When she reached the crimson canopy, the highest point in the arena with the clearest sight of the fights below, she saw Jarek. His usual black tunic, emblazoned with his crest—two crossed sabers—was gone. Instead he wore a white one with gold edging. Betrothal colors. The dress in her room would have matched it.
Jarek pulled her to him. Asha tensed.
“I have the perfect gift for you,” he said, his body humming with a strange energy. He didn’t seem to notice her attire.
The dragon king sat with his back straight and his citrine medallion on his chest. His fingers glittered with rings. Beside him stood a slave holding a platter of nougat and dried apricots. The king nodded to Jarek, giving him permission to begin.
Jarek raised the hand that held Asha’s into the air. Silence descended. All the eyes in the arena were on them in an instant.
“Tonight, the Iskari and I will be bound! Let this gift of mine be a testament to our formidable union!”
Applause roared in Asha’s ears. When silence fell again, it was her turn. She looked to Safire outside the tent, remembering a joke she’d made not so long ago.
I hear dragon hearts are in fashion these days, for betrothal gifts especially.
The Iskari turned to face her people. She knew what she had to do.
“Tonight, the commandant and I will be bound.” Her voice was neither loud nor confident. “Let this gift of mine be a testament to our long-lasting union!”
The applause this time was much more subdued. But Asha wasn’t finished. She pulled herself free of Jarek and stepped in front of him.
“Today I hunt the First Dragon!”
The applause deadened.
“Today I strike the final blow to the old ways and carve the evil out of my own soul!” A cold silence reared up as she turnedto her betrothed. “As a sign of my devotion, I will bring you Kozu’sheart. That will be my gift.”
No one clapped. No one breathed. All the eyes in the arena turned to the dragon king. When Asha herself turned to face her father, he raised his golden wine cup. Toasting her.Well played,his eyes seemed to say.
The arena erupted. But the reaction was divided: some draksors whooped and yelled; others spoke under their breaths, exchanging nervous glances.
Her hunt was out in the open now. They’d have to let Asha leave, so she could make good on her declaration.
“Let the fighting commence!” Jarek commanded, twining his fingers through Asha’s and drawing her down onto his lap.
Asha flinched. She wanted to rise. But she was playing a part now.
If she didn’t kill Kozu, she’d be playing it for the rest of her life.
A group of draksors below turned to the pit. They began to chant, pumping their fists in the air, awaiting the arrival of the fighters. More and more draksors took up the chant until the sound buzzed in Asha’s ears, drowning out everything else.
The interior of the pit was dark. The torches hadn’t been lit yet. All she could see were hordes of spectators—sitting or standing or betting at tables. Cheering and whooping. Waiting for the match to begin.
A sudden roar rippled through the crowd, disrupting the chanters and rattling Asha.
Jarek looped an arm around her waist, keeping her locked against him.
A dragon?She looked to the skies.Here?
But the sky was flawless cobalt blue. Nothing flew above them.
Unseated draksors made their way toward the benches. Jarek held tight, his body crackling with energy.
“I found something of yours,” he said above the noise. “You must have left it below the temple.”
He reached down beneath the bench. When his hand re-surfaced, it held a jeweled axe. The axe she’d given to Torwin.
Asha’s heart frosted over.
