A flower so rare, it was almost a myth.
Roa stepped forward. Tucking the stem behind Asha’s ear, she whispered, “The old stories say Namsara is a needle sewing the world together.”
Asha was too startled to respond.
“And our world is in dire need of sewing.”
Then Roa was gone, putting space between them as she nodded to Asha’s guards. They resumed their positions, severing Asha from her queen. With the entire courtyard still looking on, Roa returned to her husband’s side. Dax looked the most shocked of anyone.
Silence rang out in her wake. When the guards recovered, they reached for Asha’s arms and moved her through the scandalized court. They marched her through archways and down corridors, all the way back to her dungeon cell.
And their footsteps seemed less certain this time.
Forty-Nine
Asha couldn’t sleep that night. She sat in the dark, on the cold, damp floor of her cell, with Roa’s words running over and over in her mind. But even if what Roa said was true, what did it matter? There was still the law to contend with: Asha had killed a king, and the punishment for that was death.
She might be the Namsara, but she was about to become thedeadNamsara.
Dawn was coming. And with it, the long lonely walk to the square.
How had Moria walked so bravely to her own beheading?
Trembling, Asha hugged herself and closed her eyes. She thought of the Rift, hoping this would calm her. She thought of the chattering bush chats and the wind whistling in the pines. She thought of the stars, like words on a scroll rolled out across the sky, and the bright, fierce sun.
She thought of the ones she loved best.
Safire.
Tears welled in her eyes.
And Dax.
Her vision blurred.
And—
The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, crashing through her thoughts. Asha turned her face to listen. Someone was bringing her breakfast.
The last meal she’d ever eat.
It seemed like forever before the guard shuffled his keys, sliding one into the lock. Forever before it turned and clicked and the heavy iron door slid open, letting orange torchlight sweep into her cell.
In the rectangle of light stood a kitchen servant, cloaked in a wool mantle. His face was hidden deep beneath its hood, concealing him from the Iskari’s deadly gaze. The lidded silver tray in his hands shone in the torchlight.
The guard withdrew the key. “She’s all yours.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, the servant hit him hard across the face with the tray. The ringing sound ricocheted off the walls. The keys fell to the floor a mere heartbeat before the guard did.
No food tumbled from the tray. Only a flutter of cloth.
With his comrade down, the second guard drew his saber. He thrust it at the servant, who blocked with the silver lid, kicked him in the groin, then slammed the lid down on his head.
The man dropped like a stone.
With both guards lying unconscious on the floor, the kitchenservant bent to pick up the keys and stepped into the cell.
From the floor, Asha slid back against the cold, damp wall, the shackles on her wrists and ankles clanking, her heart pounding like a drum.
