“I think... ,” he said after a stretched-out moment, his gaze intent on her face, “I think the goddess Iskari was forced to be something she didn’t want to be.”
That wasn’t any kind of answer. Asha was about to say so when he went on.
“Iskari let others define her because she thought she didn’t have a choice. Because she thought she was alone and unloved.”
He turned on his side, propping himself on his elbow and looking down at her.
“The first time I heard them callyouIskari, I hunted down her story. I didn’t care about the danger or the law. I found an old beggar in the market who was willing to tell it to me. And, Asha, when I heard it, it didn’t sound like a tragedy to me.”
“Of course it’s a tragedy.” Asha frowned up at him. “Shediesat the end. She dies all alone.”
“But is that the end?” His mouth turned up at the side and Asha felt herself soften beneath him. “I don’t think it is. What of Namsara? He goes looking for her. The sky changes seven times before he finds her. And then, when he does find her, he falls to his knees and he weeps.Because he loves her.Because she was never as alone as she thought she was. She was never justlifetaker. To him, she wassister. She was precious. It’s a love story, Asha. A tragic one, to be sure. But a love story, still.”
Asha studied his much-thinner face above her. The line of his jaw. The curve of his mouth.
“Does Iskari hate herself?” His voice shifted into something tender. “Of course she does.” He said this like he was only just realizing it. Like Asha’s question had forced the realization. “I used to get angry with Namsara for letting it all happen. I used to get angry with Iskari too for living out the role she’d been forced into. For never once trying to be something else.”
Torwin brushed aside a strand of Asha’s hair, tucking it behind her scarred ear.
“I got angry with Iskari for never looking around her. To the ones who loved her. To the ones who could save her.”
“But no one can save her.”
“How do you know? She never lets anyone try.”
That night, Asha had a nightmare.
She dreamed she stood in the shadows of the dungeon and before her loomed an iron door. Horrible sounds came from behind it. Sounds of the shaxa tearing at someone’s back. Sounds of bones being snapped. Sounds of a body contorting in terrible ways.
And through it all, she heard a voice, begging.
No... please, no....
When the begging turned to screaming, she realized that she knew the owner of the voice. And because she knew him, she threw herself against the door. She pounded it with her fists.She searched for the key—only there wasn’t a keyhole. There was no way to get in.
She couldn’t save him. Couldn’t free him.
Could only listen while they killed him.
Asha woke in a sweat, breathing hard. Someone stood over her, silhouetted by the sun shining behind him. With the nightmare lingering on the backs of her eyelids, she bolted upright. Panic flared through her.Jarek.Jarek was here. She turned to find the carpet empty beside her. Torwin was gone.
“Asha.”
Asha scrambled up and away. Her back hit the makeshift desk full of Callie’s tools, which scattered and fell. She ran trembling hands along the floor, searching for something to use as a weapon.
“Asha.”
That voice.
It made her stop. Her breath scraped out of her lungs, loud and ragged. She looked up. Squinting through the sunlight, she found her brother crouching beside her.
“You’re all right. You’re safe.”
Her surroundings shifted, no longer tainted by the nightmare. Her brother’s voice brought clarity and vision. Dax stared down at her, cloaked in a gray mantle with a mud-stained hem. His dark brows drew together over eyes full of concern. Beyond him, the canvas walls were bright with morning sunlight. The still-burning lamp sat on the rug next to a half-finished flight coat.
“Where’s Torwin?”
Very carefully, Dax said, “Being tended.”
