The Last Namsara (Iskari #1)(29)

Her mother was dead, killed by the old stories, just like the raconteurs before her.

Asha’s grief made her easy prey that day. It left a fault line running through her. The moment she set foot inside the inner sanctum, the Old One found the fault line. He broke it open and buried a wicked, insatiable hunger within her. One that would turn her against her father, her people, her realm.

From then on, the old stories lived inside Asha, brimming just below the surface. It was how Kozu found her, lured by the old stories buried in her heart. Stories needing to be let out. It was how she almost destroyed the city.

Now, though, the sanctum sat empty and its flaming heart beat elsewhere.

She didn’t like to think back to the days before the fire. She didn’t like to think about how enslaved she’d been to the Old One, sneaking out of the city night after night at his bidding, to slake Kozu’s endless thirst for stories. She might not remember much of what happened the day he burned her, but she remembered the days before it. Waiting for the sun to dip below the mountains. Slipping silently over the rooftops. Taking the tunnel up into the Rift.

As she climbed through the tunnel now, Asha forced herself to remember it all. How she’d betrayed her father night after night. How she’d let herself become corrupted.

When she emerged into the Rift, surrounded by cedars and birdcall, she forced herself to think back further than she had in years as she retraced her steps to the plains where Kozu had burned her.

Asha could see that barefoot child inside her. She could hear the stories spilling from her lips as she ran through the moonlit Rift. She could feel that butterfly heart as her steps brought her closer to an ancient evil.

Asha hated that girl; but she needed her now. There was no room for mistakes this time. She feared if she told an old story aloud, it would summon whatever dragon was within hearing distance. And Asha didn’t have time to deal with another dragon. Asha needed Kozu and only Kozu. Remembering was the best way to find him.

By the time the sun started to go down, Asha hadn’t yet reached the plains. It was getting difficult to see, so she found a small clearing, unrolled her sleeping pack, and stripped off her armor.

She didn’t dare light a fire. Instead, she pulled a thick wool tunic out of the pack she’d brought from the palace and donned it to keep warm. The days might be blistering hot, but nights in the Rift could freeze a hunter to death.

Asha wasn’t afraid to close her eyes. Over the years, she’d taught herself to sleep lightly and to wake at the slightest sounds. Even if something did find her sleeping, Asha was the most dangerous thing in the Rift.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

The cavernous darkness of sleep melted into dreams. Asha dreamed of a cave where smoke stung her throat. She heard the crackle and snap of fire in the distance, felt its heat sink into her skin. Louder than the fire were the stories, bright and swarming. They were so loud, it was difficult to block them out.

Asha knew exactly where she was. And she knew before she saw him exactly who awaited her.

Elorma stared into the flames as she arrived, as if reading something inscribed there. When she stepped into the firelight, he raised his eyes to her face and pushed his hood back.

“I thought I made the Old One’s command perfectly clear,” he said gruffly. “The slayers were to be used only for righting wrongs.”

“I was righting a wrong,” Asha said, thinking of the young dragon she killed. “What greater wrong is there to right?”

His lip curled. As if he tasted something sour. “Really, Asha. All this dragon hunting is eroding your imagination.”

Asha’s temper flared. She didn’t have time for nonsense.

“The Old One can try all he likes to stop me, but I’m going to find Kozu. And when I do, I’m going to kill him.”

“You’re right about the first part,” he said. “But we’ll have to see about the second.”

A loud crack broke the silence. Like a branch breaking beneath the weight of a heavy footstep. But it must have been the fire, because there were no trees here. Trees didn’t grow in caves.

“The Old One bestows his second gift tonight. And just like his first, this one comes with a command.” Elorma rose. “You must keep it from harm.”

Something hissed in the darkness. The hair on Asha’s arms rose.

This isn’t real, she told herself. This is just a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. And she wasn’t really in a cave, safe below the earth. She was in the Rift, sleeping and exposed.

And she knew before she opened her eyes, something was there with her.





Thirteen


Asha woke. It took a moment for her sight to adjust to the darkness. When it did, there was a single yellow eye, slit through the middle, staring down at her.

Asha’s heartbeat quickened with fear. Knowing better than to draw her slayers, Asha reached for her axe. She slid out of her sleeping pack and silently got to her feet.

A series of sharp clicks issued out of the darkness, giving Asha a sense of just how far away this dragon was. She took a slow step back, trying to remember the size of this clearing, and where the trees stopped. But the dark had already descended when she’d made her camp.

The eye disappeared, followed by movement in the trees. Branches snapped. Leaves hissed as a scaly hide brushed past `them. Asha’s hand tightened around the handle of her axe, provoking a growl from the dragon.