Page 35 of The Wrath of Ashes
Jeron snorted, and Slath raised a single brow. “Baltheir?”
“It’s a shit god they worship in Monsmount.” Jeron patted Asha’s back and took his upper arms, guiding him to sit on a nearby bench.
“Oh, that one. You don’t worship Baltheir, do you?” Slath gave Asha a quick glance once-over.
“One is often forced to attend ceremonies and the like in the temple I would hazard to say I’ve paid my respects and spent the high holidays as I was commanded to, but I do not make a habitof prayer, no.” Asha offered Slath a shrug of indifference. “Why do you keep insulting him, though?”
“Good. And it’s not an insult. It’s an old Ramolian word,Baltheir.” Jeron sneered. Asha was vaguely aware he was part Ramolian, himself, and the fire in Jeron’s appearance—his red hair and citrine eyes—were unmistakable pure-blooded Ramolian elements. “It means dung lord. Balith Hyier.”
Asha snorted and choked on his own spit, coughing and laughing. “Excuse me?”
“It used to be an old festival where the towns would clean the middens and sewers, pour boiling water down the refuse aqueducts. The public toilets would be scoured and seats replaced. Whatever politician had failed the people the most was elected the Balith Hyier, the dung lord, and would have to gather his entire entourage and cabinet to clean the poorest public toilets. If the toilets were not satisfactory for the people, they’d be thrown into the gutters. If they did well, they’d all be given a leather mask and allowed to go unscathed. Typically, they’d also put their own finances up to improve or build new sanitation facilities…” Jeron twisted his hands uncomfortably. “Thus, the many faces, the generosity to peasants, the class worship, you know? Over the years, one passerby or another and half-truths got told aaaand…”
“So that’s why Baltheir has many faces, and all his tales are of him blessing the lower class… I thought that was how the nobles subjugated the lower class by baiting them with carrot and stick theocracy.” Asha snorted, wincing as his back ached sharply.
“Well, I’d imagine that, too.” Slath deflated a little, relaxing. “Religion is complicated, here.”
“Explain? Will I be attending a different type of service?” Asha tilted his head, his eye twitching as the weight of his horns ached.
“Unless a god speaks to you directly, no. The gods call upon dragons. They give some of us tasks. We follow their orders. In turn, the humans of Sauria worship us as the vassals of the gods—gods ourselves, in a way.” Slath waved his hand about.
“What gods, and has one ever spoken to you?” Asha found the prospect fascinating, leaning forward with bated breath.
Slath hesitated. “No. One has spoken to our brother Galatan, and all I can say is that if a god speaks to you, listen and do. Misfortune follows those who doubt and dally. And one spoke to Rath. It was how he was chosen to be king. Presumably, how he found you.”
“I see.” Asha glanced about, eyes tilting skyward for a moment before he stared at a rather uncomfortable Slath, his stooped posture and fidgety hands a dead giveaway. “Anything I should be warned to watch out for, or do they not speak to Ashen?”
Slath smiled. “You’ll know. They tend to show up unannounced or addle your dreams.”
Jeron laughed. “A dragon who spoke to Alminiel, the goddess of lust, sends her to find Saurian humans of Ramolian blood fit to be chosen for bedservants. She came to visit my family and told me I was destined to be educated to serve the dragons. There were many paths offered to me, but I had dreams of my own to pursue, and being a bedservant facilitated that best.”
“You didn’t want to do it?” Asha frowned.
Slath pursed his lips as he stepped into a closet and rifled through clothes.
“That’s a complicated sort of question. It’s no hardship to copulate with a dragon, certainly. I manage to find pleasure in it most times. But this is only part of our job! I am rather like a personal assistant. I attend his side at galas, whisper the names of politicians I remember, remind him to keep his facepleasant and alleviate any stress.” Jeron waved his hand as if the disgraceful act was inconsequential. “And please wipe that judgmental look from your face.”
Asha pinched his shoulders and pursed his lips, unsure of what face he was making. “I apologize.”
“I understand it was I that served your mate in that way not too long ago. Perhaps it is distasteful where you’re from. But you are no longer in Monsmount. You are a dragon. You are in Sauria. A dragon has very few ways to soothe his rage, as they are beasts. As I am told, even those that bear the eggs have urges. Am I correct, Slath?” Jeron parted from Asha and peered into the closet with interest.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. I find I don’t need a bedservant. I have other ways to alleviate tension. Also, our tempers are far less volatile than a seed-giver. It’s a somewhat reliable way to tell if a dragon will be bearer or giver based off their temperament alone.” Slath stepped out and held something up to Jeron for inspection.
Jeron stared it down and frowned. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” Slath gestured toward what looked like barely a set of sleeves on a hanger, a shirt missing everything from the neckline down. “It’s sure to please Rath.”
“Exactly. One look at Asha in that and he’d pin him to the nest and refuse to pull his knot out for a week.” Jeron gave Slath a glare that made him relent. Asha, for his part, though, grew more curious.
“Where’s the rest of the jacket?” Asha glanced it up and down.
“That is all there is of it.” Jeron’s upper lip curled a bit. “Not until you’re mated.”
Asha frowned and waited for Slath to bring another one. The next was a longer tunic, not a jacket, the collar lax but unfolded. Down the front, it split with elaborate embroidery framing it.Up the back, it split buttons in place from the lower back to mid back, holding it together with a final button at the collar, leaving room for wings to slide free and a tail to move freely. “I think this would do nicely until he can control the tail…”
Asha swished the appendage lazily. “How come you guys don’t walk around with your tails out?”
“Cumbersome. The more human we look, the more energy it takes to keep ourselves in that form. Rath is the only one of us that can look fully human like our father could. I can get the eyes right, but not my horns. They’re stubborn. I can hold it for maybe a minute.” Slath gestured at his face where his eyes, black sclera, shimmered to turn into white with a pretty blue iris and rounded pupil. In a blink, the whites turned black and the iris a more piercing blue like Rath’s.
