House of ashes dragoness.., p.29
House of Ashes (Dragonesse Book 1), page 29
“You want me to bow my head…” Chantrelle mused, her eyes coming to rest on me. “To the daughter of a murderess. A traitor. I still smell the filth of that island on you.”
I managed to smile, though I burned inside. “I have never murdered anyone. You can ask the scribes of Koressis, and they will all say the same: I am innocent of any wrongdoing.”
With the exception of breaking the Law of Claims…but that was neither here nor there. There would be no record anywhere that I was a traitor.
“The blood will out,” the older draga hissed, and Rhylan stepped forward.
He was so much taller than her, a solid wall of menace, and even Chantrelle seemed to take note of that. She shrank away, her eyes fixed on his glittering gaze.
“What can we do to change your mind?” he asked. “I will not break my mate bond to Serafina, but I will protect you when Yura comes for you. I will give you gifts from our vault. What would it take, Chantrelle? Or would you rather burn for the sake of your pride?”
She licked her lips, straightened her shoulders, and only then did I see that her hands were trembling.
Not with fear…but with pure rage. The hate in her eyes burned as hot as a dragon’s flames as she looked up at him.
“You’ve already failed all of my expectations, boy,” she said, full of quiet venom. “That was your last chance. I offered you everything and you spat in my face. There is nothing you could give me now that would make me change my mind.”
She swept past him, bumping him with one bony shoulder. The draga seemed about to do the same to me—but at the last moment she veered away, barely avoiding contact. Perhaps she feared Rhylan would retaliate in kind.
Maristela gazed after her with a helpless look on her face, and Elinor’s expression was stony, but unsurprised.
An icy coldness had settled in my gut.
This was the meeting that had mattered the most. Without the Shadowed Stars backing us, Tyria would see no security in joining us, in risking the lives of her entire family.
Our first diplomatic mission to secure our Court’s future was an utter failure.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Despite Chantrelle’s uncouth exit, we clearly weren’t to be unceremoniously expelled from Kirion Eyrie.
Maristela took my elbow, keeping her voice low as she leaned in. “Stay the night. Talk with us. I know she…she is what she is, but not all of us feel the same.”
I tried to gather my thoughts, somehow both unsurprised at Chantrelle’s vitriol, and yet taken aback at what she had said to me.
I’d gone into this knowing that no matter what I did, the taint of my House’s shame would stick to me for a while…and might never wash off. Regardless of my mother’s guilt or innocence, she had gotten me into this mess, and now many highborn dragonbloods would have good cause to look down on me.
I also knew that it wasn’t really me she despised…she would hate anyone Rhylan had chosen who wasn’t Maristela. But knowing that didn’t soothe the sting.
I might always be considered the spawn of a murderer. Always be considered filth despite my innocence.
And she had known precisely where to hit me, in the tender spot that would make me question myself.
Was I a worthy Dragonesse? Or a haughty pretender, trying to reclaim what had long since ceased to be mine?
If Rhylan had mate bonded with Maristela, no one would have hesitated to join their Court…the might of Shadowed Stars and the ancient blood of Obsidian Flame would have crushed Yura’s claim on the Circle before she even realized she had lost…
Oh, gods. I was the one holding Rhylan back. He could have had his revenge for his sister, if only he had made a different choice.
Rhylan’s arm suddenly descended around my shoulders. “We’d love to stay,” he said warmly, pulling me to his chest. “I’d like a moment alone with my mate, please.”
I looked up at him, startled, and as Maristela walked away, he leaned in close.
“Brooding again, hmm? It’s that look you get,” he murmured. “This one.”
He pulled the hideous face, crossing his eyes and flaring his nostrils.
“I swear to the gods, Rhylan—”
His expression grew serious. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it now. Even if I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have mate bonded with Maristela. There is no one in Akalla—or in the Wildlands, or the Western Shore, or the Scar of the damn World, if you want to be cheeky about it—that I would rather be making this gamble with than you. So don’t listen to a damn word she says, because none of it is true.” He brushed his fingers along my cheek. “I was there with you then. I’m here with you now. Do you hear me?”
