Page 156 of House of Ashes

A steady stream of iridescent blood dripped into the open wound that was Kirana’s face, spattering off her teeth, soaking her tongue. And despite the gore, the stomach-churning nausea, my mouth watered.

The smell of the dragon’s blood was…indescribable. If afternoon sunlight, or dew on newly-unfurled leaves, or the ripple of water had a scent, this was it.

I licked my lips, watching the blood drip into Kirana’s mouth.

And ignored the clench of hunger in my gut.

As the blood poured into her, Kirana reflexively swallowed. Again. And again. She made that awful sound once more, a sobbing gasp of pain, but Rhylan kept her mouth open.

“Drink it, Kir,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Don’t stop.”

Myst’s wound healed quickly. I had to stab her again, angling her arm, and my Ascendant watched with sad eyes, but did not breathe a word of protest.

It took a long time. My back was one large screaming ache, sweat beading over my forehead when Myst finally retracted her arm from my grasp, ever so gently.

“It’s enough,” she said, her own forked tongue lapping at the bloodied scales. “She will live.”

I let the sword fall to the floor with a clang. Rhylan leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, lips moving soundlessly.

At some point, somewhere in time that I hadn’t marked, Erebos had stopped screaming. The silence was deafening.

Kirana slept…and in this sleep, she would begin to change.

Already a fine, translucent film had begun to form over Kirana’s exposed muscles: the beginning of new growth.

“We should bring her upstairs. Somehow.” My voice rasped. I licked my dry lips, trying not to think of dragon’s blood and my terrible thirst. “And…we should prepare Garnet for the pyre. Before Kirana wakes up. She shouldn’t have to see her like this.”

Movement, in the corner of my eye. Viros had remained with us. “Alriss and I will prepare the pyre. I’m…not sure you did my lady a service, Sera. I think you have cursed her.”

I shook my head weakly. “Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. I don’t know. I don’t know godsdamned anything. We’ll find out when she wakes up.”

I felt a thousand years old. Everything hurt. I wiped my blade on my leathers, resheathed the sword carefully, and finally stood. My legs were wooden limbs attached to my body as I moved, my body piloting itself.

I silently pushed past Alriss, past the Bloodless who were slowly filtering away, whispering to themselves behind raised hands. I found one of the servant’s store rooms, and selected the first sturdy cloth I laid eyes on: a long tablecloth, made of rich brocade and silk embroidery. I returned to the roost, and laid it out on the floor next to Kirana.

“Rhylan, help me.”

My dragon stared up at me with empty eyes, but he moved. Together we moved her onto the cloth: moving a centimeter at a time, aware that each tiny sensation on Kirana’s body could be causing her agonizing pain, and we would not know it.

Not while she was locked in the slumber caused by a glut of pure, fresh-from-the-vein dragon’s blood.

But eventually she was laid on it. I took up one end, and Rhylan the other. Together we brought her up the stairs, no sound other than our panting breaths and our footsteps breaking the silence.

Kirana’s bedroom was next to her still-room. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected when we opened the door; maybe a room as cluttered as her workshop.

But it was bright, clean and clear; a bed piled with fluffy linens in pale shades of ivory and green was pushed up next to a window. A bookshelf had been sorted alphabetically, the spines all perfectly aligned.

And over the writing desk were letters. Hundreds of letters, papering the entire wall, a mosaic of words.

I saw the name Cai, signed a thousand times.

We carefully maneuvered the tablecloth onto the bed, and I decided to all Nine Hells with it; I wasn’t going to move her any more than necessary. It could stay under her until she could move without pain.

I made sure her arms and legs were straight, her head cushioned flat, and gazed down at her.

The film of new skin had already grown thicker, obscuring the striations of raw muscle…but there were pale half-moon shapes over it all, from the crown of her head to her toes. The roots of new scales.

Had I made a mistake? I had been horrified by reading of the Naga, horrified that I would become one of them.

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