She thought of her paralyzed arm—the cost for using her slayers unwisely.
To ensure her strength was not diminished, she would have to steal the flame. And then she would end Kozu. Once and for all.
But she couldn’t complete this task alone.
Asha needed an accomplice.
A large, fire-breathing one.
Twenty-Two
Asha took her mare, Oleander, and raced down narrow, cobbled alleyways through the city’s largest market. Lengths of freshly dyed silk hung across the space between buildings, forming a canopy of indigo and saffron above her. Open-fronted stalls lined the walls, spilling their wares into the street.
As carts and horses hurried to get out of the Iskari’s way, Asha looked for one stall in particular. In her rushing, she nearly passed it. Oleander reared as Asha drew her to a halt, turning back to the display of wooden musical instruments.
The market fell silent. Slaves and shoppers gathered to whisper and stare as the Iskari bought an elegant lute made of burnished mahogany. They kept a wary distance as the craftsman buckled the lute into a hard leather case and the king’s fearsome daughter tossed the merchant her payment.
Scattering the watchers, she galloped toward the gate. The soldats didn’t stop the Iskari, despite their commandant’s order to disallow anyone in or out of the city. Her father had issued a direct order. One they couldn’t ignore, despite their loyalty to Jarek.
She rode hard. But when she got to the babbling, sparkling stream, no one waited for her. Asha halted Oleander, glancing around the clearing. Except for the bush chats and the wind rustling the pines, everything was silent. There were no signs anyone had ever been here. Asha couldn’t even find the armor she’d shed the night before.
Fear sliced through her.
Please, no. . . .
Dismounting, she tied the mare up in the shade and grabbed the lute case.
“Skral?”
No one answered her.
She moved deeper into the pines, ready to call up an old story. It was the fastest way to know for sure. Before she could, the sound of voices broke through the hush of trees and Asha stilled, listening.
Careful not to make a sound, she followed the muffled voices, moving ever closer, silent as a snake.
A twig cracked behind her.
Asha froze.
Someone was following her. She could feel the warmth of them at her back. Asha reached for an axe that wasn’t there, then quickly spun, ready to batter her stalker with the lute case if necessary.
The skral stared down at her. Freckles like stars. Tendrils of hair falling into sharp eyes. Just behind him crouched the dusty-red dragon, its slitted gaze intent on her face. Asha lowered the case. Despite her racing heart, the sight of them safe made her breathe easier.
The slave glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the voices. Asha reached for his shirt, bringing his attention back to her. Her lips formed a question: Who?
Jarek’s men.
The slave motioned with his head back the way they’d come. Asha followed him through the thinning trees and out into the bright clearing.
Suddenly voices echoed from ahead and behind.
And then, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, the slave reached for the dragon’s wing bone, stepped into the crook behind its knee, and mounted. Straddling the dragon’s back, he reached down for her.
Asha gaped at him in shock and horror.
Another twig snapped in the trees. It broke through her shock. Asha took his hand and he pulled her up behind him.
“Hold on,” he whispered.
But there was nothing to hold on to—other than him.
The slave made a sharp click in the back of his throat and the dragon stretched its wings. The slave clicked twice more, then dug in his heels.
The dragon launched.
Asha panicked and looped her arms around his torso.
A wall of trees rose directly ahead. The dragon soared straight for it. Asha’s heart thundered in her chest. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the slave’s neck. But the crash never came.
The slave flinched beneath her viselike grip, reminding her of the lacerations beneath his shirt.
“Sorry,” she managed, yet couldn’t bring herself to loosen her hold.
“It’s . . . okay,” he said through gritted teeth.
Asha opened her eyes—which was another mistake. At the sight of the treetops whipping by, she slammed them shut again. In the darkness behind her eyelids, all she could think was: I’m riding a dragon.
Which made everything worse.
Branches cracked beneath them, and when Asha looked, she found the dragon flying too low. Its tail and wings kept catching on trees. So the slave issued a series of clicked commands, and the dragon banked out over the river.
Finally, with nothing but blue sky before them and water below, Asha let herself relax. She looked back over her shoulder and couldn’t even see the city wall in the distance.
Suddenly, the tree line broke, turning into rock. Asha looked ahead to find the river disappearing.
Or rather, falling.
A waterfall roared below them. And then, without any warning, the dragon dived.
Asha bit down on a terrified scream as they dropped with the water. She felt herself lift, felt her stomach tumble over itself. Her arms tightened hard around the slave and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. His hands came around hers, lacing firmly through her fingers as they flew straight into engulfing mist.
And then into darkness.
The dragon rocked as it landed hard on solid ground, nearly throwing Asha from its back. The slave reached for her waist to steady her as the dragon shook itself, spraying water droplets everywhere. The only light came from behind them, where water rushed off the cliff.
Asha stayed perfectly still, willing herself not to be sick.
The slave dismounted. His footsteps echoed on rock, and a moment later, she heard a struck match, then the smell of a flame flaring to life. Soon a bright glow illuminated the glistening cavern.
“Sorry. I probably should have told you. We spent the day practicing.” He cupped the back of his neck with his hand. “I thought—”
“Practicing?” Asha trembled as she dismounted, her limbs shaking with shock. “Practicing? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Links were formed in flight. They deepened each time a rider and his dragon flew. As Asha shouted, the dragon cowered behind the slave. It slipped its flat, scaly head beneath its rider’s hand, seeking comfort, and the slave rubbed his thumb across the crown of its head, as if to say I’ll protect you.
Asha threw up her hands and stalked closer to the mouth of the cave, where the waterfall rushed and water ran in rivulets down the rock, making the ground shiny and slick. But as she stared into the glistening, thunderous waterfall, a quiet question slipped through a crack in her wall of anger.
Why wait for me?
The dragon could have flown this slave to freedom, as he wished. Why risk the danger and wait for her in the woods?
Asha turned back to find both of them staring at her, like mirror images, even though the dragon sat at almost twice the height of the slave.