The Last Namsara (Iskari #1)(58)

But the sky was flawless cobalt blue. Nothing flew above them.

Unseated draksors made their way toward the benches. Jarek held tight, his body crackling with energy.

“I found something of yours,” he said above the noise. “You must have left it below the temple.”

He reached down beneath the bench. When his hand re-surfaced, it held a jeweled axe. The axe she’d given to Torwin.

Asha’s heart frosted over.

Instinctively, she reached for it. The moment her hands closed around the handle, all the torches lit at once.

Asha looked up in time to see heavily armored soldats herding a dragon into the pit. They wielded long steel lances and rectangular shields running the length of their bodies. They prodded the dragon, again and again, sticking their sharp lances deep into its dust-red hide.

The axe clattered to the ground at her feet.

“Shadow . . .”

The dragon had no choice but to move farther in, howling and snapping his jaws. He had no place to go, no place to hide. The lowered bars prevented him from flying out.

But worse than all of this?

In the center of the pit knelt Torwin.

He swayed, as if barely conscious, and a jagged knife rested across his palms. It was all he had to defend himself against the dragon so tortured and frightened, ready to kill anything that looked like a threat.

After one hard jab from a soldat’s spear, Shadow gave a ferocious, heartrending howl. The armored soldats rushed out of the ring.

Just before the dragon charged across the pit, Torwin raised his face to the horde of draksors cheering on his death. His gaze slid right over them, moving ever upward, until it came to rest on Asha herself.





Twenty-Eight


Shadow charged, kicking up red sand. Torwin rolled out of the way—but only just in time. Blood streamed down his back. His old wounds had reopened and he seemed to be in a great deal of pain. It was going to slow him down. Shadow’s forked tail lashed, catching the slave in the side and throwing him onto his back.

Asha pressed her fist to her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

Shadow was also in pain. Blood gushed out of long cuts in his side and he was favoring his right leg. Trapped and hurt, he didn’t recognize the slave before him. The dragon’s terror overrode the link he shared with Torwin. It was new, after all—weak and untested.

They’re going to kill each other, Asha thought.

And she was going to be forced to watch.

“I remembered how much you loved the dragon fights,” Jarek said, his arms locked around her. “I thought I’d try to resurrect them for you.”

Asha swallowed down bile. She stared at Shadow, who circled the skral, getting ready to strike. The sun glinted off Torwin’s knife.

If Torwin killed Shadow, Asha would fail to uphold Elorma’s command to protect the dragon. The Old One would pour out his wrath. And this time, whatever punishment he struck her down with might never be undone.

And if Shadow killed Torwin . . .

Fire swelled in Asha’s belly and her hands tightened around Jarek’s arms. Her fingers dug into flesh and then muscle, driving for bone.

He yelped and his grip on her loosened. Asha leaped from his lap.

She’d taken three steps into the crowd when he grabbed her arm. From the murderous look in his eyes, he planned to never let go. In a single heartbeat, Asha unbuckled the plate of armor sheathing the arm he held and slid away, moving swiftly down to the pit.

When she reached the bars, she crouched. Shadow had charged Torwin, who dropped to the sand at the last moment. The belly was the easiest place to put a knife in. He could have struck a killing blow—but he didn’t.

His lips moved now. And if Asha strained, she could hear his voice. Trying to soothe Shadow. Trying to coax him.

Only this time, Torwin was using a story to do it.

“No. . . .”

The old stories strengthened dragons. They made it possible for them to breathe fire.

“Torwin, don’t!”

Shadow stopped himself just before hitting the wall and turned around, slitted nostrils flaring, red scales rippling. Torwin got to his feet, his lips still moving.

Shadow planted himself on all fours and reared back his head. His chest heaved. His belly glowed.

“No!” Asha screamed.

Soldats arrived at the edge of the pit. Asha stumbled out across the crisscrossed bars, losing her balance, then gaining it, out of their reach, into the middle. The crowd quieted as Asha clutched the bars beneath her, feet slipping more than once, and finally found a space wide enough to fit herself through.

She lowered herself, dangling above the pit as she realized how far the fall was. It wouldn’t break her, but it would hurt.

Shadow’s belly turned ember red.

Asha let go.

The air whooshed past her ears as she fell. Pain—bright and stark—rushed up her ankles and legs. She’d landed directly between the dragon and the slave. The crowd above her gasped.

Asha threw up her arms—one shielded with armor, the other bare. She saw her helmeted reflection glistening in those slitted eyes. The reflection of a hunter. An enemy.

The fire was coming and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Asha turned and ran for Torwin. Dropping to her knees before him, she covered his body with her own, protecting him with her armor. Taking his head in her hands, she pushed it down, shielding his face with her shoulder.