Under the weight of what she’d done, Asha sank to her knees in the sand.
Somewhere in the arena above, her father was making his way down to the pit. She should be thinking about what she needed to tell him.
Instead, she thought of Torwin saying her name.
Asha. The name her mother gave her. Not Iskari, the name of a corrupted god.
What if I never see him again?
It shouldn’t have mattered.
At the sound of Safire’s moan, Asha looked to find two soldats dragging her into the pit. Asha went to rise, but three soldats moved toward her at once, and the look of pure hatred on their faces stopped her.
Jarek dragged Safire to Asha, throwing her into the sand, where she collapsed in a battered heap.
“Asha!” Her father’s roar rumbled through the empty arena as he entered the pit. Sand scattered as he walked toward his Iskari. “You’ve made me into a fool!”
Asha kept her eyes lowered as he closed the distance between them.
“Look at me.”
Obediently, her gaze trailed up his golden robe, past his royal crest, and settled on his stormy face.
“For years, I believed in you. For years, I’ve been on your side when no one else was. And in a single morning, you have undone all of it. All our hard work. Why?”
A voice rose from behind the king.
“Leave her alone.”
Dax stepped casually through the gate, tossing a knife, undecorated and roughly forged, from one hand to the other. As if it were a ball. His gaze locked on their father, and in her brother’s eyes Asha caught a glimpse of something dangerous.
Her father grimaced and motioned to a soldat to his left. “Get him out of here.”
But Dax kept walking, heading straight for the king, his chin tilted high, his brown eyes the clearest they had been in days.
When the soldat arrived at his side, Dax lifted his knife.
Scrublander made, Asha realized.
“Touch me,” said Dax, “and I’ll open your throat.”
The soldat paused, looking to Jarek. Jarek looked to the king, waiting for the order.
Dax didn’t wait.
“Five days ago”—his voice echoed through the empty arena as he moved toward their father—“I begged my sister to save the life of a slave.”
The king narrowed his eyes.
“Naturally, Asha refused. So I blackmailed her.” Arriving at Asha’s side, Dax stepped in front of his sister, cutting her off from sight. “Just like I blackmailed her into stealing your precious flame and intercepting the fight down in the pit.”
What?
Confused, Asha looked to Safire. But Safire’s eyes were cast down at her hands, planted in the sand. Her body trembled from the beating she’d taken.
Her father studied Dax with caution. “And why, my son, would you do that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Dax’s eyes gleamed. “I hate you. And what better way to strike at the one you hate than use his own pet monster against him?”
Pet monster. Those words stung worse than if Dax had cut Asha with his knife.
But he’d lied about blackmailing her. Maybe he was still lying.
“Take my son out of my sight.” The king’s voice was measured and calm, but beneath it, Asha heard a fault line. “Put him in the dungeon and wait for me. I want to interrogate him myself.”
As the soldats moved in, Dax crouched down before Asha, his gaze softening on her scarred face.
“When darkness falls, little sister, the Old One lights a flame.”
As they grabbed his arms and pulled him away, Dax winked at her. There was no fear in him as they hauled him off. As if this was just a small part in a much bigger game he was playing.
They heaved Safire out of the pit after him. She glanced back at Asha, her face full of worry.
Worry for Asha. Not herself.
Asha frowned, remembering something Torwin had told her.
The day I found you in the sickroom, I knew things were about to change.
What things? she wondered now, thinking of the bow and arrows. What is my brother up to?
“Now that we’ve swept out the riffraff . . .” Jarek handed something to the dragon king. It was Asha’s leather arm piece. The one she’d unbuckled to escape him. “Her arm was unprotected when the dragon breathed its fire.” He stepped toward Asha, grabbing her bare arm and holding it up. “So why isn’t she scorched?”
Her father held up the armor, asking her a silent question.
“I can’t be burned,” she whispered to the sand.
“Speak up.”
Raising her chin, Asha said it louder: “I can’t be burned by dragonfire. Or any fire. It’s a . . . gift. From the Old One.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I wasn’t allowed to refuse it.”
Jarek and her father exchanged a look. Together, they turned their backs on Asha, speaking quietly.
Asha watched them: her father and his commandant, surrounded by soldats. The arena was empty. The Iskari knelt weaponless in the sand, while the king’s heir was being marched to the dungeons. If Jarek really were planning to take the throne, what was stopping him? Why wasn’t he overcoming her father right now?
Her father turned back to her, his grip on her arm piece tightening. “Has the Old One given you other gifts?”
Asha looked away, her shame scattering her thoughts. “Yes.”
“And? What are they?”
“The slayers,” she said. “And . . . the dragon.”
A stony silence solidified between them.
“You mean to tell me, all this time, you’ve been dealing with the Old One?”
Tears stung her eyes. She squeezed them shut. “If I don’t do what he says, he takes away my strength and keeps me from”—she darted a glance at Jarek—“from hunting.”
He’ll denounce me now. He’ll realize I’m a lost cause and cut me loose.
Her eyes opened. She looked to find her father examining her scarred face with worry in his gaze.
“He wants to use you, Asha. Like he used you eight years ago. You’re easily corrupted. A dangerous vessel he can turn against the rest of us.” He began to pace, running his hand over his bearded cheeks as he thought. When he stopped, he crouched down before her. “My dear child, why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
Asha loosed the breath she’d been holding.
“Because I was ashamed,” she said. “Because there is and always has been something dangerous inside me. I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d think I was beyond saving.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
Those eyes were warm again.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me when you’re in trouble.”
Asha stared at her father, dangerously close to crying tears of relief.
“Our initial bargain still stands,” her father said softly, so only she would hear. “You have until moonrise tonight.”
The commandant reached down to help his king rise. Asha watched the locking of their hands, the strength of their grip.
“She’s going to hunt you a dragon,” the king said as Jarek pulled him to his feet. “I want you to go with her this time.”
Asha froze, too startled to speak. Jarek raised his eyebrows, surprised.