Page 104 of House of Ashes
I scowled at him, but Rhylan seemed perfectly happy to play the game of flirtatious mate, resting a possessive hand in the small of my back as we followed Maristela, Elinor, and Doric through an arched doorway and into their eyrie, where a maze of branching corridors expanded before us. The walls were the same glittering gray granite as the plateau outside, polished to a mirror-like sheen.
I made myself breathe, in and out with every other step, sensing the rising tide of anxiety that threatened to crash over my head and drown me under its waves.
Because in the end, I was just a young draga, completely untried in the politics of Houses and thrones, with no army to my name. Compared to Chantrelle…she would see me as only an upstart, trying to scrape my way back from the depths of disgrace to take the one prize she’d been trying to claim for decades.
As Maristela led us to another large archway, and I caught a glimpse of the enormous room beyond, the small figure waiting at the other end, I wished I did have the mind-speech with Rhylan, that I could share even a tiny portion of the fear within me. And hear him tell me, without a single word spoken, that all would be well.
I had never visited Kirion Eyrie before, but this was clearly the seat from which Chantrelle ruled. The Lady sat straight-backed and grim-faced in a tall chair of the same pale, bleached ash wood we used in Varyamar.
She looked much the same as she had during the First Claim: her long white-blonde hair flowing in a river down her back, amethysts glittering on every conceivable part of her body where she could fit a jewel. Like her eldest daughter, she had the dusky blue scales of her House emblazoned on the high points of her cheeks, cascading down over her shoulders and hands.
“Serafina,” she said, her tone icy and unwelcoming. “Rhylan.”
It was a deliberate snub, refusing to acknowledge our titles. Unfortunately for Chantrelle, it would take far more than that to irritate me into making a mistake.
And then I felt Rhylan’s hand again, a quick double-pat on my spine before he pulled away.
I hid a smile as I bowed alongside him, managing to follow his motion exactly so that we moved as one.
“Lady Chantrelle,” he said as he rose, giving the title reserved for a draga who had never mate bonded, and would never have a claim to a throne. “We appreciate your hospitality.”
Chantrelle’s lips peeled back from her teeth, displaying them in a ferocious sneer. “Save your pretty manners, Rhylan. You’ve come to beg me to join your Court.”
I thought it unwise to dissemble, and clearly Rhylan thought so, too. “Yes. Many of our hopes rest on you, Lady.”
“Oh, I know.” Chantrelle’s sneer became a sour grin for a few seconds. “I alone hold the power to make you Drakkon now.”
It took every last drop of willpower in me to not audibly grit my teeth. She would allow us to beg…only so she could hold our requests over our heads, before grinding it into the dirt under her heel.
But she was right; she alone, of all the Houses in Akalla, held the power now.
“Would you support me as Drakkon?” Rhylan asked bluntly, and then, shocking me— “Or would you rather have a fit that I didn’t take your bridle and run with your plans?”
Larivor help us, I hadn’t known he’d go into this by insulting her.
Chantrelle stood up abruptly, fists balled.
“You…” She sputtered, before collecting herself with obvious effort. “You could have had it all, Rhylan! Maristela was yours for the taking, this House would have joined you gladly, and instead you chose this… this…” She flung a hand towards me, unable to find a word terrible enough to encompass whatever I was.
“You will not insult my mate.” Rhylan’s voice was glacial, putting Chantrelle’s iciness to shame. “And I think your daughter has a rather different view on whether she wanted to be taken or not.”
Even as he spoke, Maristela strode forward from the sidelines she’d been watching from. “I wanted Gaelin, Mother,” she said, voice tight. “You couldn’t have forced me into a bond with Rhylan, and you know it perfectly well.”
“Because you are young, and you know nothing at all,” Chantrelle said, her tone making it clear that she believed she was the most reasonable person in the room. “One day you’ll see all you could have had and lost. But this problem can still…be resolved in a satisfactory manner.”
Rhylan stiffened at my side. “Out of the question. You’ve never mate bonded; you have no idea what you’re speaking of.”
Maristela understood only a beat after him. “I would rather die than lose Gaelin. Mother…Yura will not spare you just because you hate Serafina. We must commit to their Court before she moves against us.”
“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.