Page 98 of Wings of Frost and Fury
He moves aside, and Varex comes forward, with Jessiva at his side. She’s holding a crown of bone shards, smoothed and fused together with gold.
“We were all deeply touched when you and Ashvelon brought bone-tribute back from Guilhorn,” Varex says. “Those bones are safely housed in our caves. In recent weeks, some of us were able to return to Guilhorn once more and retrieve more bones from our loved ones, to be laid to rest on Ouroskelle. Some of them were broken in pieces from the violence of the falls they suffered. Those bones hold the scent and spirit of the following dragons—Grimmaw, Mordessa, Vylar, Therenax, and Elegrin, among others.” His voice breaks, and Kyreagan takes over.
“The spirits of our mothers, sisters, grandmothers, mates, warriors, and friends salute you,” Kyreagan says. “They rest in the presence of the Bone-Builder, awaiting their next life. I know they are grateful to you for your service to our clan. They would want you to have this crown.”
My knowledge of dragon culture has grown exponentially since I came to Ouroskelle. I know the significance of bones to their history, their family lines, and their religion. This is an astounding honor, unheard of for any human.
Jessiva walks forward, holding out the crown. I dash my tears away quickly and reach out to take it. Under my breath I ask her, “Should I put it on?”
“It’s fucking heavy,” she whispers back. “I think you should just hold it and thank them.”
I nod and lift the crown of gold and bones from her hands. It is heavy, but I cradle it carefully within the circle of my arms.
“This honors me more than I can express.” I try to speak loudly, but my voice is thick with the tears I’m holding back. “I thank you with all my heart. With you, I have found the family I always wished for.” I release a half sob, half laugh. “Fuck, I can’t do this sort of speech. Ash...” I turn to him desperately.
“I will carve a shrine for this crown within my cave,” he says. “I am grateful that all of you see this woman for the treasure she is. I am honored beyond measure to belong to her.”
He says it so humbly, so easily, placing himself in subservience to me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And suddenly I can’t bear it. I can’t let him think of himself as anything less than he is—the most important soul in my world.
“We belong to each other,” I say. “Equals. Partners.” A deep breath... “Life-mates.”
“Life-mates, indeed,” says Kyreagan. “Which is why we have gathered here. We have many life-mate bonds to announce and hatchlings to present today, before the entire clan.”
Varex steps forward, his eyes alight with joy. “This will be a bone-knitting ceremony the like of which Ouroskelle has never seen—with dragons and humans, with our hatchlings around us, with the war ended and the storm passed. Those who wish to be bound as life-mates, come forward.”
I set the crown gently aside on a flat stone and wait with Ashvelon, facing Kyreagan and Serylla, Varex and Jessiva. Couple after couple come forward—Rothkuri and Everelle, Saevel and Nirada, Bryenne with her three dragons, Runaris, Jaerix, and Zaedian. Hinarax and his lover Meridian are absent, having already departed on their journey to the Southern Kingdoms, but I have no doubt they will perform a bone-knitting ceremony when they return.
I’m not sure what to expect. “Bone-knitting” sounds rather dreadful, really, and what with the dragons’ affinity for bones, I’ve had some grotesque ideas of how it might unfold. Ashvelon wouldn’t tell me what it truly entails. He kept making wry comments, hinting at bloody rituals, teasing me, as he sometimes does. Truth be told, I like the teasing, and I allow it, because I know that whenever I wish, I can reduce him to a submissive, whimpering mess.
Kyreagan speaks to the gathered pairs and groups. “By tradition, each set of Promised dragons would clasp their front claws and entwine their tails while reciting stanzas of ‘The Honored and the Beloved,’ an ancient poem composed by one of the first Bone-Kings for his life-mate. However, circumstances have changed.”
He shifts his footing as if change makes him uncomfortable, and I can’t help grinning. I’ve come to view the great black dragon as a sort of grouchy older brother. It’s fun to test his patience occasionally, but underneath his prickly surface is the heart of a leader who truly cares about every living soul on this island.
“Today, we will join hands with claws. Each Promised group or couple who spoke to me or Varex about participating today has been assigned a different stanza of ‘The Honored and the Beloved.’ Dragons, you should have been practicing these lines with your Promised.” Kyreagan shoots a dark look at Jaerix, who blinks innocently and looks away. “You may speak your stanza in Dragonish or in the Eventongue. When it is concluded, seal the bond with a kiss, in the human tradition.”
Each set of Promised mates take turns stepping forward and speaking their assigned part of the poem. The women seal the bond with a kiss on their dragon’s muzzle or cheek.
When our turn comes, Ashvelon and I stand before the two Princes and their mates, in front of the entire clan. He lifts one forepaw, and I wrap my fingers around one of his claws. I grin athim, feeling a little silly, and the blue of his eyes grows warm with answering humor and affection.
I learned the stanza in Dragonish, and Ashvelon taught me its meaning. It doesn’t rhyme in the Eventongue, but in either language, the lines are rich with sweetness and significance.
When I stretch out my wings, I feel your strength in them.
I taste you in the air I breathe, in the water I drink.
When you have no strength, I will be your power.
When the wind fails you, I will bear you aloft.
Your sorrow is mine, your mistakes are mine, your regret is mine.
I soothe your sorrow, I forgive your mistakes, I ease your regret.
My heart is a deep cavern,
A haven in which you can hide
