And too quiet.
Footsteps rose up, crunching the dry pine needles littering the ground outside the tent. Asha rose from the dirt floor and tucked her axe into her belt.
This is it. They’ve secured the gate.
The tent flaps whispered open. Roa stood in the entrance, alone, with a torch in her hand. The tent flaps fell shut behind her, sealing them in together.
“Something’s wrong.” Her dark gaze sliced into Asha. “Essie’s returned, but the gates are shut tight.”
“What?”
“I think they’ve been captured.”
Fear spiked in Asha. Everyone she loved was in the city. They couldn’t be captured. Because that meant everyone sheloved was in the hands of the two people who wouldn’t think twice about hurting them—in order to hurther.
“Maybe there are too many soldats guarding the gate,” Asha said, wishing she was still leaning against the tent pole. Wishing she had something to bear her up. “Maybe they’re regrouping.”
“They’ve had all night to return and collect more soldiers. It’s almost dawn.” Roa lifted the tent flap, waiting for Asha. “We’re going in.”
They couldn’t go in on dragonback—not with the commandant in possession of so many hostages. Roa feared the sight of dragons would push Jarek to start taking lives, beginning with the least important.
Asha didn’t like to think about who the least important would be.
“The tunnel, then?”
Roa nodded, her eyes glittering in the torchlight.
A familiar craving curled like smoke in Asha’s belly. She wanted to hunt. Not a dragon, though. Never again would she hunt a dragon. Tonight she would hunt her own husband.
Roa whistled, holding up the torch. Out of the darkness two young women materialized. Asha recognized both of them from the night of Dax and Roa’s binding.
“This is Lirabel,” said Roa, touching the shoulder of Jas’s friend and then the girl beside her. “And Saba.”
Lirabel wore her gleaming black curls bound in a thick braid over her shoulder; Saba wore her hair in two plaits running down each side of her head. Judging by their belt quivers andthe bows slung over their shoulders, they were archers.
Three armed scrublanders against troops of soldats seemed like bad odds to Asha. She kept this thought to herself, though, too afraid Roa would change her mind and leave her behind. Taking the torch, Asha led them into the tunnel.
Roa’s white hawk swooped in after them.
The orange flame pierced the darkness as they walked deeper into rock. When they neared the tunnel opening, Lirabel touched Asha’s shoulder, stopping her. Taking an arrow from her quiver, the girl held it to the torch. The tip was wrapped in cloth and Asha could smell the alcohol it had been dipped in. The arrow lit and burned, bright and furious. Lirabel shot the arrow through the crypt, lighting up a much larger path than the torch would have, allowing them to see if anyone waited in the darkness.
Deciding the way was clear, Lirabel stepped out first. Asha followed her, leading them through the crypt, up the vaulted stairway, and into the temple. And all the while, Lirabel shot her arrows tipped with fire, making sure no enemies lurked ahead.
They should have run into someone by the time they reached the front doors. A guardian. Or a soldat. But the temple was silent and empty. It made the hair on Asha’s arms rise.
Roa pressed both hands against one of the front doors, ready to push it open, when Asha stepped on something.
“Wait,” she hissed, lifting her foot and crouching down to the floor. The glow of her torch illuminated a knife with a hilt made of ivory and mother-of-pearl.
Safire’s knife. The one she’d been sharpening in the tent.
Asha picked it up. The hilt was cold.
Safire never dropped her weapons—not by accident, not even in a fight. Which meant she’d left it here on purpose.
Asha’s eyes lifted to where the knife pointed: the temple entrance. Roa’s palms were still pressed against the door, ready to push. Her gaze met Asha’s, who shook her head. Rising, she motioned for the three scrublanders to follow her. Whatever Safire’s reason, Asha needed to put as much space as possible between them and the entrance.
She led them to the window that opened out to the pomegranate tree. The street below was just as empty as the temple. No torches burned in the narrow laneways. The only light came from the stars.
