They sat in silence a moment, staring at the dancers, who were a blur of color and limbs and faces. Asha watched Callie’s dress twirl around her thighs as she spun, barefoot, in the dirt.
“Dax says you love the old stories,” Jas said, watching a scrublander girl with gleaming black curls that spilled down her back.
Asha looked at him. “I suppose he’s right.”
“He also said you burned the only copies in the city.”
Asha flinched at the memory.
Seeing her reaction, Jas went on. “I wanted to extend an official invitation to the House of Song.” He glanced back at the dancing scrublander girl, and from the affectionate look in his eyes, Asha thought she must be a friend. “So many stories are lost, but our library has a small collection. If you came to visit, you would have access to it. You could transcribe them, if you wanted to.”
Asha couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had been so kind to her. It made her smile. Just a little.
Seeing it, Jas smiled too. It was a bright, shining thing that lit him up from the inside.
“As for the forgotten ones,” he said, “maybe you could find them.”
Asha frowned. “Where would I even start looking?”
“You’re a hunter, aren’t you? Instead of hunting dragons . . .” He paused, checking to see if he had offended her. “You could hunt down the lost stories and bring them back to us. Restore our traditions. Make our realm whole again.”
But stories couldn’t save the realm. Only the death of Asha’s father could.
Jas was so full of optimism, though, she didn’t say this aloud.
“And now I think you should dance with me.”
Asha looked at him, her lips parting in surprise. She looked to the dancing scrublander, her curls spilling over her shoulders, her face turned up to the stars as she danced with two other girls.
“Why don’t you ask your friend?”
Jas looked where Asha looked. “Who? Lirabel?” He bit his lip, as if the thought scared him a little. “She already has two dancing partners.” He turned back to Asha. “Besides, I’m asking you.”
He seemed determined to be her friend. Her. A girl he’d been taught to despise. Because he was a scrublander, and she was a draksor.
It made Asha feel . . . strangely honored.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted.
“Neither do I, really.”
Asha bit down on a smile. “All right. One dance. But if it ends horribly, it’s not my fault. You were warned.”
Jas grinned. He rose and pulled her to her feet. But as they moved into the sea of dancers and skirts flared against her legs, Asha’s palms started to sweat. She remembered why she never did this: it made her feel clumsy and foolish.
She looked to Callie, her feet moving to the tune of her reed pipe. She looked to Jas’s friend, her smile as bright as the moon. Dancing was for other girls. Not death bringers.
Jas slid his arm around her waist.
“Ready?” he asked as the next song started up.
Asha wasn’t ready. In fact, she was starting to panic. But even if she could find her voice to say so, the beat of the drum and the chime of the lute and the whisper of reed pipes would have drowned her out.
And then, just as Jas’s fingers slid between hers, ready to lead her in the steps, something caught her eye.
Torwin stood at the edge of the dancing circle—where Asha had been sitting just moments ago. He wore a simple white shirt, unlaced at the throat, revealing his sharply defined collarbone.
The sight of him tugged at her heart.
Asha glanced to the musicians. Next to Callie, a gangly draksor boy stood plucking the strings of Torwin’s lute.
She looked back to Torwin. He’d caught sight of her and was now watching her and Jas dance, his lips parted in surprise, his eyes full of . . . hurt.
Before she could realize why, he disappeared down the path between tents.
Forty-Two
Asha didn’t wait for the song to end. Instead, with her hand still in Jas’s, she stopped dancing and pulled him through the crowd.
“What are you . . . ?”
Pulled him all the way up to his friend.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Asha said when the scrublander girls stopped dancing and turned to face them. Sensing what she was about to do, Jas tried to tug his hand free and escape, but Asha held firm. “I’m afraid I have to rush off, but I don’t want to abandon my dancing partner. So I wondered . . .” Asha looked from one to the next, until her eyes fell on the girl Jas had been watching. Lirabel, he’d called her. “I was wondering if you might want to dance with him?”
Lirabel’s big eyes looked from Asha to Jas in surprise. She was a soft-looking girl with a heart-shaped face and a gentle mouth. Lirabel dipped her head shyly, then said, “I would be honored.”
And that was that.
Asha smiled. Jas looked terrified. But when Lirabel looked up into his face, he stepped toward her, swallowing.
Asha released his hand. Turning, she pushed out of the crowd, heading in the direction Torwin had disappeared, down the path between tents.
She walked past the noise and the crowds and finally caught sight of him near the outskirts of New Haven.
“Torwin! Wait!”
At the sound of her voice, he slowed. Then turned around.
Asha ran to catch up, stopping just before a leaning structure that smelled like iron. There was no door, just a small opening, and in the starlight Asha could make out the shape of an anvil before everything melted into shadow. The smithy stood on the edge of the camp. Out here, the world was silent and dark and the stars were bright specks of sand, glittering above them.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be—”
“Dancing with Jas?”
Torwin looked away from her.
Was he . . . jealous?
“It’s rare for someone I’ve only just met to be kind to me instead of afraid of me,” she told him, touching the crimson fabric of her dress. It was a little rough, but she never truly belonged in the beautiful sabra silk of her kaftans, and Asha didn’t mind it. “He gave me this.”
“Did he?” Torwin smiled a shadow smile. A fake. “Well, Jas certainly has fine taste. You look exceedingly pretty tonight.” He looked over his shoulder. “He’s probably wondering where you are. Maybe you should—”
“Or maybe you should tell me what’s wrong.”
Torwin went quiet, looking immediately out over the night-touched tents. Asha studied the shape of him. Already he’d recovered from the effects of the dragon bone. He was lean and tall and strong. Not strong the way Jarek was strong. Torwin’s strength was a strength of spirit.
She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said in the meeting tent a few days ago. He would stay until the wedding, he told her. And now the wedding was over.
And here they were.
“I heard a rumor tonight.” She stepped toward him. “Are the skral planning to leave Firgaard?”
He kept his gaze away from her, nodding. “The skral support your brother, but most intend to leave the city after the invasion.” Torwin sighed, running long fingers through his hair. “When this is over, if your brother secures the throne . . . the scrublanders have offered to take us across the desert.”
Us. Her heart sank at that word.