The Last Namsara (Iskari #1)(39)

“What?” He looked into the trees where the dragon crouched, then back at Asha. “Why not?”

She sighed. The air heaved out of her in a rush and she fell back into the grass, looking up at the moon: a mere sliver of red in a black sky.

“I can’t kill it,” she whispered. “I wish I could. But I—” She shot him an embarrassed look. “I’m supposed to protect it.”

The slave peered down at her, blocking the sliver of moon. “But you’re the Iskari. The king’s dragon hunter.”

“If it dies,” she said, looking up into his face, “the Old One will punish me.”

“The Old One . . . ?” He raised an eyebrow. There was a hint of mockery in it. “Iskari, you’ve killed hundreds of dragons. Did he punish you for any of those?” He planted one hand just above her head, leaning in closer.

Too close.

Asha’s pulse quickened. She ducked out from under him and rose to her feet. Putting all her focus back on the dragon in the trees, she sloshed through the spring. If she could catch it, maybe she could tame it. And if she could tame it, maybe she could teach it not to follow her into the city.

She felt it in the trees, crouched and ready to spring away. She approached slowly. Cautiously. When she was mere steps away, she slowed even more. Clicking gently, she mimicked the noises dragons made in an attempt to coax it to her.

The dragon vanished into the darkness.

“Great! Go!” she shouted, picking up rocks from the spring bed and, one after another, chucking them into the trees. “I hate the sight of you!”

When she ran out of rocks, she said, without looking at the slave across the stream, “It followed me all the way to the palace, but doesn’t let me come closer than that.” Turning, she thrashed through the shallow water, kicking her helmet on her way back to the slave. “So how am I supposed to keep it from harm?”

His gaze ran up and down her.

“Honestly? If I were a dragon, I wouldn’t come anywhere near you either.”

Asha looked where he was looking: from her armor to her boots to the helmet at her feet. She picked up the helmet, studying it. Everything she wore was made from the skins of dragons.

The slave reached for her helmet. Asha’s grip on it tightened.

He tugged the helmet out of her hands anyway. “Trust me.”

Fear rippled through her as she remembered how it felt as a child to stand armorless before Kozu.

The fire rushing toward her.

The screams trapped in her throat.

Her flesh burning away.

With her helmet tucked under his arm now, he stepped in close. Close enough to reach for the buckles of her breastplate. Holding her gaze, he began to undo them.

Asha’s heart raced and her breath came quick.

“Definitely not,” she said, stepping away.

“Fine.” He set down the helmet at her feet. Taking off his sandals and rolling his pants up to his knees, he sat next to the stream and slid his bare feet into the water. “Maybe by morning you’ll have scared it away entirely and I can be safely on my way.”

He kicked at the water with his feet while his hands remained planted on the bank.

Asha stood alone in the moonlight, staring down at herself.

What was she afraid of? If the dragon wanted to kill her, it would have done so already. Wouldn’t it?

Asha started undoing buckles and taking off pieces of armor. The burn on her axe hand hurt as much as ever. She unbuckled the slayers from her back, then shrugged them off and dropped them next to her armor. The night air rushed up her hunting shirt and across her bare arms. Crouching low, Asha began unlacing her boots. One by one, she slid them off.

In her bare feet, with the esparto grass brushing against her knees, Asha felt . . . unsheathed. The wind tugged at her hair. The night air kissed her scarred skin. She’d thought standing armorless before a watching dragon would make her feel vulnerable and exposed. And she did feel those things. But she felt something else too.

Unfettered.

Wild.

Free.

Without a single thing to protect her, she moved past the slave, through the stream, and back into the trees—toward those slitted eyes. She heard the anxious swish of a forked tail as she approached.

Three steps. Then two. Then . . .

The dragon fled.

Balling her hands into fists, Asha growled. “It didn’t work!”

The slave’s dark silhouette moved toward her. But Asha walked right past him, back through the cold water of the stream, shivering in the night. What a mistake this had been.

When she stood over her pile of armor, though, she no longer recognized it. It looked more like the discarded skin of a lizard and she couldn’t bring herself to buckle any of it back on.

“I’m wasting time,” she said, thinking of Kozu prowling the Rift somewhere. She should be hunting him down, not trying to tame this senseless beast. There were only four more days until her binding night. Four more days before Jarek took her to his bed.

Her eyes stung at the thought. Asha pressed her palms against her forehead and crouched down in the grass.

A shadow fell across her. “He’s a wild creature, Iskari. And you’re a hunter. You can’t expect him to come when you call. You have to earn his trust.”

Asha looked up at the slave’s silhouette. “So what do I do?”