Lirabel wore her gleaming black curls bound in a thick braid over her shoulder; Saba wore her hair in two plaits running down each side of her head. Judging by their belt quivers and the bows slung over their shoulders, they were archers.
Three armed scrublanders against troops of soldats seemed like bad odds to Asha. She kept this thought to herself, though, too afraid Roa would change her mind and leave her behind. Taking the torch, Asha led them into the tunnel.
Roa’s white hawk swooped in after them.
The orange flame pierced the darkness as they walked deeper into rock. When they neared the tunnel opening, Lirabel touched Asha’s shoulder, stopping her. Taking an arrow from her quiver, the girl held it to the torch. The tip was wrapped in cloth and Asha could smell the alcohol it had been dipped in. The arrow lit and burned, bright and furious. Lirabel shot the arrow through the crypt, lighting up a much larger path than the torch would have, allowing them to see if anyone waited in the darkness.
Deciding the way was clear, Lirabel stepped out first. Asha followed her, leading them through the crypt, up the vaulted stairway, and into the temple. And all the while, Lirabel shot her arrows tipped with fire, making sure no enemies lurked ahead.
They should have run into someone by the time they reached the front doors. A guardian. Or a soldat. But the temple was silent and empty. It made the hair on Asha’s arms rise.
Roa pressed both hands against one of the front doors, ready to push it open, when Asha stepped on something.
“Wait,” she hissed, lifting her foot and crouching down to the floor. The glow of her torch illuminated a knife with a hilt made of ivory and mother-of-pearl.
Safire’s knife. The one she’d been sharpening in the tent.
Asha picked it up. The hilt was cold.
Safire never dropped her weapons—not by accident, not even in a fight. Which meant she’d left it here on purpose.
Asha’s eyes lifted to where the knife pointed: the temple entrance. Roa’s palms were still pressed against the door, ready to push. Her gaze met Asha’s, who shook her head. Rising, she motioned for the three scrublanders to follow her. Whatever Safire’s reason, Asha needed to put as much space as possible between them and the entrance.
She led them to the window that opened out to the pomegranate tree. The street below was just as empty as the temple. No torches burned in the narrow laneways. The only light came from the stars.
Where were the soldats?
“Do you know how to get to the gate from here?”
Roa tapped her head. “Your brother’s map is in here.”
Asha shook her head. “Don’t take the main streets.” She sank to a crouch, holding the glow of her torch just above the floor while she drew a rough map in the dust. “This way will take more time, but more streets branch off it.” Roa crouched with her, watching silently as she drew. “You’ll have more escape routes this way, if you need them. And no one will expect you to take the most cumbersome way.”
Roa’s eyes memorized the path made by Asha’s fingertip.
Asha handed over the torch. “You’ll need it for your arrows.”
Dipping her head in the barest of nods, Roa said, “May the Old One guide your steps.”
Asha climbed out the window and into the branches of the pomegranate tree, then quickly glanced back.
“Roa?”
The girl in the window paused.
“Don’t break my brother’s heart.”
Roa smiled a small smile. “Is that a threat, Iskari?” And then she raised her fist over her own heart in a silent salute.
Asha dropped to the street below. Gathering the darkness around her like a cloak, she crept through the shadows, making her way to the palace alone. And all the while, she felt Kozu in her mind. Restless. Pacing. Wondering where she was.
Forty-Seven
Devoid of marching soldats and the sounds and smells of the night market, the city seemed lifeless. No donkeys brayed. No beggars sat with outstretched palms. No water sellers wandered or called. The night was silent around Asha. The thud of her own boots on dusty streets and tiled rooftops echoed loudly in her ears, so she took them off and left them behind, continuing barefoot.
It felt like walking into a trap.
Asha had walked into a trap once before. She’d been hunting down a very old dragon and, after two days, found herself going in circles. It was on the third day that she realized the dragon was leading her in those circles. It was tracking her, keeping to the shadows, just out of sight.
The only reason Asha defeated it was because she pretended not to know. She played its game, walked into its trap, and when the dragon had her cornered and alone, Asha revealed just how unoblivious she was . . . and how sharp her claws were.
The trap waiting for her now was not so different from that dragon’s. The only thing to do was step right into it.
Swinging herself down from the roof and into one of the palace’s covered walkways, Asha paused in the arched window to scan the shadows. She was about to jump down when the sound of voices stopped her.
Asha heard Dax’s voice first, followed by her father’s. She lowered her bare feet to the marble floor, following their voices in the direction of her father’s largest courtyard. The same courtyard where Elorma first called her.
“I won’t,” Dax said.
“Then I’ll start killing them, one by one. Starting with this one.”
Asha stepped into the archway. The walls were lit with torches burning in their sconces. Their light glinted off a familiar black blade, gripped in the dragon king’s hand. It was one of her slayers. The last time she’d seen them, she’d been defending Kozu in the meadow.
Her father pressed its edge to a throat.
Torwin’s throat.
“Stop!”
The dragon king looked to the archway. “There you are.” Her father sounded strangely relieved. As if, in spite of everything, the sight of his Iskari was a salve for his soul.
Dax turned. His hands were tied behind his back and the two soldats guarding him had his weapons.
“Asha,” Dax said, “I told you not to—”
“Roa sends her love,” she said, silencing him with a look—one she hoped conveyed the truth: Roa’s on her way.
But where were Safire and Jas? Asha glanced around the courtyard.
Empty.
Her gaze fixed on Torwin. He didn’t look broken. He didn’t even look afraid as his eyes met hers from across the court. As if he’d resigned himself to this. As if he knew what was coming and he was going to face it, unwavering.
The distance across the courtyard had never felt as vast and uncrossable as it did now.
“It seems I’m in possession of something you want, my dear.”
“And what’s that?” She tried to sound calm as she moved toward her father, letting her hunting instincts guide her.
Go slowly. No sudden movements.
Sensing what she was doing, her father began to slide the edge of her slayer across Torwin’s throat. Blood gathered and spilled. Torwin’s body clenched.
Asha halted, throwing up her hands.
“No! Please. I won’t come any closer.”