Safire would know what happened. She would know who undressed Asha.
If Asha sparred with her cousin, she could discover who, exactly, knew about her burn. And then, after determining whether her secret was safe, she could hunt down Kozu.
Tossing aside the covers, Asha slid out of bed and shivered as her bare feet touched the cold marble tiles. She glared at her cousin as she undid the buttons of her nightdress. It was times like these Asha was grateful she’d dismissed her house slaves years ago. They always trembled in her presence, which made everything take twice as long.
Holding both wasters in one hand, Safire tapped the ends of them impatiently against her boot. When Asha was fully dressed, they stepped out onto the latticed terrace, where narrow steps led to the rooftop. Below them stretched a garden of dusty date palms, blossoming orange trees, and hibiscuses. It once belonged to Asha’s mother. Date palms always reminded the late dragon queen of her home in the scrublands.
Asha breathed in the sweet smell.
But the night was waning, and with it, her time. She had only six days to hunt down Kozu.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said, taking her waster from Safire and starting up the steps.
At least her cousin would beat her quickly.
When Asha wasn’t hunting, sparring was their early morning routine: practice for Safire and helpful for Asha—who was a hunter more than a fighter—to learn how to defend herself. Mainly from Jarek.
Safire shrugged off her hooded saffron mantle and threw it down to the pebble-laden rooftop. Asha noticed its fraying seams and ragged hem. Her cousin shouldn’t have to wear something so tattered.
I’ll order a new one from the seamstresses and pretend it’s for me.
All around them, the rooftops of the palace stood empty. Over Safire’s shoulder, the horizon glowed a hazy gold and the sky shifted from dark blue to purple. With the sunrise came slaves going about their daily chores. These rooftops would be full of activity soon.
For now, though, there was just Asha and Safire.
“Why didn’t you tell me the dragons are breathing fire again?”
Safire swung her waster hard and Asha caught it with her own, the thud of wood on wood vibrating through her.
Her cousin might be useless in the face of a dragon, but she was far better than Asha at hand-to-hand combat. To survive in a world that preferred she didn’t exist, Safire had to be strong. And she was—her arms were knotted hard with muscles, and beneath the sheer force of her, Asha was buckling.
“Because... you’d worry... over nothing,” Asha said through gritted teeth.
Unable to hold her stance any longer, she ducked away,spinning her wooden waster out of the fall of her cousin’s.
“It seems I have reason to worry.” Safire recovered, then settled back into her fighting stance. “Considering you fainted in the middle of your father’s court. Don’t tell me it had nothing to do with your burn.”
Asha’s grip tightened around her waster’s smooth hilt. She’d hoped the fainting was part of the dream. “Did my father see?”
“Ofcoursehe saw.”
“What did he say?”
Safire circled Asha, planning her next attack. “Nothing. Jarek did all the talking. Or rather, the screaming—at his slave. Who caught you, by the way. If he hadn’t, they might still be scraping your brains off the tiles.”
Asha rolled her eyes. It wasn’tthatfar of a fall.
Suddenly Safire was there, her waster whistling through the air as she brought it down hard and fast. Asha barely had time to raise her own, barely managed to catch the blow—which still sent her backward.
“And if I hadn’t convinced the physician you were just dehydrated, he would have insisted on taking a closer look, and then he would have seen that burn.” She nodded toward Asha’s bandaged hand. “So you owe me.”
Asha lowered her waster.
Her father didn’t know, then.
Asha wiped the sweat off her forehead, relieved.
“Thank you.”
