The Last Namsara (Iskari #1)(26)

“Asha.” The way his hands clasped hers—like a snare—said that despite his drunkenness, he remembered everything. His saber was sheathed at his hip. “Where have you been?”

Sweat prickled along her hairline.

“Sleeping,” she said, matching her voice to his. “I had a rough night.”

He leaned in close. Her body tensed the way it did the moment before a dragon struck.

“Give him back.” His lips brushed her unscarred cheek. “And we can forget it ever happened.”

Asha tried to pull her hands free, but his grip tightened. He spoke so softly, anyone standing nearby might think he was whispering words of love.

“If you don’t, when I find him—and I will find him—I’ll make you watch everything.”

He thought she felt about his slave the way Rayan felt about Lillian. It astonished her.

“Go right ahead,” she said.

When her father looked over at them, Jarek released her.

Asha saw the troubled look in her father’s eyes. She shook her head, telling him not to worry. Stepping around Jarek, she took her seat next to Dax and wiped her sweaty hands on the scratchy fabric of Maya’s kaftan.

Jarek had nothing to gain by bringing her offense to light. Jarek wanted Asha. He wanted her the way he wanted the most lethal of sabers or the most hellish of stallions. He wanted to conquer and own her. And, if the whispers were true, if he really was planning to take the throne, their marriage would make it that much easier. He wasn’t about to sabotage his chance by exposing Asha’s crimes. Not when there were other ways to punish her.

Jarek followed her to the bench and sat down, pressing his leg against her own.

Seeing it, Dax tensed beside Asha, then met her gaze.

Before she could tell Dax she’d done as he asked, Jarek leaned in, interrupting. “My soldats tell me you went out hunting yesterday.”

Asha straightened.

“They said you went out alone.”

If Jarek suspected the truth, if he discovered what her father promised in exchange for Kozu’s head . . .

“Perhaps she only needed to breathe,” a honeyed voice interrupted. Asha looked to the scrublander on Dax’s other side, who stared at Jarek’s leg pinning Asha’s.

Jarek’s eyes narrowed. “Did I ask for your opinion, scrublander?”

Roa’s hawk puffed its white chest. Its silver eyes glared at the commandant.

“In the scrublands,” said Roa, “no one needs to ask for a woman’s opinion. It’s expected that she gives it freely.”

Asha looked to Dax. He should have warned Roa about Jarek and what happened when he was challenged.

“And that,” Jarek sneered, “is why your people will never rise above the dirt they live in.”

Roa’s eyes darkened. It was the only outward sign that his words affected her. Dax, on the other hand, oozed anger. His thin frame buzzed with a dangerous, reckless energy, reminding Asha of all the times he’d stepped into Jarek’s path as a child. All the times he’d turned himself into a target to protect others.

Before he could do it again, Asha bent her head toward her brother’s.

“He’s in the temple,” she whispered so only Dax could hear. “Ask the guardian called Maya.”

It worked.

That buzzing energy dimmed as Dax looked into Asha’s face. From this close, she studied her brother’s thinning cheeks. She could see too much of the bones beneath his skin. Just like she could with their mother, in those last days.

Thank you, he mouthed. And then, remembering their deal, he tugged their mother’s carved bone ring off his finger. His hand shook slightly as he held it out to her.

Asha took it and slid it onto her fourth finger.

It wasn’t a beautiful ring. But its presence held a kind of power. The same power as her mother’s voice in the darkness. Or her mother’s hands, cupping Asha’s face as she told her not to be afraid.

The ring was a reminder: people hadn’t always been scared to touch her.

Or love her.

The weight of her mother’s ring on her finger comforted Asha.

Dax rose. Roa glanced at Asha before rising, too, then disappeared with him into the crowd.

Jarek nodded to two soldats standing just beyond the canopy, who turned and followed the pair.

Asha was about to go after them, to warn them, when the crowd roared. Draksors got to their feet or hopped up on benches, shouting down into the pit. Jarek rose, one hand going to the pommel of his saber, the other lifted to block the sun from his eyes.

Asha didn’t need to look. She knew what was happening: a slave was about to be killed.

Asha had lost all interest in the pit fights when they’d stopped fighting dragons. After the hunting began, there simply weren’t enough of them left to keep the people entertained. The spiked metal bars ringing the pit acted as a gate now, keeping drunken draksors from falling to their deaths. Back when dragons fought below, the bars were lowered to keep the beasts from flying away.

“You might be interested in the outcome of this one,” Jarek said.

Another roar rippled through the crowd. Chilled, Asha stood. In the depths of the pit below, a young skral forced an elderly skral to her knees. Her gray hair was bound in a thick braid and her hands were knotted with age.

Asha went rigid at the sight of her.