A lump gathered in her throat. Thinking of Willa, she said, “Then may Death send his worst.”
Torwin cupped her neck with his hand, touching his forehead to hers.
“Cold to freeze the love in my heart.”
His thumb, warm from playing, brushed along her jaw.
“Fire to burn my memories to ash.”
He pressed his mouth against her throat, making Asha fumble her words.
“W-wind to force me through the gates.”
He trailed kisses up her neck, and Asha had to close her eyes against the pull of him.
“Time to wear my loyalty away.”
The kisses stopped.
“I’ll wait for you, Torwin—”
The final words were lost in the softness of his mouth.
Several heartbeats later, Asha broke away, needing to finish. “I’ll wait for you at Death’s gate.”
And there was the tapestry: its threads no longer fraying.
There was the tapestry: finished, whole.
“Do you promise?” he whispered, seizing her wrists and pulling her close.
She nodded.
“Ah, but you made me another promise once and you never came through on it. So how can I trust you?”
Asha frowned. “What promise?”
He placed her hands around his neck, then slid his arms around her waist as a honeyed hum rose up from the depths of his throat. It was the song he’d just been playing. While he hummed, he led her in the steps of a slow, three-beat dance.
“Torwin?”
“Mmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing with you.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Well, you’re about to learn, aren’t you.”
Asha smiled as his song filled the air around them. She laughed as she tripped over him when he tried to lead her in the steps. Soon though, her feet found the rhythm. Soon, she was twirling through the sand.
He pulled her back.
“You’re beautiful and precious and good,” he whispered. “And I love you.”
Asha looked up at him, there beneath the stars, and found herself starting to believe these things were true.
Maybe Greta was right. Maybe everyone did have a song in them—or a story. One all their own. If that were so, Asha had found hers.
And here she stood at the beginning of it.
Acknowledgments
I started writing this book when I was seventeen. Back then I was enamored of girls like Mulan, Eowyn, Xena, and Princess Mononoke. I desperately craved stories in which young women got to wield weapons or go to war or be fierce. I didn’t realize it then, but what I was looking for were girls breaking out of a cultural script that dictated who and what they could be. I was tired of the narrative that said women were inherently weaker, inherently victims. I didn’t see myself that way, nor did I see the women around me that way.
I wanted something different. So I started writing this story.
But writing the story is just the beginning. Something you don’t see when you pick up a book from the shelf is just how many people were involved in getting it onto that shelf. Though my name might be on the cover, The Last Namsara was by no means a solitary feat. These are the people who helped me make it what it is today. . . .
First and foremost: Heather Flaherty, my world brightener and fiercely optimistic agent. Thank you for fighting so hard for me and this book. I think we were waiting for you.
Kristen Pettit, my sweet and inimitable editor. I adore you. Thank you not only for making my books better, but for being so supportive of me.
The amazing team at the Bent Agency, including Jenny Bent (for making so many dreams come true), Victoria Cappello (for having endless patience with me and my pesky questions), and most especially my UK agent, Gemma Cooper, for finding my books the perfect UK home.
A big huge thank-you to the entire team at HarperTeen who helped turn this book into a beautiful reality, most especially: Renée Cafiero, Allison Brown, Martha Schwartz, Megan Gendell, Vincent Cusenza, Audrey Diestelkamp, Olivia Russo, Michelle Taormina (I can’t even count the hours I’ve spent staring adoringly at my cover), and Elizabeth Lynch (for being all-around amazing, but especially for writing jacket copy so beautiful it made me cry).
The entire team at Gollancz, but especially Gillian Redfearn and Rachel Winterbottom. I’m ridiculously excited and proud to be part of the Gollancz family.
My international coagents and foreign publishers: Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my stories would be translated into other languages and sold in countries so far from my own. Thank you for believing in this book.
My early readers (of various drafts): Cassandra Roach, Kayli Kinnear, Shannon Thomson, Leslie Morgenson, Amber Sundy, Andrea Brame, Rachel Stark, Emily Gref, Franny Billingsley, Traci Chee, Renée Ahdieh, Chris Cabena, Joan He, Michella Domenici, Hope Cook, Merrill Wyatt, Kamerhe Lane, Heather Smith, Amy Mathers, Tomi Adeyemi, Isabel Iba?ez, Kit Grant, Leila Siddiqui, and Geoff Martin. I’m probably forgetting someone. If I am, I’m so sorry!
Extraspecial thanks go to:
Franny Billingsley, for teaching me everything I know about storytelling.
Leila Siddiqui, for your honest feedback and kind help at the eleventh hour.
Art and Myrna Bauman, for letting me use the cottage whenever I need to escape the world and just write.
Leslie Morgenson, for telling me all those years ago that I am, in fact, a writer. You gave me the courage to go rogue.
Heather Smith and Nan Forler, for coffee, friendship, and general mischief-making.
My Pitch Wars cohort: I never expected to fall so hard in love with you all, but I did. It is a joy to be journeying with you.
My Pitch Wars mentors, Traci Chee and Renée Ahdieh: Thank you for dragging me out of the hole I’d dug myself into, then believing in and championing this book. Your mentorship was one of the best things to ever happen to me. Far better than book deals.
Brenda Drake: Thank you for working so tirelessly, thanklessly, and invisibly behind the scenes of Pitch Wars. You are a life changer.
Michella Domenici and Joan He, for your friendship and fangirling and willingness to drop everything when I need fresh eyes and another perspective. *squishes you both*
Isabel Iba?ez, for backseat conversations from Charleston to Orlando. For devouring this book “like a starving wolf.” But most of all for your love and support. Sweet friend: you are beautiful.
Hope Cook, for always being just a text away whenever I need to a) melt into a puddle of self-pity or b) go on an angry rampage. I love you, O wise one.
Chris Cabena, for chess games and SAGA reminders and patiently listening to me ramble through all my plot snags. I cherish you more than you know.
Tomi Adeyemi, for your friendship, wisdom, and support. For talking me off ledges and bringing me back to the heart of things. But most of all for being so proud of me.
Joanna Hathaway, I don’t know how I would have survived this year without you. You make me braver than I am on my own.