The market fell silent. Slaves and shoppers gathered to whisper and stare as the Iskari bought an elegant lute made of burnished mahogany. They kept a wary distance as the craftsman buckled the lute into a hard leather case and the king’s fearsome daughter tossed the merchant her payment.
Scattering the watchers, she galloped toward the gate. The soldats didn’t stop the Iskari, despite their commandant’s order to disallow anyone in or out of the city. Her father had issueda direct order. One they couldn’t ignore, despite their loyalty to Jarek.
She rode hard. But when she got to the babbling, sparkling stream, no one waited for her. Asha halted Oleander, glancing around the clearing. Except for the bush chats and the wind rustling the pines, everything was silent. There were no signs anyone had ever been here. Asha couldn’t even find the armor she’d shed the night before.
Fear sliced through her.
Please, no....
Dismounting, she tied the mare up in the shade and grabbed the lute case.
“Skral?”
No one answered her.
She moved deeper into the pines, ready to call up an old story. It was the fastest way to know for sure. Before she could, the sound of voices broke through the hush of trees and Asha stilled, listening.
Careful not to make a sound, she followed the muffled voices, moving ever closer, silent as a snake.
A twig cracked behind her.
Asha froze.
Someone was following her. She could feel the warmth of them at her back. Asha reached for an axe that wasn’t there, then quickly spun, ready to batter her stalker with the lute case if necessary.
The skral stared down at her. Freckles like stars. Tendrils of hair falling into sharp eyes. Just behind him crouched thedusty-red dragon, its slitted gaze intent on her face. Asha lowered the case. Despite her racing heart, the sight of them safe made her breathe easier.
The slave glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the voices. Asha reached for his shirt, bringing his attention back to her. Her lips formed a question:Who?
Jarek’s men.
The slave motioned with his head back the way they’d come. Asha followed him through the thinning trees and out into the bright clearing.
Suddenly voices echoed from aheadandbehind.
And then, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, the slave reached for the dragon’s wing bone, stepped into the crook behind its knee, and mounted. Straddling the dragon’s back, he reached down for her.
Asha gaped at him in shock and horror.
Another twig snapped in the trees. It broke through her shock. Asha took his hand and he pulled her up behind him.
“Hold on,” he whispered.
But there was nothing to hold on to—other than him.
The slave made a sharp click in the back of his throat and the dragon stretched its wings. The slave clicked twice more, then dug in his heels.
The dragon launched.
Asha panicked and looped her arms around his torso.
A wall of trees rose directly ahead. The dragon soared straight for it. Asha’s heart thundered in her chest. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the slave’s neck. But the crash never came.
The slave flinched beneath her viselike grip, reminding her of the lacerations beneath his shirt.
“Sorry,” she managed, yet couldn’t bring herself to loosen her hold.
“It’s... okay,” he said through gritted teeth.
