Page 43 of House of Ashes

I could not speak of this anymore. Knowing that Rhylan had been instructed by my own father—and would have had a much stronger bond with him than my father would ever have had with me—made one thing clear: he had asked me to join him not because of my ancient dragonblood, or because I was worthy of the throne, but out of pity for what his mentor had done to me.

For what he had done to me.

I despised pity. Pity did not feed a draga, or keep her warm at night.

Rhylan could keep it to himself. He had ruined me, but I would become Dragonesse, whether out of his misplaced compassion or not.

“Go away.”

“You should open the door.”

“You should fuck off.” I gritted my teeth, not wanting my questions to spill out.

I remembered a time when my father had picked me up and carried me on his shoulder, telling me stories of the first dragons as he brought me to the Eye of the Gods, a time long before he had sentenced me to exile without even having the courtesy to look me in the eyes as he passed his Judgment.

Had he been that same dragon when he’d instructed Rhylan? Had all that warmth and love gone to others, while leaving me out in the cold?

If Rhylan had told me all of this when he’d found me, perhaps my answer would have been different.

Perhaps. But I was my mother’s daughter, and an opportunity must never be permitted to slip away.

“Fine. When you’re done sulking, Princess Serafina, I’ll be waiting.”

A low growl tore out of me. “I’ll be done sulking when you decide to be truthful, Prince Rhylan.”

I waited until I heard footsteps disappear down the corridor. Then I got to my feet, rubbing my stomach again, and searched the shelves full of books. When I found the one I wanted, the most recent copy of the lineage and eyries of the Houses, I curled up in a chair in the corner, giving myself a good view of every window and door.

It was not sulking if it was time spent brushing up on my knowledge. And I damn sure did not need Rhylan and pawns and maps to help with that.

Chapter

Nine

Halfway through the night, unable to sleep in my underbed nest, I decided that once again, Rhylan was right.

I was sulking.

My teeth were going to be ground down to nubs by the time we managed to finish this farce. I unlocked my jaw, closing my eyes and exhaling a soft sigh. The sharp pains in my stomach had become a twisted ache, my chest still tight.

I rubbed my sternum as I thought, willing myself to take deep, even breaths.

It shouldn’t have taken me by surprise to learn that my father had told the world I was dead. The answer had been clear the entire time I was on Mistward, staring me in the face, and I simply hadn’t wanted to see it.

The tiny hope that someone would come for me had been the only thing giving me the will to stay alive.

It had been better to live with the delusion that someone out there still cared than to accept that I was dead to them. If I’d thought about it rationally, I would have realized that something was wrong when my father hadn’t responded to the news of my mother’s death.

If I’d been thinking clearly, if I hadn’t been consumed with fear and the brute need to survive, I would have seen my father’s plans for what they were.

And I couldn’t hate Rhylan for being the bearer of bad news. We were not mated; he couldn’t see into my mind and understand that something that obvious to him would destroy me so thoroughly.

I couldn’t even blame him for the little jab about sulking. If any of the dragonbloods saw me right now, curled under my bed, trying not to let the tightness in my chest stop me from breathing, they would turn away in disgust.

To become Dragonesse, I had to be better. Stronger.

I could not permit the past to destroy what I might become.

My father was dead. He could no longer torment me; his spirit, Sunya condemn it, was in the depths of the Nine Hells.