Asha stood still. “I—I watched her die.”
Silence seeped out of the darkness. And then a muffled cry echoed through the crypt as a fist struck stone. Asha’s throat constricted at the sound. Very slowly, she walked until her lamplight found him. He’d sunk to the ground with his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed hard into his eyes.
Asha couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. She didn’t know what to say to him. But saying nothing felt wrong. Like her rib cage was suddenly too small and getting tighter around her heart.
“The tunnel is there,” she said when the silence started to claw at her. Lifting the lantern, she illuminated the slit in the rock. “Now you know. You can escape into the Rift. You don’t ever have to return. You’re free.”
And now Asha could add liberating a slave to her list of criminal activities.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even lift his head.
Asha, not knowing what else to do, left him there. She needed to find her shadow dragon. And then she needed to hunt down Kozu. She had only four more days.
She’d done what she’d promised. She showed him the tunnel. It was his own fault if he got caught there, sobbing like a child.
But the higher she climbed, the more she thought. Even if the skral managed to make his way up into the Rift, there were wild creatures, the elements, and of course, Jarek’s hunters. What if they caught him?
So Asha turned around and went back.
Seventeen
They hadn’t spoken a word since they made their way to the end of the tunnel. Which was fine with Asha. She didn’t need to talk.
When they stepped out into the moonlight, the soft whoo of an owl greeted them. Asha breathed in the cool night air just as the slave abruptly stopped. His arm shot out and Asha walked right into it. She was about to push it away when, in the cedar forest ahead, she saw what made him stop: two pale, slitted eyes peered at them through the darkness.
Asha let out a shaky breath.
Shadow dragon. So the hunters hadn’t found it.
“Keep walking,” she told him.
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
Asha moved into the cedars. Out of sight, the dragon crept along beside them. Above the hush of the wind, Asha could hear its bulk brushing against the leaves. Could hear the soft click of its scales rippling as it moved. Asha kept walking until the trees grew thicker and closer together, following the sound of trickling water. At the small stream, Asha stopped. It smelled like wet earth. Crouching down into the grass, she peered into the trees where the dragon stalked, staring back at her, wondering what in all the skies she was supposed to do now.
The slave sat down next to her, his eyes wide, his body shivering.
“I said you can leave,” she told him, sitting too and curling her arms around her knees. “I’m not going to stop you.”
“Do you know what the punishment is for freeing a slave?”
Asha knew.
“The loss of a hand,” he said, in case she didn’t.
Asha shrugged. They’d have to prove it was she who did it.
And she needed only one hand to kill Kozu.
“Steer clear of the hunting paths,” she told him. “They start here, in the lower Rift, and go west, toward the breeding grounds. If you stay east, you might make it to Darmoor.” But that was a very long walk on foot. And the Rift was a wild, dangerous place. The chances of his making it, alone, were slim.
He must have known this, because he said, “I think I’ll stay right here for now.”
Asha looked at him.
He reached for a long strand of esparto grass, twisting it around his fingers. “There’s a dragon in there.” He nodded toward the trees up ahead while plucking two more grass strands. He wove these together, fashioning a kind of braid. “And since you happen to be a dragon hunter, I plan to stick with you until it’s either dead or gone.”
“Unfortunately for us both,” Asha muttered, “neither of those outcomes is forthcoming.”
“What?” He looked into the trees where the dragon crouched, then back at Asha. “Why not?”
She sighed. The air heaved out of her in a rush and she fell back into the grass, looking up at the moon: a mere sliver of red in a black sky.
“I can’t kill it,” she whispered. “I wish I could. But I—” She shot him an embarrassed look. “I’m supposed to protect it.”
The slave peered down at her, blocking the sliver of moon. “But you’re the Iskari. The king’s dragon hunter.”
“If it dies,” she said, looking up into his face, “the Old One will punish me.”
“The Old One . . . ?” He raised an eyebrow. There was a hint of mockery in it. “Iskari, you’ve killed hundreds of dragons. Did he punish you for any of those?” He planted one hand just above her head, leaning in closer.
Too close.
Asha’s pulse quickened. She ducked out from under him and rose to her feet. Putting all her focus back on the dragon in the trees, she sloshed through the spring. If she could catch it, maybe she could tame it. And if she could tame it, maybe she could teach it not to follow her into the city.
She felt it in the trees, crouched and ready to spring away. She approached slowly. Cautiously. When she was mere steps away, she slowed even more. Clicking gently, she mimicked the noises dragons made in an attempt to coax it to her.
The dragon vanished into the darkness.
“Great! Go!” she shouted, picking up rocks from the spring bed and, one after another, chucking them into the trees. “I hate the sight of you!”
When she ran out of rocks, she said, without looking at the slave across the stream, “It followed me all the way to the palace, but doesn’t let me come closer than that.” Turning, she thrashed through the shallow water, kicking her helmet on her way back to the slave. “So how am I supposed to keep it from harm?”
His gaze ran up and down her.
“Honestly? If I were a dragon, I wouldn’t come anywhere near you either.”
Asha looked where he was looking: from her armor to her boots to the helmet at her feet. She picked up the helmet, studying it. Everything she wore was made from the skins of dragons.
The slave reached for her helmet. Asha’s grip on it tightened.
He tugged the helmet out of her hands anyway. “Trust me.”
Fear rippled through her as she remembered how it felt as a child to stand armorless before Kozu.
The fire rushing toward her.
The screams trapped in her throat.
Her flesh burning away.
With her helmet tucked under his arm now, he stepped in close. Close enough to reach for the buckles of her breastplate. Holding her gaze, he began to undo them.
Asha’s heart raced and her breath came quick.
“Definitely not,” she said, stepping away.
“Fine.” He set down the helmet at her feet. Taking off his sandals and rolling his pants up to his knees, he sat next to the stream and slid his bare feet into the water. “Maybe by morning you’ll have scared it away entirely and I can be safely on my way.”
He kicked at the water with his feet while his hands remained planted on the bank.