Ashborn Chapter 16
A feast for the Courts. A proclamation no one expected. The Ashborn rise—not just in fire, but in blood and lineage.
The bell’s chime faded as Veyrakh’s hand, resting on the small of my back, guided me up the steps of the dais, and then pulled out my chair. I was about to sit, when the herald stepped forward, his staff striking the stone with a sharp, ringing crack. The hall quieted and all eyes were on us.
Heat shimmered above the obsidian braziers lining the hall. The banners of the Courts—Frostspire’s pale blue, Duskwyrm’s ochre, Bloodfang’s black, and our own ember-red—rippled faintly in the updraft. The air tasted of spice, ash, and molten gold. Dragons in human form glittered with scales and jewels, every one of them watching, weighing.
“By the ancient fires that kindle our very souls, hear now the proclamation of His Excellency, Veyrakh, Lord of the Obsidian Flight, High Warden of the Court of the Ember Flame, Keeper of the Ember Seal, Scion of Ash and Ember, Flame-Bearer of the Fallen Host, Harbinger of the Twilight War, Champion of the Crucible, Breaker of the Sky Siege, Ashen Warden of the Fallen Flame, Protector of the Ashborn, Speaker for the Old Flame.”
My eyes snapped to him. That was not the version I’d been given earlier. Oh, he had a lot to answer for.
Then, after taking a small breath, the herald continued. “And alongside him, by sacred bond and tempered strength, Tempered Dareya Calderin, Flame-Touched Ashborn of the Calderin Bloodline, Lady of the Obsidian Flight and Keeper of the Fallen Flame, Warden-Consort of the Court of the Ember Flame, Shield of the Crucible and Shield of the Twilight War, Bonded Protector of the Ashborn and the Fallen Host.
Let all present bear witness to their union, A joining of flame and blood that forges new strength for the Flight. A joining of flame, blood, and legacy, that shall endure through the turning of ages. May their reign be long, their justice true, and their flame never falter.”
Every gaze was locked on us. My mother’s lips parted slightly. Kaelin froze, his goblet halfway to his mouth. The twins looked like they had just been told their sister ruled a small country.
The words had meant nothing to me. Courts, Flights, titles stacked like stones in an old wall.
Veyrakh, of course, was unfazed. He inclined his head the barest fraction, then guided me to take my seat, as though nothing had happened.
The platters of food began to arrive. Roasted game. Bowls of fruits. Platters of vegetables. Bread still steaming from the ovens. And beneath the table, the toe of his boot brushed my ankle.
I didn’t look at him. If he thought he could just drop that litany of titles in front of my family and escape without answering, he didn’t know me that well. I simply dug my slippered toe into his calf as I speared a piece of roasted meat from the platter in front of me.
A gold-haired dragoness in human form leaned, her goblet cradled delicately in her hand.
“So, Warden-Consort,” she said smoothly, “now that you’re bonded with the High Warden, where do you stand on the Flame Court’s jurisdiction over human border disputes?”
Without pausing my slicing into the delicacy I’d selected, I answered airily, “Well, I do try to never make it a rule to discuss politics. Before dessert.”
A few chuckles drifted toward the table.
“Surely you must have some opinion,” she pressed.
I smiled sweetly, setting my fork down. “Oh, I have opinions. Veyrakh finds them,” I paused, “persuasive.” My tone lingered just enough to draw a low, knowing ripple of laughter from several nearby dragons and from my parents and Kaelin.
The dragoness blinked, then raised her goblet in a small toast. “Well played.”
“Thank you. Now is this sauce citrus or floral?”
I leaned a little closer, voice barely a whisper. “You enjoyed that.”
He did not look up. “Which part?”
“The herald adding half your library of titles.”
“Tradition demands accuracy.”
“Tradition,” I murmured, nudging his knee again, “is about to limp home with a bruise.”
The faintest rumble of amusement escaped him. “You wound me.”
“Not yet,” I said, and turned back to my plate.
“Veyrakh,” Kyran said a moment later, “c4ould you please pass me that bowl of fruit in front of you?”
