Page 150 of House of Ashes

Rhylan paused in his pacing, running his hands through his hair. The hope in his eyes was almost unbearable. “Are you sure? That’s days of flight.”

I knew what he was really asking. I’d been drinking moon powder twice a day since we’d returned from Zerhaln, and the pain of my cycle had never fully abated—and unbeknownst to him, nor had the headache from the blood-craving, which would not improve anytime soon.

Because I’d poured out the last two bottles of the nutrient tonic several nights ago. I could no longer abide the thought that I would be a slave to this craving for the rest of my life, and if I couldn’t pour it out, then I might as well accept that I would remain addicted to it forever.

And when it ran out? When Kirana refused to make it again?

It was better to have a headache for a few weeks than to find myself held captive by a craving. So I had closed my eyes, hands shaking as I poured the last of it down the toilet.

And the last few days had been a haze of pain. Rhylan believed it was only the monthly cycle, but he fussed over me all the same. Wouldn’t let me fly, or walk several flights down to the training rooms.

But he was insane if he thought I was going to sit here in comfort while he fractured to pieces.

“Of course I’m sure.” I kept my tone brisk. “Viros, get the harness and provisions ready, please. I’ll get ready now.”

Some of the tension that had suffused Rhylan’s frame since Alriss’s return relaxed, his shoulders slumping a little. He cupped my face, drawing me in for a rough, desperate kiss, and strode to the storage room, Viros on his heels.

I returned to my room, plaited my hair and pinned it in a tight crown around my head, and ensured I had extra pads for my cycle packed in my small travel bag. Jenra had churned out several new sets of riding leathers for me, now that my weight had stabilized in a healthy place.

They hugged all the right places, thick with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves. I laced it tight down the back, pulled on my boots, buckled Aela’s sword at my waist, running my fingers over the smooth blue goldstone for comfort.

When I returned to the eyrie’s terrace, Rhylan and Viros were no longer in the manic grip of preparation. Nilsa was with them; the two Bloodless watched as Rhylan read yet another damn letter, though he held this one out like a snake that would bite.

Letters. I was getting godsdamned tired of messages bringing bad news.

I shouldered my travel bag, striding towards him, but the sight of the wax seal on the envelope in Rhylan’s hand stopped me in my tracks.

A golden seal, embossed with a setting sun.

“What does it say?” I breathed.

Rhylan looked up from the letter, his blue eyes flickering with inner embers. “It’s from Yura.”

I held out my hand, and he hesitated. “She’s my sister, Rhylan. Let me read it.”

He clearly didn’t want to give me the letter, but he finally handed it over. I flipped it around, revealing the thin, spidery writing that I recognized as my sister’s.

Elder sister,

Come speak with me by moonlight, under the white flag of truce. Do not let the flames of hatred hold you back—you will wish to hear what I must say.

Your flesh and blood,

Yura

Beneath her name, she had included the words Xilrien Tarn.

“Where is Xilrien Tarn?” I asked, staring at her name.

“We flew over it once. The small lake, on our first practice flight.” Rhylan’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Sera, she’s a liar.”

“It’s a trap.” Viros nodded knowingly. “She wishes to lure you out.”

“Of course it’s a trap.” I flipped the letter over, but the short missive was all there was to it. “It’s Yura, what else could it be?”

But if this was a trap, it was an inelegant one, and Yura was not given to inelegance—not with her own hands. She would happily send in a band of exiles to destroy another House’s territory, or any dragons in her Court to die for her…but Yura was not the type to set up a cloak-and-dagger meeting of her own accord, solely to spring a crude and obvious trap.

No…I believed that she did have something to tell me, although every instinct in me screamed that I didn’t want to hear it.

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