Page 4 of House of Ashes

“You do nothing, Bloodless.” He sneered, shoving the man aside as easily as knocking over a child.

The Bloodless man stumbled and went down hard, his mug of shine soaking the front of his trousers. He stared up at the crimson dragon, realizing his mistake.

A Bloodless would never lead a dragon.

The crimson dragon turned to look at the others, his gaze skipping over the Bloodless as if they’d ceased to exist. I did a quick count of my own and realized there were at least ten dragons in the tavern right now, and a good fifteen ferrymen, all of whom possessed wyverns and the means to carry Bloodless foot-soldiers over the Empty Sea.

A chill ran down my spine. That was enough to take on one of the smaller Houses’ eyries, possibly a middling one with enough planning. Some Houses possessed great eyries, but their descendants had thinned considerably.

I would know; when the ancient Silvered Embers were reduced to ashes, those with dragonblood in my House had numbered only two: my mother and I.

“We make them bleed,” the crimson dragon said, his deep voice rolling through the suddenly silent room. He slammed a fist on the table, sending cards flying. “We make them pay for stealing our lives!”

Alarm twisted through me, not just because of the searing madness in his eyes, but because no one quite seemed so drunkenly cheerful anymore. Eyes had hardened, and lips were pressed into thin lines.

“Kalros,” the barkeep warned. He watched the angry crowd with a sharp eye, sensing the same rising bloodlust I did. The Wyvern’s Whore had burned down three times in the years I’d lived on Mistward; he was right to be worried.

But I was more worried about what might happen if the other dragons chose to follow Kalros.

He had the strength and the power to bring them to his side.

The crimson dragon rounded on the barkeep, his lips drawing back over sharp teeth.

“Why are you here?” Kalros demanded, his words ringing through the room. “The Razored Cinders took your daughter. And what did their fool dragon do when you tried to take her back?”

The barkeep stared at Kalros, eyes huge in his pale face. I was clenching my mug hard enough to turn my knuckles white.

But Kalros didn’t stop. “He sent you here. He sent you here for trying to save your blood! So I say—bring the fire to them! Make Yura crawl before the bitch reaches the throne!”

This time the dragons pounded the tables as they screamed, elation turning to vengeance as the tavern shook with their combined thunder.

The shine was no longer a warm glow in my stomach. It was roiling acid, threatening to come back up.

We’d gone past celebrating the death of a dragon we collectively hated, and into the realms of a riot breaking out. Now the rage was fully flowing through them, and they wanted to bathe in the blood of a royal draga.

I fully believed that any royal draga would do for them tonight, which made my presence here all the more perilous.

I pushed aside my half-full mug and stood, carefully adjusting the several cloaks I wore in tattered layers. I was boiling hot wherever I went, with several shirts layered beneath the cloaks, but the combined scent of dirt and sweat always hid me.

I simply hoped it would be strong enough to take me through a crowd of dragons hellbent on tasting royal blood.

From here, I could return to my little seaside cave. I’d come back early in the morning, long before the thick sleep of shine wore off these dragons, and bribe a ferryman with my last two half-moons to bring me back to the continent. With the Drakkon dead and the Interregnum throwing all the Houses into turmoil, no one was going to notice or care about a single Mistward refugee.

From there, all of Akalla awaited me. And if what the ferrymen said was true, the Jade Leaves might take me in. I still remembered the long lessons from the Training Grounds, what an Interregnum truly meant: opportunity hidden in the chaos.

Without an heir to uphold the departed Drakkon’s Judgments, the slate was now wiped clean.

Any exile could return home; any exile who could enter their eyrie and gain their Ascendant’s blessing could raise their House from ashes.

I could find a worthy dragon to accept a mate bond, reclaim my House…and take down Yura on my own terms.

Because I would be damned to the Nine Hells myself before I allowed my sister to take Koressis Eyrie.

I was the first true-born child of the Drakkon, with twice-royal blood. A serious threat to Yura, even with the might of two Houses behind her.

And I was getting ahead of myself.

Just get out of here first, I told myself. I wasn’t going to be a threat to anyone if this crowd tore me apart. My own plans of vengeance could come after I’d left Mistward behind and found shelter and safety.

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