The conversation around us stopped. Not slowed. Stopped.
A bronze-scaled male a few seats down blinked. “You. You just called the Lord High Warden by his given name.”
Kyran blinked, glancing at me. “Yeah? That’s his name.”
“But only those of direct blood such as clutchmates, parents, nest-brothers and nest-sisters, and lifebonded mates may speak a Warden’s name so plainly,” the dragoness who had tried to goad me into a political discussion a few moments ago explained. Her voice was gentle, as though she was explaining something to a young child or someone unfamiliar with the custom, without condescension.
I tilted my head toward my husband. “I’m his wife. By extension, that would make my parents his parents and my siblings his siblings. And Alira his niece.”
Surprised murmurs filled the room. Veyrakh finally looked up and handed Kyran the bowl. “Of course they are.” A simple statement as though it had never been in doubt.
The murmur of the court rolled around us as the dragons debated lineage, alliances, and the significance of a human family folded into the Obsidian Flight and the Court of the Ember Flame.
The Bloodfang envoy, grim, wearing an iron-colored uniform, leaned toward his counterpart, the Crimson Scale representative, their low voices threading beneath the hum of conversation. Both were stationed at the Ember Flame Court as official observers of inter-Court affairs. Neither missed the implications of what they had just witnessed.
The Crimson envoy’s expression remained politely neutral, but his eyes measured me with quiet calculation. The Bloodfang’s jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring in faint disapproval. I could almost hear the questions forming: what alliances this human bond would forge, what traditions it would shatter, how far Veyrakh intended to push the old order.
This celebratory dinner was a declaration. Human blood, dragon title. The world was shifting, and the heat in the room had nothing to do with the braziers.
Mother had been quiet through the exchange, her eyes narrowing the way they did when she was puzzling something out. She finally looked at me. Then at Veyrakh. Then back at me.
“Oh,” she said softly. “I understand now.”
“What, Mother?” I asked. “Understand what?”
Veyrakh’s hand found mine under the table. Warm. Steady. Dangerous.
His thumb traced idle circles against my palm until I nearly dropped my fork.
Mother reached for her goblet and took a measured sip of her wine. “Why this ‘wedding party’ of yours wasn’t just us and a couple of Veyrakh’s friends, as we expected. Why the entire Court and a good majority of the entire town is here. Why the air smells like half the vault’s been emptied into the decorations.”
My brows pulled together. “I’m not sure...I don’t...”
I nudged his knee with mine.
“Because we’re kin now. And I’m sure that had there been more time...”
“Oh, definitely,” Veyrakh added as he continued eating, rubbing his boot along my calf, practically entwining my leg in his, “we would have had to invite the twelve other Courts.”
I looked around at my family. My father was deep in conversation with the dragon sitting on the other side of him. Kaelin mouthed something that looked suspiciously like High Warden, really? Sethus and Orin were whispering furiously, probably debating if they could now order dragons around. Kyran was still trying to look like he hadn’t just broken a thousand-year taboo. At the far end of the table, Tamsin was rocking little Alira in her arms, the baby’s small hand waving aimlessly toward the nearest brazier, oblivious to the storm of protocol she’d just been folded into by blood.
“Twelve?” I nearly choked. “Why? And where would everyone fit?”
Veyrakh gave a small grin.
The golden-haired dragoness answered. “There are thirteen Courts in the Obsidian Flight. Lord Veyrakh is the Lord of the entire Flight, the supreme leader of all dragons in the world.” She smiled, her lips together. “As for fitting everyone,” she leaned closer, “we have an even larger hall across the city.”
I had thought “Lord of the Obsidian Flight” had been just another ceremonial flourish.
Across from us Mother sipped her wine, her gaze flicking between us and then back to her plate, a small smirk tugging at her mouth as I lean in toward my husband.
“We aren’t staying for dessert, are we?” I murmured.
Veyrakh’s answering smile was all teeth as his hand stroked my thigh.
“Not a chance.”
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