“You were protectingyourself,” he said. And then, like she was a monster he could no longer bear to touch, he let go, turning away, running his hands roughly through his hair. “Greta gave me that lute.”
The image of the gray-haired slave flashed in Asha’s mind.
“She was the closest thing I had to a mother. And now she’s gone, along with the only thing I had to remember her by.”
Asha felt herself unravel. As if she were a carpet or a tapestry, and his words were claws tearing out all her threads.
“I didn’t...”
“And you don’t care, do you? It’s why you won’t speak the name of any slave. It’s the same reason you didn’t want to name that dragon.” He stepped toward her, closer than ever. “If you name us, you mightstartto care. And if you care, you might not be able to kill us when it suits you.”
Gone was the slave who hummed songs while he worked. In his place stood a stranger. An enemy. A part of her said to be afraid. But another part said:Look at the way his hands shake. Look at the ghosts in his eyes.Asha had lost her mother, but he’d lost so much more than that. And she’d just destroyed what was probably his most precious possession. Likely his only possession.
Her chest felt like someone had sunk an axe into it.
She didn’t realize what she was doing, or that she was doing it, until it was done. All she knew was, just like he’d bandaged her burn and stitched up her side, she wanted to dress this wound. She wanted to soothe this hurt.
Pressing her scarred palm to his chest, Asha broke her own rule.
“Torwin.”
His lips parted. He stared at her mouth as if he didn’t understand. As if she’d spoken another language entirely.
“I’m sorry.”
Very slowly, his fingers rose to touch her hand, checking to see if it was really there, really pressed against his chest.
She looked to the new lute, still in its case. “I’ll get it out of your sight.”
Her hand fell away from him.
“No.” He caught her wrist, stopping her. They both went still as his thumb trailed a circle around the bump of her wrist bone. “That wasn’t fair of me. You didn’t know.”
She stared up at him in the disappearing sunlight.
He dropped his hand to his side.
“You’re not heartless,” he said, staring into her eyes. “I hate myself for saying that.”
Asha looked away. “I should go.”
She gathered up her armor and buckled it on. After sheathing her slayers across her back, she reached for her axe, lying in the grass. Instead of putting it in her belt, though, she turned around.
“If they find you,” she said, holding the axe out to him, “don’t think. Just strike.”
He took the jeweled handle, his fingers brushing against hers.
Before making her way into the trees, she stopped, pausingin the spot where the sunlight ended and the darkness of the canopy began, still warm from where he’d touched her.
“Torwin?” she said, not daring to look back.
“Yes?”
“You could call me Asha. If you wanted to.”
Twenty-Four
A pair of soldats walked the street below. Asha held her breath and waited for them to turn the corner before jumping. Her boots landed with a soft thud, raising dust.
