The old stories were like the branches of an argan tree and Kozu the thirsty root: cut off the root and the branches withered and died. To silence the First Dragon’s heart was to silence the stories forever, and with them, the Old One’s link to his people.
The moment Kozu died, the old ways would crumble and turn to dust.
Asha shook out her dark hair, running her fingers through it.
When she looked up, she found the slave staring. He turned his face away so fast, Essie squawked at the sudden movement. She flapped her white wings and flew off his shoulder.
“You need me,” he said without looking at her.
“What?”
“You said yourself he follows you.” He looked to where the dragon pounced on the hawk, dust-red scales rippling. A blur of white flew out from under him, screeching in annoyance. “As soon as you go back, what’s to stop him from flying after you again into the city?”
Essie’s flapping wings sounded like the soft hush ofDarmoor’s sea. The dragon stared into the sky, contemplating his lost prey, then slunk over to where Asha sat. He walked two circles around her and the slave, then sank to the ground, blocking the sunlight with his folded wings. Lying down, the dragon was roughly the height of a horse.
The slave was right: if she was going to complete this task, she’d need a way to keep the beast in place. She didn’t have time to teach it to stay. And she couldn’t risk it following her again.
The dragon nudged Asha’s arm. She ignored him. When he nudged harder, she moved away.
The slave clicked, dragging his attention from Asha and luring it to himself. He scratched the scaly chin, and the dragon’s eyes half closed with pleasure.
“Are you offering to watch the dragon for me?”
“For a price, yes.”
Asha’s skin prickled. “What price?”
“You promise to fly me to Darmoor when you finish your task.”
Asha started at him. Was heserious?
“If you fly me to Darmoor,” he said, “I can find work aboard a ship sailing far across the sea and you’ll never have to see me again.”
“I can’t just fly you wherever you want.”
“Why not?”
She looked to the dragon. “I—I’ve never ridden one.”
That’s how links between dragons and draksors were formed: in flight. This creature’s attachment was already an inconvenience. Asha didn’t want to deepen it.
“How hard can it be? Your ancestors did it.”
“The dragonsturnedon my ancestors. Besides, I don’t have time to fly you anywhere,” she said, looking to the pure blue sky. The daylight had whisked the waning moon away.
“And why’s that?”
All these infernal questions! Asha threw up her hands in surrender. “I only have three days left to hunt Kozu.”
The quirk in his mouth flattened.
Asha lowered her gaze to the dusty earth. “If I kill Kozu, my father will cancel my wedding.”
“What?”His brow furrowed. “Why would he—”
“My father is intent on destroying the old ways.” To escape his piercing look, she started tracing symbols in the dirt. The flower pattern from the sickroom tiles began to emerge: elegant, seven-petaled namsaras. “But the Old One keeps sending me ‘gifts,’ which always come with commands.... It seems to be his way of slowing me down.” She shook her head. “So you see, I can’t help you. I have only so much time.”
The slave was quiet a moment. “Afteryou kill Kozu,” he said, “then you could fly me to Darmoor.”
