“And our world is in dire need of sewing.”
Then Roa was gone, putting space between them as she nodded to Asha’s guards. They resumed their positions, severing Asha from her queen. With the entire courtyard still looking on, Roa returned to her husband’s side. Dax looked the most shocked of anyone.
Silence rang out in her wake. When the guards recovered, they reached for Asha’s arms and moved her through the scandalized court. They marched her through archways and down corridors, all the way back to her dungeon cell.
And their footsteps seemed less certain this time.
Forty-Nine
Asha couldn’t sleep that night. She sat in the dark, on the cold, damp floor of her cell, with Roa’s words running over and over in her mind. But even if what Roa said was true, what did it matter? There was still the law to contend with: Asha had killed a king, and the punishment for that was death.
She might be the Namsara, but she was about to become the dead Namsara.
Dawn was coming. And with it, the long lonely walk to the square.
How had Moria walked so bravely to her own beheading?
Trembling, Asha hugged herself and closed her eyes. She thought of the Rift, hoping this would calm her. She thought of the chattering bush chats and the wind whistling in the pines. She thought of the stars, like words on a scroll rolled out across the sky, and the bright, fierce sun.
She thought of the ones she loved best.
Safire.
Tears welled in her eyes.
And Dax.
Her vision blurred.
And—
The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, crashing through her thoughts. Asha turned her face to listen. Someone was bringing her breakfast.
The last meal she’d ever eat.
It seemed like forever before the guard shuffled his keys, sliding one into the lock. Forever before it turned and clicked and the heavy iron door slid open, letting orange torchlight sweep into her cell.
In the rectangle of light stood a kitchen servant, cloaked in a wool mantle. His face was hidden deep beneath its hood, concealing him from the Iskari’s deadly gaze. The lidded silver tray in his hands shone in the torchlight.
The guard withdrew the key. “She’s all yours.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, the servant hit him hard across the face with the tray. The ringing sound ricocheted off the walls. The keys fell to the floor a mere heartbeat before the guard did.
No food tumbled from the tray. Only a flutter of cloth.
With his comrade down, the second guard drew his saber. He thrust it at the servant, who blocked with the silver lid, kicked him in the groin, then slammed the lid down on his head.
The man dropped like a stone.
With both guards lying unconscious on the floor, the kitchen servant bent to pick up the keys and stepped into the cell.
From the floor, Asha slid back against the cold, damp wall, the shackles on her wrists and ankles clanking, her heart pounding like a drum.
“Who are you?”
In three strides, he closed the space between them and crouched down. Reaching for her wrist, he slid his thumb over the bump of her bone. His fingers were callused but gentle.
Warmth flickered through Asha. She knew that touch. Peering up into the darkness of the hood, she knew the face behind it even if she couldn’t see it.
He thumbed through the keys until he found the one that fitted her wrist shackles. It slid into the lock. With a swift click the heavy chains fell away, snaking to the floor. As he turned his attention to the chains around her ankles, Asha grabbed his wool mantle. With trembling fingers, she pushed back the hood.
The torchlight illuminated his hair and lit up his skin, revealing a multitude of freckles and eyes soft with worry.
“Torwin . . .”
At the sound of his name, he looked up. When their gazes met, he let go of her chains—just for a moment—and pulled her to him, breathing her in and burying his face in her hair. Asha curled her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him hard, not wanting to let go.
He went back to work trying several keys before finding the right one, desperate to get her unchained. The click came. The weight of her chains fell off for good. When the cold dungeon air brushed against her bare ankles, Asha let go of him.
Torwin remained, crouching over her, staring into her eyes.
“Asha . . .”
In that one word, she heard so much more than just her name.
She heard all the sleepless nights he’d spent pacing the ramparts, wondering what was happening to her. She heard all the shouted arguments he’d had with her brother, who was bound by an ancient law to sentence his own sister to death. She heard all the things that led him here, to the belly of the palace, with two unconscious guards at his back and the keys to her cell in his hand.
“You’re mad,” she whispered.
Smiling her favorite smile, Torwin slid both hands around her neck and kissed her.
Asha, who’d become accustomed to the harsh chill of the dungeon, dug her fingers into his hair. She pulled him into her, craving his warmth.
“Maybe I am,” he whispered back, breaking away. “Come on.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, then bent to pick something up off the floor. It was the garment that had fallen from the dinner tray—a pine-green mantle. Stepping in close, he flung it around Asha’s shoulders, tying the tassels at her throat, then flipped up the hood to conceal her face.
Together, they walked out into the torchlit bays of the dungeon. Through the long shadows stretching from wall to wall, Asha saw more unconscious guards. Some lying in the dirt, others half propped against the walls. One of them was already coming to, groaning softly.
“You did this?”
“I had help.”
They moved quickly through the shadow and torchlight and took the stairs up into the palace. They ran through sleepy corridors and silhouetted gardens. Past soldats making their nightly rounds. By the time the soldats realized who they were, Asha and Torwin were already down the hall or across the court or through the garden.
Frantic shouts and thudding boots rang out behind them. Asha thought they were making for the front gate, but when Torwin turned down hallways that led farther into the heart of the palace, she halted, thinking he didn’t know where he was going, and tried to drag him in the opposite direction.
“No,” he said. “This way.”
As three soldats careened into each other not twenty paces behind them, Asha decided to trust him.
Just when they hit a dead end, Torwin tugged her through a plain wooden door. Shutting it behind them, Asha found herself in a narrow, dusty passageway that smelled of mildew.
A secret passage.
Asha had grown up with rumors of the palace’s secret passageways, but she’d never found any, and had always thought that’s all they were: rumors.
“How did you find this?”
“Dax showed me.”
Asha marveled. What other secrets had her brother been keeping from her all these years?