Page 140 of House of Ashes

The relief I felt was like cool water over a burn. He was so pale I’d been worried he’d gotten worse over the day, but the heat of fever still hadn’t touched him.

He struggled for a moment, and sat up against my protests. Wincing, he examined the stitchery across his body.

“I think I’ll die of mortification if I have to be spoon-fed like an infant again,” he said, prodding his chest.

“Because boiling Kalros alive wasn’t masculine enough?” I asked skeptically, but Rhylan had already managed to swing one leg over the side of the bed.

“A dragon’s got his pride, love,” he said with an easy grin, despite the tiny lines of pain in the corners of his eyes.

“Well, I don’t want to hear about it if you spill it all over yourself.” I handed him the bowl and spoon.

He did eat on his own, slowly, albeit without spilling a single drop. When I took the empty bowl back, he carefully stretched his arms out.

“Laying in bed’s just going to make it worse,” he informed me. “The more I get my blood moving, the faster it’ll heal.”

It was true; while many of the Bloodless in this inn would be weeks, even months, in healing, the dragonbloods would be fine in a matter of days.

Even Rhylan, one of the worst off, would be fine within the month. My own minor injuries, with the help of the salve, would be closed and scarred over by the end of the week—possibly sooner, as I had two bottles of the tonic of dragon’s blood in Jhazra Eyrie.

Against all sanity, my mouth watered at the thought of the tonic. My stomach clenched a little, but not with nausea.

No. I would not let Kirana be right about that.

Pushing all thoughts of the tonic out of my mind, I helped Rhylan to his feet. “I’m taking these back to the kitchens, and then I’ll see what other work they’ve got for me.”

He followed me, limping a little, as I passed off the dirty dishes. We saw Cryla at the same time, both of us heading for her, but Cryla’s head turned towards the front of the inn.

Towards the shattered windows, where a commotion was happening in the courtyard. I heard a brief cry, followed by a female voice.

Rhylan and I exchanged a look, and I practically dashed to the front door ahead of him. He was still on my heels as I pushed it open, revealing the twilit courtyard.

The healers had moved many of the injured away into shelters; it had been cleaned up and swept, the stones and timbers of other fallen buildings pushed to the side.

An enormous white dragon coiled in the street beyond the inn’s walls—Gaelin, his eyes flaming coals, teeth shining even in the half-light. A low, unending growl rumbled from his throat.

Maristela and Elinor stood at the gates, Elinor’s shoulders stiff, her back straight. Maristela’s face was buried in her hands. Her honeyed hair was in disarray, her nails digging into her scalp.

“What is it?” Rhylan asked, his voice harsh. He leaned on me, and I wrapped an arm around his waist. “What’s happened?”

The princess of Shadowed Stars took several deep breaths, lowering her shaking hands. She was nearly as pale as Rhylan, her eyes red-rimmed, anguish written all over her face. Over her shoulder, Gaelin let out another low snarl, curling towards her like he wanted to snatch her up.

“I’ve been excommunicated,” Maristela said shakily. “I’m…I’m no longer of the House of Shadowed Stars. My mo— Chantrelle told me, if I wished to aid our enemies, I could join them.”

A shocked silence descended on us all.

To be excommunicated…it was nearly as bad as a House being declared ashes. To never be able to return to one’s ancestral eyrie, to ask one’s Ascendant for guidance…it was the loss of an integral part of any dragonblood.

Gaelin’s throat worked, the dragon trying to produce speech that would never be understood in that form. Maristela raised a trembling hand to his jaw, pressing her face against his snout. She took several more calming breaths before she continued.

“She has raised my younger sister, Asura, in my place as the princess heir.” Her expression wavered, tears spilling over her cheeks, and she gritted her teeth harshly. “Asura has been mated to Cyran of Undying Light. Chantrelle intends to join our…their Houses and assert them as the Dragonesse and Drakkon at the Second Claim.”

“Asura is seventeen,” Rhylan said in disbelief. “She’s hardly out of the Training Grounds.”

I said nothing.

Chantrelle hadn’t excommunicated Maristela for aiding the Lunar Tides. It was simply a gambit to remove Maristela from the playing board, as her mate bond with Gaelin ensured she would never achieve the right of might.

Casting her out was a message from Chantrelle…that only her House’s claim to the throne mattered.

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