Page 106 of House of Ashes
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.