Page 16 of The Wrath of Ashes
But for every reason he wanted to dislike the man whose heat pressed into his back, making his shoulder blades tingle down his spine, another question replaced it. For all the lies he’d been fed… His anger stemmed from poverty, abuse, and blame settled on dragons for the mother he never had, the mother that took one look at tarnished gold and turned her back on all of her children.
“I feel your struggle. Speak to me.” Rath’s hand spread as it tightened around his midsection, every hair’s breadth of touch making the thoughts slosh from Asha’s head like liquor’s stupor.
“I fear my questions may be discourteous and presumptive. You are a king, so I must bite my tongue.”
Rath’s grip slid, snakelike and firm, constricting as his nose touched Asha’s ear. “The only one that need bite your tongue is I. Speak openly, friend. You are companion, not servant.”
Asha attempted to respond, his lips forming a word, but all that escaped his mouth were the stifled remnants of a tender moan that left his cheeks burning hot even in the chapping cold breeze.
“Why have the dragons not aided Monsmount? Why do we suffer when you have plenty?”
Rath’s grip slackened and his lips pulled away. “I forget myself and what you’ve been through, Ashen one. Suffice it to say that there are many factors in war, and this is not a fight of the people but rather the wealthy bickering with your bodies. Every coin put into this war results in more dead, and it will not be I that contributes. We will help rebuild when the war has ended, but even my father before me showed me the ills of trade and the power of gold even long after ruined it. What would you have me do?”
“Stop people from dying needlessly, end the war?” As Asha said it, he realized the monumental weight of what he wanted.
“Easier said than done. It saddens me as well. My mother is Ramolian, and they too wanted us to intervene. It’s hard to pour our money into one side or the other knowing it will go to kill more people, fighting wars for the wealthy to grow wealthier.”
Asha stared down at the saddle, his hands, the pearlescent scales of Heckle’s mount. “But you could stop it. Attack those causing it—”
“And they’d take it as an attack to the country from the other and the dragons would be at war, too. We do what we can by exporting from the poorest areas and trading things beside gold. Fur for wheat—glass and salt for ore and coal. Things the armies can’t take away that fast. Things others cannot hoard.”
Asha furrowed his brow deeply, his breath heaving. “So, the Saurians didn’t attack an enclave bringing grain to the capital?”
“Nope. A Monsmount merchants’ guild wanted control of a port bordering the two countries and diverted the shipment and blamed it on Ramolian pirates. They refused Monsmount ships to port as a result and increased the duty fees drastically, and sailors drowned trying to swim to shore because the ships couldn’t dock. It was chance it or starve to death. They’ve been at war for years, and I think you’re clever enough to know who has profited from this war?”
“Iron and steel. Lead and chain mail. Those dealing preserved goods?”
“And the merchants go through towns seizing the materials in the king’s name and selling them back to the crown for what little gold is in the coffers, and I’ll bet a cask of gold that the only reason they’ve not raided the Tippin valley is that they lack the labor to cart off the stone.” Rath huffed, and the bitterness in his chest had a ring of truth.
“For the whitestone… L—Lyss… Thank you. She’d be thrilled to know she was marked with whitestone like a noble.”
“And if the earl doesn’t do it, I’ll spirit away all of his maidservants in the night to leave his bed cold and house untended.” Rath chuckled darkly. “Given a few coins, they could start a new life elsewhere so easily.”
“Given a few silver, they could. I’ve my life’s savings in my pocket.” Asha patted the bulge of silver and scoffed.
Chapter Seven
Mezerath
Trailing his hand down his future lover’s side, Rath’s fingernails traced his pocket, every shard and bead within a painful memory and bitter symbol of all the hurt he’d gone through.
“None will ever lay a hand on you like that again, not by my hand or word, my Ashen one. I vow it on my crown, on my very soul.” A vow like that held weight for Rath, whether Asha knew it or not. To break the vow would slice his very heart. The first cut weakens the magic and soul; the second cut weakens the body, and the third cut… It snipped the string of fate and life, unraveling Rath to his core. “On every sliver of gold that shines.”
“Gold… Why did the gold you gave the countess and earl look so…dead?” Asha struggled to define the state of the metal, drained and lacking the luster. Rath’s heart swelled in his chest and if he was not mistaken, his cock wasn’t far behind, rising and falling so wantonly against Asha who either didn’t notice or plaintively ignored.He can see!
His mate had the sight! Magic knew Asha like the air, knew his lungs and ice would claim his heart. Such a beautiful creature he was, tempting, unlike any of the bedservants he’d had before. He so badly wanted to touch and kiss Asha affectionately, to show his adoration and bed the male as his very soul demanded he do. “Because the magic has forsaken it. We use gold to channel and hold our power. Over time, it erodes, and to certain people, they can see how dull and listless it is.”
Asha tilted his head, and Rath wished he could see the expression on his face. “So, there’s magic in this?” Asha ran his hand over Rath’s thigh to grasp the delicate filagree embroidered onto his coat, fingering the stitching.
“Yes. My mother’s magic. She stitched this by hand. She stitched all my father’s garments by hand and put her own magic into it. Ashen magic.” Rath traced the embroidery, letting his fingers travel to meet Asha’s. They connected for a moment with something akin to a spark and he pulled away, averse to their interactions. It was to be expected, coming from what he endured, the way dragons had been portrayed to him, and what humans of their kind thought of men that loved men. Rath couldn’t wait to hold Asha against him, feel his body and lick the smoothness of his skin as his body gained the magic needed to show his scales, to bring forth his wings, that last fiery storm that would end his humanity.
“What’s it do?” The small question drew Rath out of his daydream, and he situated himself, very aware that Asha’s soft rear pressed into his aching hardness. Jeron hadn’t been able to touch him in so long, and his heart called for Asha.
“This is to protect me. It’s enchanted to stop a blade or claw from piercing my scales. We’ll have you measured, and I’ll make one for you. My embroidery isn’t nearly as good as my mother’s, but I’ll make sure to do a part of it, at least to seal the enchantment.”
“Why?” Asha stiffened against him. “Why would you give me a fine coat like that? Why am—I…” Asha shivered, every inch of his flesh icy through the thin clothes that he wore. Rath unbuttoned his jacket and leaned forward, wrapping Asha partially in as he sighed.
“We share a bond. Your magic likes mine. And I recall you telling me that you love no women. I’m rescuing you from that horrid place, to let you be yourself for the first time.”