I nodded, rendered mute by his touch, held completely by his eyes.
Rhylan leaned in, lips just brushing my ear. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine.
“Besides, she’s a damn liar, because you smell fucking delicious, and I’d eat you up right now…” He nipped my lobe, drawing a gasp. “But I think I’ll make you wait for it.”
He drew back, his mouth teasing, his gaze serious.
Once again, he had rendered me breathless, and I was torn between desire to give in, and annoyance that he could make me consider giving in at all.
“Are you two coming, or do we need to clear out this part of the eyrie?”
Elinor’s wry tone cut through my intense inner need to get closer to Rhylan. I tried my best not to flush as I took in her raised brows, and she beckoned to us.
“We’re having dinner,” she said. “Without Chantrelle, mind you.”
Which made dinner in Kirion sound all the more appealing. I didn’t think I could stomach food while tolerating Chantrelle’s insults with a smile.
She brought us through the maze of hallways, but instead of leading us to a formal dining room, she stopped in front of a door and knocked.
“Chantrelle doesn’t come back here,” she said, making a face. “These are all Maristela’s rooms.”
The sound of a lock being undone preceded the princess of the Shadowed Stars opening the door for us.
“Will Gaelin be around tonight?” Rhylan asked her, guiding me into the room with his hand in the small of my back. I was grateful he’d been the one to make conversation; although I recognized these dragonbloods on sight, I wasn’t sure what to say to them.
It was a strange realization that I was finally making. Nerezza had been so intent on perfection that could never be fully achieved, on molding me into the perfect heir, that I had been completely left out of the bonds of friendship that I should have formed in those earlier years.
I had eaten, slept, and sweated next to Maristela for three years… and I knew nothing else about her but her rank and lineage. The core of her being, whatever made her herself, was a complete mystery to me.
For the first time, I silently cursed my mother for what she had molded me into. Maybe it had made me self-sufficient enough to survive Mistward Isle, but it had also made me cold, standoffish, doomed to always be on the outskirts of a group and never truly a part of it.
I forcefully shoved those thoughts away and smiled at Maristela. To her credit, she didn’t treat me any differently than she did Rhylan; she waved a hand casually at the overstuffed sofas scattered around the room. “Not until tomorrow. He’s carrying a message back to Diraek Eyrie—we’ve all heard about Yura’s first attack, Rhylan. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
I didn’t miss that she said ‘I’, not ‘we’. There would be no aid from the greater part of her House.
Rhylan inclined his head, eyes dark, and led me to a soft, charcoal gray couch. I sank into it at his side, trying to look relaxed, like I belonged in this company.
Maristela’s rooms were much cozier than the large, open air hallways of the rest of the eyrie. A fire crackled under a large mantle, and midnight blue glass lanterns gave off a soft glow. Doric sprawled on the couch opposite us, and Elinor curled up at his side, smiling a little as his eyes flicked to her.
Internally writhing in discomfort, I glanced at Rhylan, as though he had just said…something very amusing? The gods only knew what Rhylan would be saying in my head right now.
My palms were clammy as Maristela offered me a glass of wine. “Thank you,” I murmured, taking a sip in the hopes that it would loosen my muscles. My entire body felt tight as a wire, stress battering me from all sides.
Elinor fixed her eyes on me as she drank from her own glass. I was so distracted by her direct gaze that I almost didn’t notice when a young Bloodless woman brought in trays of food, laying them out on the long, low table between us.
“Help yourselves.” Maristela settled on her own couch, tucking her feet beneath her and drawing a soft wool blanket over her shoulders. “I don’t have an appetite right now, especially after…that.” She drank deeply from her own glass, scowling out the window. “It’d be so much easier to deal with her if Gaelin was here. He doesn’t bow to her wyvernshit.”
