Asha raced all the way to the temple, not even trying to keep to the shadows now. Beneath a pomegranate tree’s bright orange flowers, Asha buckled the lantern to her belt, then grabbed the lowest branch and hoisted herself up. She launched herself at the first-floor window and pulled herself inside, the lantern knocking loudly against the sill.
Asha flinched, waiting for the Old One to strike her down for being so careless with his sacred flame.
Mercifully, he stayed his hand.
Asha flew down the vaulted stairway and into the darkness of the temple crypt. She needed to get in, get to Torwin, and get out. As quickly as possible.
She passed the alcove that hid the entrance to her secret tunnel, but Torwin wasn’t there.
Asha moved deeper in, her heart racing, the blazing light of her lantern illuminating the rock walls.
What if he didn’t make it?
As if in answer to her unvoiced question, a glow flickered in the distance.
Asha’s pace quickened. She passed through the empty outer caves, their walls glistening with moisture. The air was damp and cool here, like a cellar. At the doorway to the inner sanctum, Asha stopped, thinking of the one and only time she’d been here before. The day her mother died. The day the Old One corrupted her for good.
Torwin stared up at the walls, her hunting axe tucked in his belt. Except for the glow of his lamp, keeping him alight, the sanctum was veiled in darkness.
Her racing heart slowed at the sight of him.
“Where is Shadow?” she asked.
“Waiting near the tunnel entrance.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Come look at this.”
Asha didn’t want to look. She was here for one thing, and she needed to get it over with. Breathing deeply, Asha stepped across the threshold and moved toward the center of the sanctum, where a star with nine points had long ago been cut into the floor. Asha crouched over it, setting the lantern down. She unhooked the clasp and reached into the bright light within. Cupping her hands around the cool, stone-like heart, Asha drew the flame out.
The whispers filled her mind, louder and stronger than before. A powerful energy pulsed through her, setting her whole body tingling from the soles of her feet to the palms of her hands. It surged so powerfully, it made her head throb and her teeth ache.
Quickly, she set the flame inside the star.
The Old One’s sacred flame blazed up so brightly, the cave around them glistened. Golden words shone in the darkness, written on the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Stories burned like fire all around her. Hundreds of them.
Asha knew them all.
Her fingers reached to touch the words. Her mouth ached to read them aloud. A spark flared within her, growing into a thirsty blaze.
On the wall behind Torwin was the colorful mosaic of the man who’d visited her three times in the past four days. She would know that smile anywhere. It said: Look at the trouble I’ve gotten you in now.
Asha now stood face-to-face with Elorma’s portrait. Elorma, the first of seven Namsaras—sacred heroes who rose up in times of trouble. The Old One’s holy flames, burning in the night. As she stared into those dark eyes, the voices returned. Only this time, they weren’t telling stories.
Namsara, they whispered, like the wind sighing across the sand.
Torwin grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. “Someone’s coming.”
The moment broke like a severed string. Asha looked back the way she’d come to see a light farther up the crypt, dim but growing.
Asha grabbed Torwin’s hand. They ran back through the caves, leaving the sacred flame behind to burn in its rightful place.
“It’s a dead end,” said a voice in the distance. “And your soldats are everywhere. If she were here, she would have been seen.”
The closer Asha and Torwin came to the outer cave entrance, the closer the torchlight came to them. They couldn’t reach her secret tunnel in time. So Asha stopped at the narrow lip of a small fissure and shoved Torwin inside. When he realized what she was doing, he seized her wrist, to pull her in after him. But there wasn’t enough room for two. The light of the torch would flicker in, illuminating Asha, and they’d both be caught.
She shook her head, trying to wrench away.
Torwin’s arm came around her waist, pulling her into him. Their hips collided, sealing up the space between them as the light of Jarek’s torch filtered past her shoulder and onto the rock wall beyond.
Torwin’s hand cupped her head, tucking it beneath his chin. Asha squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts a flurry of curses.
Jarek’s voice drew nearer, then quieted. With her temple pressed against Torwin’s throat, Asha tried to imagine what the commandant saw. The sacred caves, yawning open. The blazing brightness that was the Old One’s holy flame burning the stories into his mind.
Asha’s heart hammered in her ears. Torwin must have heard it, because he stroked the back of her head, trying to soothe her. When his thumb brushed her ear, disfigured from Kozu’s fire, he paused.
I know, she thought. It’s hideous.
But instead of dropping in disgust, his fingers continued on, tracing its bumps the same way his eyes liked to trace her scar—with gentle curiosity.
Asha relaxed against him.
How can I be growing accustomed to the touch of a slave?
More than accustomed. Her body lit up at the feel of his arm securely around her, keeping her pressed against him. Asha breathed in the smell of him. All salt and sand. All boy and earth.
Was it possible to love the smell of someone so much, you wanted to taste them just to see if it was the same?
You are corrupted, said a voice in her head. Look at you, lusting after a slave.
Asha should have pulled away right then. She should have listened to that voice.
Instead, with danger lurking just beyond the darkness, she slid her arms around Torwin’s waist, pressing him tighter against her. His tracing fingers stopped. He went completely still. After several heartbeats, he tilted his face to hers.
