Page 153 of House of Ashes

“When did you take to eating your enemies?” I asked lightly, and somehow, miracle of miracles, my voice didn’t shake. “Was it before the Training Grounds, or was I your first meal?”

A soft laugh escaped her, but her face didn’t move at all, and the conjunction of the two sent chills down my spine. “You were not my first.”

“Who else?”

Yura shrugged, still smiling. “Does it matter?”

The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end, every primal instinct shouting now to leave.

I was sure that there would be no sign of those whom she had consumed. All she needed to do was take their bones to a dark place, and bury them deep. There were plenty of dark pockets in Akalla, that even dragons treated with wariness and respect.

They would never be found. The proof would languish in the darkness forever.

“Some would say it matters more than anything.” My fingers twitched, wanting to reach for my sword. “You ate dragonblood flesh, Yura. You’re forsaken in Larivor’s eyes.”

She flicked her fingers, brushing that notion away as inconsequential. A deep cut had been slashed across her palm, the edges of the open wound resembling bloodless lips. “Let’s not be sidetracked by religion, dear sister. The gods do not matter here. The only thing that matters on the earthly plane is power, and I did not call you here to discuss the philosophy of our…preferred diets. I wanted you to come because I have an offer. You would be foolish to refuse it.”

My heart was still racing, cool sweat prickling over my back. “You have nothing I cannot win for myself.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Yura raised her brows, and it was the most animated expression she had made thus far, a thousand times more…alive…than her smile. “I offer you freedom. If you and your mate renounce your claim and stand down from this foolish attempt, I will permit you to live out your lives in the Wildlands. So long as you remain there, I will not raise a hand against you.”

My retort stuck in my throat. It was—for a draga fighting for the throne—a very generous offer.

One I was not sure I would extend to an enemy of my own.

She knew Rhylan had family in the Wildlands. We would be exiled from Akalla, from the continent we both called home, but we would not be alone.

The Wildlands were not like Mistward, which was barren and empty. They were a thriving continent—one that spat on the concept of Houses, but still, not remotely on par with a prison island.

It was generous…too generous. And that made me believe it was a trap.

“How kind of you,” I said slowly. “But, Yura…I cannot back down when I intend to see you dead by the end of this.”

“There’s the fire,” she whispered. Her black-hole eyes bored into me. “Mistward made you burn so bright. The offer stands until the Second Claim. After that, there is no more hope for you.”

She made no movements, not so much as a twitch to give away the mind-speech, but Tidas unfurled from behind her, covering the distance to his mate with long strides.

I heard the clatter of claws on stone behind me; Rhylan had been waiting for this, and now he curled around me defensively, his eyes focused on Tidas.

But the dragon made no move towards us. Tidas did not even meet Rhylan’s eyes, his entire being focused on the golden marionette at his feet.

Never before had I seen Tidas behave in such a docile way. If willpower was a necessary aspect for a mate bond…then Yura had not only impressed hers upon him, but completely crushed him beneath it.

Yura climbed the harness, settling herself on the saddle, her bare feet sliding into the stirrups.

“I almost forgot, elder sister—it would be remiss of me not to give you a token of warning. Take what is offered, or I will extract my pound of flesh from you…and those you love.” Yura’s teeth were so bright, her grin so wide, as she untied a sack from the saddle and tossed it down to the stones at my feet.

Tidas spread his wings wide and took to the sky, sending another wave of ripples over the tarn. A low, unbroken snarl streamed from Rhylan’s throat as we watched them soar north, turn east…and vanish into the distance.

I looked down at the sack. It was woven of rough burlap, tied with twine…and the bottom was soaked black. The reek of iron was a taste in my mouth.

Rhylan sniffed, steam rising from his nostrils and spiraling into the night air, and made a terrible sound—a shriek that made the loose stones around us dance and clatter.

I knelt and untied the twine, my fingers shaking, and lifted the burlap to spill its contents on the tarn’s shore.

Garnet’s head rolled over in the moonlight, coming to a halt on the stones and staring up at us with empty sockets…like black holes.

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