Fingers tickled my shoulder. Rhylan ran his thumb up and down, smoothing my silver scales, as though the movement were as natural as breathing.
It was suddenly hard to breathe; I tipped my head towards his shoulder. Act natural. Act like mates. How hard can it be?
“Neither do you.” Elinor reached out for the bottle, refilling her glass. “Or else we wouldn’t be sitting here plotting how to undermine her, among other things.” She snatched up a clump of grapes, feeding one to Doric.
“Well, she deserves to be undermined. I have no desire to see our House fall to Yura,” Maristela said flatly. “Maybe that hellspawn would let her live long enough to realize that she’s destroyed us all, but I doubt it. Rhylan, at least you came through for the First Claim. She was shocked.” Her irritation gave way to a stifled laugh.
“We all were.” Elinor gave me a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t expecting you to be the surprise, Sera. Everyone thought you were long dead.”
My smile faltered, and I fixed it back in place in a haze of panic.
I didn’t want to talk about this again. To be reminded that those long, empty years when nobody came for me were a fully planned-out design.
“Lucky for me that everyone was wrong,” I said, gripping the wine glass so tightly I felt my knuckles whiten. Rhylan squeezed me a little, his warmth soaking into me. I felt him turn his head, felt his lips brush my hair.
Doric spun a lock of Elinor’s hair around his finger, and her head inclined towards him. Her gaze flickered.
“You probably don’t want to talk about it, though,” she added hastily. I silently thanked Doric, whose pale blue eyes were a little too knowing. “How did you find each other again?”
Oh, gods. I could only imagine telling them about the Wyvern’s Whore, about creeping into town with two half-moons in my pocket, caked with filth, about the desperate drunken crush of ferrymen and exiles, screaming curses at my father’s name…and how Kalros had grabbed me, threatened to rape me until the mate bond was established.
They had probably never experienced such a situation in their lives. Like the old Sera, who did not understand how bad things could get, it would be entirely outside their comprehension.
I was already essentially a stranger to them. That story would make me a complete outsider.
“I spent days flying around Mistward.” Rhylan settled an arm fully over my shoulder, grazing my cheek with his knuckles. “There’s a dead eyrie there, from Riona’s time. Sera had claimed it as her territory. When I came for her, she needed a little convincing.”
It took me a second to understand what he was on about, and when I did, I was so full of gratitude I could’ve burst.
He wasn’t going to tell them the truth: that I’d been on the last vestiges of survival, half-wild, reeking of shine and wearing rags.
He would make it out to be a romantic tale. All for my sake. So they wouldn’t look at me with pity in their eyes.
“Not too much convincing,” I said, my voice a little husky as I looked up into those deep blue eyes.
“You considered shoving me out of the eyrie.” He raised a brow. “Deny it. I dare you.”
That was true, at least. “I only considered it for about three seconds.”
We grinned at each other.
“So when she didn’t push me out, I got down and begged her for forgiveness. I had to confess to everything.” Rhylan didn’t break our shared gaze, his thumb stroking my cheek now. “That from the first time I saw her, I knew she was meant to be mine. That every single day in the Training Grounds was torture, believing that little shit Tidas would be bonded to her instead of me.”
My heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t be serious. This was a little too far for a story.
“I had to tell her that I spent years waiting for her to realize that he wasn’t worth a second of her attention and to push him aside. That I came for her because she was everything I wanted in a mate, and if she could find it in herself to forgive me…there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
Little butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach as he spoke. Surely this was just…gilding the lily. He didn’t need to take the story so far into the realms of the fantastic.
I responded lightly. “Of course I couldn’t say no after that.”
“I wouldn’t have let you. Not after I flew all that way to pour my heart out.” Rhylan tapped the tip of my nose.
If only they knew the truth…that he’d forced me to bathe, that I’d spat over the side of the eyrie at him, that he’d half-killed me to bring me to Jhazra.
But that wouldn’t be a lovely tale for gossip to carry to distant ears. This version would creep through the grapevine, give us a saccharine glow, make the romantics sigh.