Ever so slowly, he dragged the bridge of his nose along her cheekbone, asking a silent question. Sparks skittered through her. Her blood turned to fire. She arched her neck in answer, brushing her cheek across his.
He turned, leaning his forehead against hers. Their noses touched as his hands slid through her hair, cradling her face.
“She’s here,” Jarek’s voice rang out.
Torwin went rigid. Asha’s arms tightened around him.
“See the lantern? She’s hiding somewhere. Get me some kindling.”
“Yes, commandant.” The sound of booted footsteps echoed off the walls.
“If she wants to play with fire,” muttered Jarek, “I’ll beat her at her own game.”
He’s going to smoke us out, Asha realized.
She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let Torwin get caught. If Jarek found him, he was as good as dead. Maybe worse than dead.
There was only one way out of this.
Breaking Torwin’s grip on her, Asha pushed herself up onto her toes and whispered against his cheek, “I’ll come for you at nightfall. Be ready to fly.”
Before he could stop her, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the fissure, into the light of Jarek’s torch.
Twenty-Six
Cool air rushed against her skin, its chill replacing Torwin’s warmth. Jarek stood at the entrance to the caves, his back to her, as if afraid to set foot inside.
“Your thief is right here,” she said.
Jarek spun. His eyes narrowed as he took in her mantle, her unbraided hair.
“You’ve committed a crime against the king,” he said. “Against your own father. Why?”
Footsteps echoed through the caves. They belonged to one of his soldats, carrying a bundle of kindling in both arms. The soldat stopped, staring into the inner sanctum. “The sacred flame,” he whispered, eyes widening.
Jarek’s eyes sliced into Asha, waiting for th
e answer to his question. When she didn’t supply it, he grabbed her arm and marched her through the narrow crypt passages, toward the vaulted stairway that led up into the temple.
Asha didn’t fight him. The sooner he dragged her out of here, the sooner Torwin could get to the tunnel and escape.
Jarek searched her for weapons and found none, so he took her mantle instead. In the archway of the throne room, his fingers yanked at the tassels around her throat. He stripped it off her and threw Asha to the cold stone floor before the pedestal holding the empty basin.
The floor connected with her knees and she bit down an angry cry.
“What is this?” Her father’s slippered footsteps echoed softly through the room.
“Here’s your thief,” said Jarek.
Her father stood over her. She didn’t raise her eyes from his finely stitched slippers protruding beneath the golden hem of his robe.
“Asha? Surely there’s been some mistake. Asha, get up.”
She didn’t. How could she face him? She kept her forehead pressed into the tile work.
“I found her beneath the temple, and the sacred flame in the inner cave.”
“Impossible.”
She imagined Jarek shaking his head.
“One of my soldats saw her take it, my lord.”
She imagined the look dawning on her father’s face.
“Asha? Can you explain this?”
She tried to imagine herself through her father’s eyes. When he’d first proposed his deal, she was the fiercest of dragon hunters, willing to do anything to get out of her binding. Now? If her father knew just how deep his oldest enemy’s claws were in his daughter, what would he do? Would he realize she was beyond saving? Would he cast her away? Find someone else to kill Kozu?
“Tell me why you did this, Asha.”
Her voice shook “I—I’m sorry. . . .”
“I don’t want an apology!” His voice boomed, echoing through the throne room, empty save him, his commandant, and a handful of soldats. “I want your answer.”
She swallowed, staring hard at the blue and green tiles beneath her hands. She needed to be careful what she said. Jarek couldn’t know about her deal with her father. And her father couldn’t know about the Old One’s commands.
“I did it for . . . my hunt.” She glanced at Jarek, whose arms were crossed hard over his chest. “This particular dragon is . . . more evasive than the rest. I needed something to bait him.”
“So you stole the flame?”
“This dragon cannot resist it.”
Liar, she thought, then dared a glance upward. Her father’s face darkened as their eyes met.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need you to trust me.”
His gaze softened at those words.
“My king,” interrupted Jarek as he stepped forward. “You can’t allow her to escape punishment just because she’s your daughter. It sets a precedent. Do you want to be remembered as the kind of king who upholds the law only when it suits him?”
Silence echoed in the throne room as the dragon king looked from his Iskari to his commandant.
“Have I not done everything you’ve ever asked of me, my king? Have I not defended your walls? Put down your revolts? Kept your secrets?”
At this last question, the dragon king’s face darkened like the sky before a storm. Asha wondered what kind of secrets her father entrusted Jarek with. The thought made her jealous. They must have been large ones. Ones strong enough to make him buckle under pressure, because that’s exactly what he did.
“What are you asking me for?” said the dragon king, looking back to his daughter kneeling at his feet.
“Something is amiss here.” Jarek started to pace. His heavy footsteps echoed through the domed room. “First, my slave goes missing. Next, our supposed allies steal away in the night and the next morning take Darmoor. And now? The sacred flame is stolen by your own daughter.” He shook his head. “I want her to stay where I can see her. All I’m asking is that you uphold your own law. Punish her like the criminal she is by locking her in the dungeon until our binding day.”
