, and a bitter swell tightened my voice. "And what is Makandi doing?"

She jerked one shoulder in a shrug. "He is not allowing guards in the palace, and the servants barely leave, but there are... rumors."

"Rumors?"

"That the Claimed were killed." Another brief hesitation, eyes darting away and back to mine. "And that Makari's toys have been burned, replaced by wooden swords."

I swallowed down the acrid bile burning my throat. Killing the King had not saved the slaves, and it had not saved Honey or Darling. And Makari... he will be King one day.

"I should have taken Honey and Darling out with me. Fuck, maybe I should have taken Makari with me too. I could have raised him right, away from Makandi's insecurities and brainwashing."

She breathed a humorless laugh. "Epsa, if you'd lost any more blood, you would have died. Are you really saying you should have done more?"

"Well..."

She pressed two fingers over my lips. "No more fucking heroism, understand? I swear, if you risk your life one more time —"

"I won't," I said. "At least not for a long time. I'm ready to be quite ordinary."

She raised one brow. "You'll be ordinary? How do you propose to do that?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I'll farm potatoes."

A smile teased one corner of her lips. "Potato farmers are incredible, and you'd be the most extraordinary one."

"Only if I have a good partner."

Her smile spread wide enough to expose the crooked spot in her teeth. She brushed two fingers over my forehead, sweeping aside a loose curl. Her muscles strained with the care in her movement as she slowly leaned down. Her lips grazed against mine in a bare peck, over far too soon. Then she leaned down to scoop something from the floor beside the bed.

"I almost forgot — Narik's family brought you a get-well gift." She dropped a box wrapped in wrinkled parchment onto the sheet between us.

I eyed the box with raised eyebrows. "Narik's family?"

"Narik is the bread peddler who Makapu almost —"

"I know who Narik is. But how do they know who I am?"

She huffed a laugh. "Everyone knows who you are now. Apparently the display in the plaza left quite an impression. People are calling us the 'Blessed Pair,' saying we summoned rain from the sky."

I joined the rueful laughter as I ripped the parchment off the box. But as the lid of the box slipped free, my laugh died. The spicy-sweet aroma spilled nausea in my gut.

Izra sucked in a breath. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She reached for the box. "I didn't realize it was —"

"It's fine." I pulled the box out of her reach and drew out a round, flaky crisp. When I took a deep breath and examined the treat more closely, the smell became much less offensive. Smoke still clawed through the door in my mind's eye, but I also saw my mother wiping crumbs from my chin with a smile. Crippling fear and shame drowned in a chorus of applause.

"I think I'd like to taste one," I said.

A soft smile touched her lips, and she squeezed my hand gently. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Before you killed the King, did you get the answers you were looking for?"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised by the question. I hadn't approached the King looking for answers, but perhaps part of me had yearned for the truth. Perhaps Izra understood that before I could.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

She studied my face, gaze soft and intent. "And did he say anything important?"

Cold fingers slipped under my rib cage and squeezed my lungs. My eyes flicked to the far wall, and my fingers reflexively closed over my thigh. What would Izra think if she knew what the King told me?

You can't kill your own father.

But when I met her gaze once more, a calm settled over me. Even if Makapu had provided the seed, what did that change? Maybe the only way to truly defeat him was by being happy. By making different choices than his. By refusing to let him control me anymore.

I relaxed my hand over my thigh, caressing the spot I had so often abused.

"No," I said. "He didn't say anything important at all."