Which Elinor did a moment later. “We’ve been waiting for years for you two to figure it out. My gods, it’s about time.”
But Maristela’s mind had taken a different tack. “An eyrie from Riona’s time?” She looked to Doric, who finally broke his silence to nod.
“Probably Ebon Wings,” he said quietly, and I breathed a sigh of relief that they were no longer looking at me.
“I wonder if the Ascendant lives,” I heard Maristela mutter, but Rhylan had stolen my attention again.
He leaned forward and filled a plate from the table; toasted slices of bread, thick strawberry jam, paper-thin slices of meat.
“You need to eat something,” he said quietly, offering it to me.
At any other time, I would've descended on the food like an animal, but being in the same room as my past peers had made me so nervous my stomach was in knots. I picked at the food, trying to remember to occasionally glance at Rhylan like he’d spoken, to offer a bite the way Elinor did for her highly-reserved mate.
But when I fed Rhylan, I felt his lips against my fingers. I was hyper-aware of every inch of his body against me, and the feel of his lips was almost too much. I found myself focusing on him to the detriment of losing the thread of the conversation.
“It’s been all the talk,” Maristela was saying to Doric, cutting through my intense internal analysis of exactly how Rhylan’s lips would feel…elsewhere. “She’s the Drakkon’s eldest daughter. If my mother had any sense at all, she would’ve thrown herself into their Court. Even the Raging Tempests are reconsidering their neutrality. They were some of Nasir’s loudest supporters after the war on Vhaiothez. No matter what Yura says, Sera’s claim is far more solid than hers. And she’s a scion, so no one will dare question if she’s really Sera, and not an imposter.”
“I thought that might come up,” Rhylan replied. “They saw her for themselves. If they have any doubts, she’s already brought her Ascendant out of the Dreamlands to speak for her.”
Gods, I hadn’t considered that my miraculous return might have some of the Houses wondering if Rhylan had found an impersonator…but Maristela was right. Myst’s bloodline didn’t lie.
And I knew talk would have been going around after the First Claim: Houses would be quietly maneuvering, deciding who to back. The thing was, I had always considered myself Nerezza’s daughter first and foremost. The Silvered Embers was the House I laid claim to.
But those who thought our Court might have a chance weren’t seeing Nerezza’s daughter, the princess of Silvered Embers. They weren’t even thinking of my mother’s conviction.
They were seeing Nasir’s daughter. The first child of the Drakkon. My House’s wealth might sway some, but it was the fact of my father’s lineage that would win me allies.
Because I despised Nasir so intensely, I had, in a way, stopped considering myself his daughter. He was nothing to me.
But I couldn’t think like that. Not if I wanted to win the throne by the right of might. I needed to…if not make peace with Nasir’s memory, then at least be willing to use it for my own gain.
He owed me that much, at least.
I chewed thoughtfully, listening to Rhylan as he said, “The Drakkon was my Preceptor. There’s two lines of connection to the Drakkon between us—if Undying Light doesn’t take that as a sign, then I’d have to wonder what Yura has on them.”
Maristela shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The question is, who doesn’t Yura have dirt on? But realistically, if everyone plays their cards right, she has no chance. If we hit her hard and fast, take out the Bloodied Talons, then the other Houses will join your Court. Nasir’s daughter is your mate, and he trained you himself. Kirana has ties of goodwill with too many Houses for Yura to sever. And you have me and Gaelin, at least.”
“And us,” Elinor said, who was on her fourth glass of wine. I’d given up after my first; her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling when she looked at her mate.
“You’re wrong on one count,” I said grimly, and both Maristela and Elinor looked surprised to see me speak. “She absolutely has a chance. You have to understand about my sister…she will not stop fighting, not even when she’s been backed into a corner. She’ll be even more dangerous if she has nothing left to lose. We can hit her hard and fast, but if she survives it, she’ll be deadlier than ever.”
