Asha sat up. What was it Elorma had said about the Old One’s third gift?
Fireskin, he’d called it.
But what does that mean?
She had the tiniest spark of a notion.
Asha reached for the matches next to the lamp and lit one. When it flared to life, she held her breath. Very slowly, she held the quivering flame under her palm and started to count.
One. Two. Three.
Four. Five. Six.
Seven. Eight. Nine...
Nothing. No pain.
A slow smile spread across her lips. If she were impervious to fire, how much easier would killing Kozu be?
A hand shot out, knocking the match from her fingers. It hit the earth and died.
“What is wrong with you?” The slave crouched beside her, breathless. On his shoulder perched a hawk as white as mist. It stared at Asha with silvery eyes.
The sight of it startled her. “Is thatRoa’shawk?”
He reached up to touch its white feathers, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Her name’s Essie.” Shaking his head, he returned to the original subject. “Were you just trying to hurt yourself?” He frowned. As if Asha trying to hurt herself was something for him to be concerned about.
“Yes,” she said, looking up into his face. She reached for another match and lit it. Keeping her eyes locked on his stormy ones, she raised her hand above the flame and held it there. Ittickled. It warmed. But it never burned.
“It’s my third gift.”
The frown in his brow deepened. “What?”
Asha shook out the match. “He wants me to use it to steal the sacred flame.”
“Whowants you to use it?” His eyebrows were two hard, dark lines. He seemed exceptionally agitated this morning. Asha looked to the hawk—Essie—wondering if its presence was the reason. “What are you talking about?”
Their voices woke the dragon, who sat up.
“The Old One gave me this,” she said, raising the scarred hand she’d tried to burn. “Just like he gave me that,” she said, nodding to the dragon—now prowling through the grass toward them. “Just like he gave me those.” She pointed to the slayers, sheathed on the ground beside her. “And every gift comes with a command.”
He reached for her hand. Surprised, Asha let him take it. He frowned as he studied it, his thumb brushing across the rough, discolored skin, sending warmth blooming through her.
“That’s not possible,” he said. From her perch on his shoulder, Essie peered down too. “I just bandaged this a few days ago. It was completely raw.”
Asha watched the smooth sweep of his thumb. Once again, she thought of her mother, of the way she’d reach out and tuck a strand of Asha’s hair behind her ear. Or grab Asha as she ran down the corridor and pull her into a hug. Asha always squirmed away—she’d had better things to do.
Now, though, she wondered what those things were.
He let go of her hand, snapping Asha out of her memories.
“What is the command?” His gaze slid to her hair.
She ran her fingers over her braid and found it coming undone. “I have to steal the sacred flame and return it to the caves.”
“And you’re going to?”
“I don’t know.” Maybe she could just steal it temporarily. Until she killed Kozu. After that, the flame wouldn’t matter anymore. Nothing connected to the old ways would.