Her father wouldn’t allow it. He wanted Kozu dead, and Asha was the only one who could bring the First Dragon down.
Her father hesitated, though.
It made Asha’s stomach knot up.
He looked from her to Jarek, as if trying to choose. As if this were a game of strategy and he needed to decide which piece would cost him more: his commandant or his Iskari?
Her father’s chest rose and fell with the breath he took.
“All right,” the dragon king said carefully.
The air fled Asha’s lungs.
“Father . . .”
The king lifted his hand.
“Get up, Asha.”
It wasn’t a request. She pushed herself onto her knees and rose, keeping her eyes on the floor. The dragon king reached for her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. It shocked Asha. The dragon king never touched his Iskari. His eyebrows formed a vicious vale and his normally warm eyes were wary. Distant.
“Have I misplaced my faith in you?”
Yes. I’m more corrupted than you ever thought.
Asha wanted to close her eyes against that disappointed gaze.
“No, Father.”
“How can I be sure?”
“If you let me return to the Rift, I’ll do what you asked. I’ll bring you this dragon’s head before dawn tomorrow.”
There was nothing in her way now. No more commands. No more gifts that were actually curses.
“I can’t just let you go without punishment.” His forehead creased in a frown. He needed her to hunt down Kozu, yes, but he also needed to uphold his law. “You’ve committed a serious crime. A crime against your king.”
He studied her for a long time before releasing his grip on her chin.
“So you shall return to the Rift.”
Asha sighed in relief.
“In two days’ time.”
Asha went rigid. An icy chill swept through her. “But that’s . . .”
“The morning of your binding.” The look in his eyes told Asha he knew what he was asking of her, but she’d given him no choice.
Twenty-Seven
On the morning of her binding day, the cell door opened.
It wasn’t Jarek who stepped through. As Asha’s eyes adjusted to the torchlight, she found two soldats standing in the rectangular glow.
“You’re to come with us, Iskari.”
Asha rose. She hugged herself to keep the damp chill from sinking farther into her bones.
“I’ve served my sentence. My father said I could return to the Rift on the morning of my binding.”
“There’s a dress in your room,” said one of the soldats, ignoring her. “You’re to put it on and follow us. Your father commands it.”
What?
She thought of escape, but six more of Jarek’s men waited in the hallway.
When they arrived at her room, the first things Asha noticed were the bolts fixed to the outsides of her doors.
The second things she noticed were the heavy iron bars running crisscross over her window, sealing her in.
And the third: her empty wall. They’d taken all her weapons.
“Did Jarek do this?”
No one answered her.
Asha slammed the door on them, then sank to her knees before her bed and felt up inside the frame where she’d hidden her slayers.
Still there.
She drew them out.
A dress was carefully laid out on the bed. It wasn’t her wedding dress, but Asha could see Jarek’s mark all over it—the heavy beading, the plunging neckline, the creamy gold silk.
The soldats knocked on the door, giving her a warning.
Asha didn’t put on the dress.
Instead, she went to the chest at the foot of her bed. Inside, her armor remained untouched. Setting down her slayers, Asha pulled each piece out and put it on, from her breastplate a
ll the way down to her boots. The moment she got the chance, she would head straight to the Rift.
In her armor, Asha felt safe—hidden from Jarek’s ravenous gaze.
After braiding her hair into a simple plait over one shoulder, she strapped her slayers onto her back, then slid on her helmet.
The door was opening.
Asha grabbed her gifts from Jarek—the indigo kaftan, the ruby necklace, the bolt of sabra silk—and threw them into the hearth along with some kindling. Quickly, she found a match and struck it. The moment a flame flared up, she threw it onto the pile. The bolt of silk caught fire first.
The sound of booted footsteps filled her ears.
They were in her room.
“Enough! Just grab her!”
Asha spun, reaching for the gold dress, needing it to burn too. But a soldat seized her, twisting her away, pulling her toward the door. “We’re going to be late, Iskari.”
Asha looked back over her shoulder, watching the fire crackle and spit. Watching her gifts blaze—all except one.
The soldats looked warily at one another before marching her down the corridor.
Safire met them at the gate to the pit, which was strangely devoid of protesters.
Asha’s heart leaped at the sight of her cousin. She almost didn’t recognize her, dressed as she was in a deep turquoise kaftan. Her chin-length black hair was braided back and pinned at the nape of her neck.
“Asha. Where have you been?”
Surrounded by shouting draksors, Asha’s first instinct was to keep her cousin close. But soldats flanked her, and she couldn’t reach Safire.
“What is this?” Asha asked through her line of escorts. “Why am I here?”
All around her were rows and rows of wooden benches, half full of spectators, circling the pit.
On either side of her, draksors stood at tables, pitching their voices loudly, jangling bags of money, placing their bets. But it was the pit itself that held her attention the longest.
Normally the iron stakes rimming the pit were turned up to the sky, keeping criminals from climbing out and spectators from falling in. Today, though, they were lowered so they fell across the top, crisscrossing themselves.
The Last Namsara Page 17