Page 8 of The Wrath of Ashes
“Why is your left bauble hanging lower than yer right? Probably how the many-faced god made us? Maybe the bigger teat makes better milk or the lower bauble the best seed? But don’t be daft. I could give you a few lessons on how to make a girl happy. May not make you happy but would do the world a bit of a favor.”
“But why me, Lyss? I appreciate the offer, I do, but why?”
“You know when that old Mollycat had that litter with the kittens all wrong?” Lyss went about tying thread off before snipping it. She’d be working the other side of it in a moment.
“Yeah. The tom was her own—ooooh. The earl is noble blood, but my mother wasn’t. If their family tree looks more like knitting, I suppose it would make sense…” Asha rubbed his chin. All the while, he thought it’d be nice if maybe men could have their own children, not bring a woman into it.
“Look. Let me go get freshened up and I’ll come give you a lesson. You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want, but I can give you a bit o’ a tour.”
“I mean, if you don’t want it, and I don’t want it, what’s the point?” Asha’s brow furrowed, tugging at the light sunburn he’d got during the day.
“Who says I don’t want it? I’d love to be able to rub it in Adriana and Sandi’s noses that I got to get a taste of the bastard viscount!”
“You get a romp with the earl and the viscounts already. Why am I special?” Asha laughed.
“Because you’re such a pretty boy. You’re like sin incarnate, all soft blue eyes like sapphires and teeth so white and pretty. Bet you’ve never lost a man’s tooth.”
“I have not. I make a point to chew a bitter stick every evening and morning to keep the creeping rot from my teeth.” Asha grinned, offering her his widest smile.
“Gorgeous! Alright, then. Think of some strapping young lad and I’ll be down after the torches are out to come show you around a woman’s kettle.”
“Kettle?”
“Heat me up enough and I’ll whistle for ye’.” She winked at him and blew the candle out before scurrying away. He didn’t look forward to the lesson she wanted to offer, but a chance at escape meant he had to do his duty to crown and kingdom.
When Lyss never returned, he let himself sleep, closing his eyes to wait for morning, and perhaps some food. He snuck from the horses’ trough for water during the day, and he could go awhile without food, but his stomach twisted.
When morning came, he waited for his father, the clanging of grates, foul words, and more demeaning chores, but it didn’t come.
***
At some point during the day, the narrow beam of light that spread down the dungeon hall from the door spread wide and a feminine shape graced it. He perked up, excited to see Lyss, but the countess came into view. He wanted in her skirts far less than Lyss and had no business being near the woman.
She stared at him through the bars, her watery pale eyes full of questions and unsaid words.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Wyverncrest?” Asha stood to attention and bowed slightly. It was ordinarily custom for a woman to take her husband’s house name, but her higher-blood status afforded her to keep the house name.
She didn’t speak right away but rather watched him with uncertainty.
“It dawns upon me that I know very little about you.” Her voice trailed off, soft and mild, well-versed in the northern dictions, hair bronzed gold, not quite the fire of the Ramolian people, a descendant of the Saurians, but certainly influenced in its long line. It was said that drop of fire in their blood from their people were the only things that made the wyverns trust them.
“It wouldn’t be proper, my lady. I am not the trophy to hold high.” He cast his gaze to the floor and she neared the bars, too close. Asha stepped back, wanting neither strike nor insinuation.
“I cannot apologize enough.” Her voice cracked and Asha glanced up, stricken.
“The earl cannot control his indulgences. My existence does not require your apology, my lady.” Asha offered her his best smile, the one that made the girls swoon, and her eyes went misty.
“You’re not his bastard, Asha.” She extended a hand through the bars and beckoned him, drawing Asha shamefully, letting her cup his cheek as she whispered, “You’re mine.”
His heart twisted. “What?”
“Why do you think he hated you so but let the stableboys alone? Half of them have his weak jaw, you noticed?” She smiled ruefully.
“I don’t understand. You birthed me?” He’d dare not insinuate she was his mother.
She nodded, tears streaming, beautiful even in tears. “Earl Tippin was my second husband. My first died in war and when you were born, I was arranged to him. You bear the price of Ramolian royal blood. None else would take me, and I refused to orphan you.”
“Ramolian?” He pulled back in disgust, lip curling. The golden hue to his hair and blue eyes were from her, not the earl’s blond and wet blue eyes.
