Page 73 of House of Ashes
It had crept up so fast; my heart hammered at the thought that in less than a week, I would be representing the glory of my House, standing at the side of the Obsidian Flames.
Two ancient, unbroken royal bloodlines, firmly allied for the first time in centuries—a force to be reckoned with.
And I would be face to face with Yura once more, for the first time since…
The phantom taste of blood filled my mouth, my memory one big blank. Pushing my mind away from the last time I’d seen my sister, unwilling to search that misty darkness in my memories, I stroked Myst’s back, and left my room to visit the dragon terrace.
Rhylan was there, in dragon form and already harnessed, looking so much like Erebos it was striking. My assessment of him on Mistward had been accurate; he would never be able to hide his bloodline.
One of my lines of study in the Training Grounds had covered such things. The older the Ascendant, the closer they were in relation to the Dyad: Larivor and Naimah, father and mother of all dragons. True dragons like Myst and Erebos, Sturm and Illiae…they were among the Dyad’s first children. It was one of the reasons Myst would push me to have many children; of all the ancient lines, we were the ones in the most perilous situation. Having a thriving descendancy was of utmost importance to an Ascendant.
But that closeness of relation to the Dyad also meant their blood was, quite literally, thicker than that of other dragons. Our Houses were more likely to produce scions: those who resembled their ancestral dragon creator in both form and physical prowess.
Erebos must be pleased with himself, I thought, letting my gaze wander appreciatively over Rhylan’s ink-dipped scales and powerful musculature.
And since he was in dragon form, and I didn’t have to look into blue eyes or avert my gaze from pillowy lips, it was so much easier to walk up and stroke his enormous, obsidian-scaled arm.
“Good morning.” I smiled up at him, the smile becoming a grin as he showed his own teeth in a draconic imitation of my expression. “Sleep well?”
The sound he made was a strangled growl.
“Well, don’t blame me for that. You should’ve asked Kirana for her tea.”
Rhylan shook his head, spiraled horns catching the light. I leaned against his arm, adjusting my boots, then pulled my hair up into a long ponytail.
I felt like me again. Maybe it wasn’t quite perfection, but my standards had to change a little to accommodate the past. Even the sword felt good at my side, an echo of the practice sword I used to eat, sleep, and bathe with.
“So, towards Orisien? Something simple?” I asked, naming the Lunar Tides’ territory, a stretch of plains and hills that would be a relatively easy flight. I knew he was tired from the previous day, and my legs were still plenty sore, but I still needed to work on my ability to look natural. Right now I was stiff, clinging to the saddle on every flight like I’d plummet to my death at any second. “It’s time to fine-tune things. I’m lacking a certain insouciance and that’ll be noticeable.”
Rhylan nudged me with his elbow, nearly sending me toppling over. I gripped the harness to pull myself upright and gave him a sour look. “Exactly like that, thanks.”
Viros emerged from the storage room with his enormous logbook. I pretended I didn’t see fresh teeth marks on the corner, marks that perfectly matched the teeth of a certain pale ancestor, but he looked distinctly disgruntled as he laid it on the desk and flipped to the most recent page, notating the dragon, the rider, and what time we were flying out.
“Orisien,” he confirmed, noting it in a neat hand. “I’ve double-checked your straps, Princess Sera. They’re in perfect condition, no need to fear.”
I touched the Eyrie-Master’s shoulder as I rounded Rhylan, preparing to mount. From the moment I’d landed, Viros had gone out of his way to ensure my comfort with this plan, even if he was reporting my secret library excursions to Rhylan.
“Much appreciated, Viros.” I leapt up into the saddle with the same grace I’d managed to pull off on our first ride, exulting at the strength in my aching legs.
As Rhylan rose to his feet, Viros checked the clock above his desk, making precise marks in his logbook.
I turned my attention to the wide blue bowl of the sky above, stroking Rhylan’s scars, patting him gently. All was well. Everything would be just fine.
All because of what he’d done for me, and he had no idea how deeply that single, simple voyage had brightened my spirits.
I’d gone from a dim, flickering light to a bright glow because of him.
He launched into that blue sky, soaring southwards as he veered between the Krysien peaks. If not for his wings, I could have reached out and touched one, brushing fingertips over a mountaintop that had never been felt by flesh and blood hands before.
This flight felt hopeful, even the wave-like motions of Rhylan’s body with every wingbeat propelling us towards something better. An achievable plan. A winnable throne. Hours passed like seconds, and this time, I didn’t force my hand away when I felt myself reaching out to stroke him.
He tore through low, wispy clouds, veering towards the green plains below. A river sparkled in the noon sun, calling my name. The dry, cold air of the northern latitudes quickly dried out both dragon and rider.
Rhylan circled, eventually landing on the river’s bank like a gentle leaf.
“You’ve gotten a lot better at not jarring my teeth out of my head,” I teased, sliding out of the saddle. “I suppose a toothless Dragonesse wouldn’t be very impressive.”
He rumbled out the dragon-growl, sticking his whole head into the river for a drink.