“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 all the way down to her boots. The moment she got the chance, she would head straight to the Rift.