The Last Namsara (Iskari #1)(56)

“Something is amiss here.” Jarek started to pace. His heavy footsteps echoed through the domed room. “First, my slave goes missing. Next, our supposed allies steal away in the night and the next morning take Darmoor. And now? The sacred flame is stolen by your own daughter.” He shook his head. “I want her to stay where I can see her. All I’m asking is that you uphold your own law. Punish her like the criminal she is by locking her in the dungeon until our binding day.”

Her father wouldn’t allow it. He wanted Kozu dead, and Asha was the only one who could bring the First Dragon down.

Her father hesitated, though.

It made Asha’s stomach knot up.

He looked from her to Jarek, as if trying to choose. As if this were a game of strategy and he needed to decide which piece would cost him more: his commandant or his Iskari?

Her father’s chest rose and fell with the breath he took.

“All right,” the dragon king said carefully.

The air fled Asha’s lungs.

“Father . . .”

The king lifted his hand.

“Get up, Asha.”

It wasn’t a request. She pushed herself onto her knees and rose, keeping her eyes on the floor. The dragon king reached for her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. It shocked Asha. The dragon king never touched his Iskari. His eyebrows formed a vicious vale and his normally warm eyes were wary. Distant.

“Have I misplaced my faith in you?”

Yes. I’m more corrupted than you ever thought.

Asha wanted to close her eyes against that disappointed gaze.

“No, Father.”

“How can I be sure?”

“If you let me return to the Rift, I’ll do what you asked. I’ll bring you this dragon’s head before dawn tomorrow.”

There was nothing in her way now. No more commands. No more gifts that were actually curses.

“I can’t just let you go without punishment.” His forehead creased in a frown. He needed her to hunt down Kozu, yes, but he also needed to uphold his law. “You’ve committed a serious crime. A crime against your king.”

He studied her for a long time before releasing his grip on her chin.

“So you shall return to the Rift.”

Asha sighed in relief.

“In two days’ time.”

Asha went rigid. An icy chill swept through her. “But that’s . . .”

“The morning of your binding.” The look in his eyes told Asha he knew what he was asking of her, but she’d given him no choice.





Twenty-Seven


On the morning of her binding day, the cell door opened.

It wasn’t Jarek who stepped through. As Asha’s eyes adjusted to the torchlight, she found two soldats standing in the rectangular glow.

“You’re to come with us, Iskari.”

Asha rose. She hugged herself to keep the damp chill from sinking farther into her bones.

“I’ve served my sentence. My father said I could return to the Rift on the morning of my binding.”

“There’s a dress in your room,” said one of the soldats, ignoring her. “You’re to put it on and follow us. Your father commands it.”

What?

She thought of escape, but six more of Jarek’s men waited in the hallway.

When they arrived at her room, the first things Asha noticed were the bolts fixed to the outsides of her doors.

The second things she noticed were the heavy iron bars running crisscross over her window, sealing her in.

And the third: her empty wall. They’d taken all her weapons.

“Did Jarek do this?”

No one answered her.

Asha slammed the door on them, then sank to her knees before her bed and felt up inside the frame where she’d hidden her slayers.

Still there.

She drew them out.

A dress was carefully laid out on the bed. It wasn’t her wedding dress, but Asha could see Jarek’s mark all over it—the heavy beading, the plunging neckline, the creamy gold silk.

The soldats knocked on the door, giving her a warning.

Asha didn’t put on the dress.

Instead, she went to the chest at the foot of her bed. Inside, her armor remained untouched. Setting down her slayers, Asha pulled each piece out and put it on, from her breastplate all the way down to her boots. The moment she got the chance, she would head straight to the Rift.

In her armor, Asha felt safe—hidden from Jarek’s ravenous gaze.

After braiding her hair into a simple plait over one shoulder, she strapped her slayers onto her back, then slid on her helmet.

The door was opening.

Asha grabbed her gifts from Jarek—the indigo kaftan, the ruby necklace, the bolt of sabra silk—and threw them into the hearth along with some kindling. Quickly, she found a match and struck it. The moment a flame flared up, she threw it onto the pile. The bolt of silk caught fire first.

The sound of booted footsteps filled her ears.

They were in her room.

“Enough! Just grab her!”

Asha spun, reaching for the gold dress, needing it to burn too. But a soldat seized her, twisting her away, pulling her toward the door. “We’re going to be late, Iskari.”

Asha looked back over her shoulder, watching the fire crackle and spit. Watching her gifts blaze—all except one.