His mouth quirked up.
She shouldn’t have looked. If she hadn’t, she might have left.
But if she’d left, she wouldn’t have noticed the hunch of his thinning shoulders or the way his hands shook a little too hard as he worked. He looked wasted, there in the lamplight, with a half-sewn coat spread out across his lap and extra needles and thread on the rug beside him. He looked the way her brother had, before the revolt.
Fear gnawed at her insides.
But I’ve been so careful. Why is this happening?
Asha loosened the tassels around her throat. She stepped back into the tent, letting the mantle fall from her shoulders as she sank down next to him on the woven grass rug. Leaning across his lap, she grabbed a needle and thread, taking stock of his symptoms and trying to match them with her mother’s.
Rapid weight loss, unnatural exhaustion, tremors...
Maybe she should keep him away from the dragons entirely. Dragons told stories too, in their own silent way. Maybe, somehow, they were the cause....
“Do you even know how to use that?”
His question startled her out of her thoughts. It was the same question she’d asked herself about him and the arrows, down in the pit. Asha met his gaze with a glare.
“How do you think I made all my armor?” she said, threading the needle and setting to work on the other sleeve.
When his knee fell against hers, she looked up to find him smiling. Something sparked inside her. She shouldn’t have, but she let her leg relax against his. Just this once.
They worked in weary silence. When they finished attaching the sleeves of one coat, they moved on to the next one. Halfway through, Torwin started humming that mysterious tune. But by then, Asha was having trouble keeping her eyes open.
When Torwin noticed, he took the needle from her. “Time to sleep, fiercest of dragon hunters.”
Asha was too tired to correct him: she didn’t hunt dragons anymore.
She didn’t want to be the Iskari anymore.
Asha pressed her palms to the rug, about to rise and make the long trek back through the woods, to the tent she shared with Safire, when Torwyn touched her hand.
“Stay.”
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I can’t.”
“Asha.”
Her name tugged at her. She looked up to find his eyes warm and feverish. He looked so fragile tonight. It worried her.
She looked away. “Fine. I’ll stay until you finish the coat.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Wake me when you’re done,” she said, curling up on the rug beside him and closing her eyes. A heartbeat later, he pulled her mantle over her. A heartbeat after that, a dream rose up to claim her. A dream about her namesake, the goddess Iskari.
Much later, Torwyn set aside his needle and thread and stretched out beside her. Asha woke. She turned to find him on his back, elbows crooked, hands cradling his head as he stared up at the canvas tent ceiling.
With her dream echoing in her mind, she forgot about the danger.
“Torwin?” she whispered.
He turned his face toward her.
“Do you think the goddess Iskari hated herself?”
It wasn’t the question he expected. She could tell by the way he sucked in a breath, like she’d elbowed him in the stomach.
