She nodded, then followed Torwin through the trees.
When the woods grew sparse, voices mingled with the sound of the wind in the leaves. When the trees disappeared completely, Asha found herself standing atop a hill covered in pinecones, looking down over a camp of thousands. Dozens of bonfires burned, surrounded by groups of people sitting and drinking. Canvas tents of all sizes were pitched around them.
“Welcome to New Haven,” said Torwin, motioning to the bowled-out valley below. “The name was your brother’s idea. This is where he’s assembling his army.”
My brother, she thought, her heart racing, is plotting a war.
Was Dax even capable of such a thing?
Suddenly, two forms approached. When they stopped, Asha saw they were draksors. Draksors studying Asha with the same wary look she directed at them. They nodded to Torwin, then stepped back.
Torwin held his hand out to her, but Asha—all too aware of the patrols watching—didn’t take it. Instead, she headed down the hill, toward the tents and the bonfires.
The moment she set foot in the camp, hundreds of eyes looked up, first to the Iskari, then to the slave at her side. Asha couldn’t help staring back. Around every fire were not just draksors and skral but scrublanders too.
Enemies . . . united.
Dax did this?
“Asha,” Torwin said from behind her. The moment he did, a hushed silence descended. Asha halted on the trodden-down path and looked back. Torwin clearly wanted her to follow.
Asha looked past Torwin, to the faces lit up by firelight. Draksor and skral. They sat side by side, sharing jugs of wine. But collars still hung around skral necks. And skral eyes didn’t quite meet draksor ones. And every gaze narrowed on one young man. The slave who said the Iskari’s name. Out loud. As if he had a right.
The hair on Asha’s arms rose. She went to Torwin’s side, her fingers moving to an axe that wasn’t there. She stayed close as he led her to a tent guarded by two scrublanders, their double-edged sickle-like swords sheathed in leather scabbards. They nodded to Torwin, who stepped inside the tent.
Asha followed him in.
Thirty-Four
A map lay unrolled across a roughly made table, and over it leaned Dax, his finger tracing some boundary Asha couldn’t see. Next to him, looking where he looked with her arms crossed over her chest, stood Safire, the bruises on her face receding. Around them stood a hastily pitched tent, the fawn canvas kept aloft by roughly hewn columns made of thick branches.
Asha’s heart jolted at the sight of them.
When Torwin cleared his throat, Dax and Safire looked up, their mouths opening at the same time.
Safire moved first, hopping the table and lifting Asha up in a hug. No one would punish her for touching Asha now, and she took full advantage of the freedom, squeezing her cousin until it hurt.
“Saf,” Asha managed. “I’m so sorry.”
Safire pulled away, frowning hard. “For what? This?” She pointed to her bruised face and grinned. “You should’ve seen what I did to their faces.” Letting go of Asha, she looked to Torwin. “When the red moon bled out and you hadn’t returned . . .”
“They had her in the dungeon,” Torwin explained. “I couldn’t get in alone. I had to wait.”
Asha looked from Safire to Torwin to Dax. The three of them had planned her rescue together.
“The day of the revolt, we searched for you,” said Dax, coming out from behind the table. His hands no longer shook. He was still reed thin and tired, but his eyes were clear and earnest. “But you weren’t anywhere.” He looked away. “So we left you behind.” She heard what he didn’t say: with a monster. He thinks he abandoned me, she realized.
“I never would have forgiven myself if—”
Asha shook her head. “I’m here now.”
“Yes,” said Safire, her eyes narrowing. “Which means Jarek is already looking for you.” She glanced at Dax. “We need to double our patrol.”
He nodded. “Go do it.”
Safire hugged Asha one more time before leaving the tent. In her absence, Asha looked to her brother. Though his golden tunic was wrinkled and smudged with dirt, he seemed to shine in it.
“Tell me what all of this is,” she said, motioning to the map, the tent, the door leading out to a camp full of rogues.
“We’re going to invade Firgaard and overthrow the dragon king,” said Dax. “But we need more men, women, and weapons in order to stand any kind of chance. So Roa made me a deal: the scrublanders will lend us what we need if I make her my queen.”
Asha felt like her heart had just fallen out of her chest. It was Roa’s household that turned against Dax all those years ago. “But . . .”
“It was Roa’s idea to take Darmoor,” he explained, anticipating her objection. “Roa gave us the distraction we needed. She knew Jarek would send the army there, which would cut the number of Firgaard’s soldats in half.”
Which was why the revolt had been so successful.
Asha marveled. Roa was a mastermind.
“But queen of Firgaard? Are you sure you can trust her?”
He sighed, not quite meeting her eyes, and ran a hand through his brown curls. “I don’t have much choice. Without the scrublander army, our father will tear this realm apart, piece by piece.”
Piece by piece. Until he found Asha.
She looked at Torwin, silhouetted in the opening of the tent.
Until he found them both.
Just think of it, Asha, Torwin’s voice echoed through her mind. Freedom, adventure, the salty sea air on your face. . . .
It was a delusion. A fantasy. As long as her father held the throne, Torwin would be hunted. It wouldn’t matter how far away he got.
The thought hit her like an arrow to the chest.
Asha couldn’t run. She had to stay and fight.
“A caravan bringing weapons is due in three days,” Dax went on. “Once it arrives, there will be a wedding. And then we go to war.”
“I want to help,” she said.
Only Asha knew what her father was truly capable of. The way he’d lied to her, twisting her into a horrifying tool to do his bidding. The way he handed her over to Jarek, like she was worthless. Like what she wanted didn’t matter. Like her heart and soul didn’t matter.
Dax smiled at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“What? No.” Torwin stepped farther into the tent, glaring at Dax. “You said if I brought her to you, you’d keep her safe.”
“This is her fight too.”
Torwin swung to face Asha, his eyes full of anguish. “You’ve only just escaped. You can’t march right back—”
“Who are you to say what I can and can’t do? You plotted a revolution with my own brother and told me nothing.”
Torwin’s jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists. “I plotted a slave rebellion. I plotted the freedom of my people. I want no part in this grasp at power.” His eyes slid to Dax for the briefest moment and his voice dropped to something softer. “Asha, you’re free. What if this fails? What if you fall into their hands again?”