Thud... thud.
The scraping sound stopped.
Rearing back its head, the dragon screamed in hate at the Iskari. Just before its heart stopped beating, flames rushed out of its throat.
Asha stepped in front of her cousin.
“Get down!”
Asha’s ungloved hand was still outstretched. Exposed. Fire engulfed her fingers and palm, searing the skin. She bit down on her scream as pain lanced through her.
When the fire stopped and the dragon collapsed, dead, Asha turned to find Safire on her knees, safe and sound in the sand. Shielded from the flames.
Asha let out a shaky breath.
Safire stared at her cousin’s hand. “Asha. You’re burned.”
Asha pushed off her helmet and lifted her palm to her face. The charred skin bubbled. The pain blazed, bright and hot.
Panic sliced through her. It had been eight years since she’d been burned by a dragon.
Asha scanned her hunting slaves, all of whom were lowering their shields. They wore no armor, only iron—iron in their arrows and halberds and spears, iron in the collars around their necks. Their eyes fixed on the dragon. They hadn’t seen the Iskari get burned.
Good. The fewer witnesses, the better.
“Dragonfire is toxic, Asha. You need to treat that.”
Asha nodded. Except she hadn’t brought supplies for a burn treatment. She’d never needed them before.
To keep up appearances, she moved for her pack. From behind her, Safire said very softly, “I thought they didn’t breathe fire anymore.”
Asha froze.
They don’t breathe fire without stories,she thought.
Safire got to her feet and dusted off her leather armor. Her eyes dutifully avoided Asha’s as she asked, “Why would they start breathing firenow?”
Asha suddenly wished she’d left her cousin behind.
But if she’d left Safire behind, there wouldn’t just be remnants of a bruise on her jaw. There would be far worse.
Two days before Asha had set out on this hunt, she found Safire cornered by soldats in her own room. How they’d gotten in without a key, she could only guess.
As soon as Asha entered, they panicked, scattering in the presence of the Iskari. But what about next time? Asha would be hunting for days, and her brother, Dax, was still in the scrublands, negotiating peace with Jarek, the commandant. There was no one to keep a watchful eye out for their skral-blooded cousin while Asha hunted. So she’d brought Safire with her. Because if there was anything worse than coming home empty-handed, it was coming home to Safire in the sickroom again.
Asha’s silence didn’t dissuade her cousin in the least.
“Remember the days when you would set out at dawn and bring a dragon down before dinner? Whatever happened to those days?”
The searing pain of her blistering skin made Asha dizzy. She fought to keep her mind clear.
“Maybe things were too easy back then,” she said, whistling at her hunting slaves, signaling them to start the dismemberment. “Maybe I prefer a challenge.”
The truth was, dragon numbers had been dwindling for years and it was getting harder to bring their heads back to her father. It was why she’d turned to telling the old stories in secret—to lure them to her. The old stories drew dragons the way jewels drew men. No dragon could resist one told aloud.
But the stories didn’t just lure dragons. They made them stronger.
Hence, the fire.
