Ashborn Chapter 17
Between firelight and silence, Veyrakh and Dareya learn what even dragons fear—truth without armor.
Read Chapter 16
The hall was loud. The bell’s chime still echoed through the vaulted hall when I felt her shift beside me. Dareya’s patience had lasted longer than mine; that alone was a small miracle. The court’s laughter dulled to a hum, the air thick with perfume, molten wine, and the old ache of politics. I caught her glance—the faintest spark beneath her lashes—and rose before the herald could announce another toast.
I leaned in, my lips brushing my new bride’s ear. “Now,” I murmured. “Walk with me.”
Dareya glanced toward the head of a table, where a dragon with gold-embroidered sleeves was mid-toast.
“You’ll be missed,” she said.
“Only by those who hope to profit from keeping me cornered.” My hand tightened around hers. “They’ll be distracted for at least three minutes. That’s plenty of time.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “And me?”
“You’re the excuse I needed.”
We rose together. No one noticed as we slipped from the dais. The feast carried on, a hundred glittering dragons in human shape too wrapped in their own intrigue to mark one absent lord and his chosen guest.
I led her through an arched side passage where the light thinned to amber, guiding her toward a side arch, moving with the easy grace perfected through centuries of practice slipping in and out of political gatherings. But never before for such a delicious reason.
Just as we passed into shadow, she risked a look back.
Her mother was watching. She lifted her goblet in the smallest salute, that familiar smirk lingering, mouthing something about wanting grandbabies.
The music and murmur of the crowd faded behind us, replaced by the low echo of our footsteps on stone.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
My eyes caught the dim light, shining a dull silver in the dark.
“Nowhere the Court may follow.”
The further we went, the quieter it became. We moved through corridors veined with gold and shadow. The deeper we went, the quieter the world became, until our footsteps were the only sound. A tapestry brushed her shoulder—depicting a mythical Ashborn clutch, wings half-woven into flame. She paused to study it, eyes glinting with curiosity and unease.
“Do you ever feel them watching?” she asked.
“Always,” I said. “They judge the living by how little we resemble their myths.”
She snorted softly. “Then they’d despise me.”
“They’d envy you.”
The words came out lower than intended, and her pulse quickened. I heard it, subtle as the whisper of embers. She looked ahead again, but color had risen to her cheeks.
The music and laughter shrank behind us, until only the faint hum of crystal-lit corridors remained.
“This way,” I said, turning down a narrower passage veined with molten-like stone.
“Not many people come this way,” she murmured.
“No one,” I agreed. “Not without my invitation.”
The corridor narrowed, amber crystal light softening into a silvery glow from narrow windows high above. I led her up a narrow stair curling upward toward the upper chambers. The stones here still held the warmth of dragon fire, laid centuries ago. I gestured for her to climb first; she shot me a warning glance and obeyed anyway, passing through a tall archway onto a balcony. The curved walls opened to the night air, black stone framing the city below—rooftops and lanterns stretching toward the horizon, the dark sea glimmering beyond.
A door of blackened oak waited. My old quarters. Seldom used. The fire had been laid earlier by some dutiful attendant who would never ask why.
I didn’t release her hand until she was close enough that my scent filled her lungs.
“I can’t decide,” she murmured, tilting her head to look up at me, “Did you drag me away to have me to yourself, or to keep me from demanding answers in front of half the Flame Court?”
“Why not both?” My lips curved, a faint glint of teeth showing.
She arched a brow. “Lord High Warden, Keeper of the Ember Seal, Bearer of the First Flame, Breaker of the Sky Siege—”
I chuckled, stepping closer until her skirts brushed my boots. “Careful. That list is long enough you’ll run out of breath before you finish.”
“That’s the idea,” she shot back, though her voice softened on the last word.
For a moment, we simply stood there, night air cool against her cheeks, the weight of the past couple days catching up to her: the collapse of the Aerie, fleeing across half the continent as a fugitive, tribunal, handfasting, the endless crush of people, the suffocating formality. Here, there was only space. Space and me.
My hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb tracing a slow line along her cheekbone. “You wear your titles well,” I said quietly. “But they are nothing compared to the truth of you.”
I pushed the door open to the small antechamber beyond—quiet, candlelit, filled with the faint scent of sea-salt resin.
“That’s sweet,” she said, “but it’s not getting you out of answering later.”
I laughed under my breath, dipping my head to press my forehead to hers as I swept her into my arms.
“Later, then.”
The air shifted as we passed through an arched doorway. It was warmer now, scented faintly of smoke and something sharper, like the breath before a storm.
I closed the door, clicking the lock.
Light spilled from clusters of crystals in the walls, their glow caught by black-polished stone. Heavy draperies softened edges, pooling onto rugs so thick my boots sank deep.
Dareya’s breath fluttered against my cheek. “You planned this.”
I shrugged. “I prefer to be prepared.”
“For ambushes or for escapes?”
“For both.”
Her laugh broke the last of the tension between us. I set her down and she circled the room. Shelves carved into stone held items I doubted any court functionary had ever seen. Her fingertips grazed a tiny carved wooden horse on the mantle I had carved long ago for the child I once hoped to someday have. Perhaps one day, I’d gift it to Alira instead.
One wall was open to the valley below; the night air drifted in cool and clean.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, turning to face me.
My mouth curved slowly, dangerously, as I set her down before the hearth. “Not anymore.”
She didn’t move at first.
A blackened helm rested by the hearth, metal scored deep with three claw marks.
Her fingers hovered over it before she pulled back. She turned back, eyes reflecting the firelight, and for a heartbeat the hall’s noise, the court, the banners, the endless schemes—all of it—fell away.
“You’ve lived a lot of lives,” she murmured.
“All of them mine,” I said, voice quiet in the warm space between us. “And now, so is this one.”
She turned toward me. I hadn’t moved closer, but the space felt smaller. She studied me with the same intensity she once saved for battle strategy. “You dragged me away from a hundred watchful eyes. Tell me why.”
I stepped closer. “Because they look at you and see a symbol. I look at you and see a woman who deserves to breathe.”
Her breath hitched. “That almost sounded noble.”
“Almost.” I let the word hang between us.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it hummed with restrained heat. I could feel the fire stirring beneath my skin—the old dragon instinct that answered hers. “Careful, little flame,” I said, softer than a warning.
She tilted her chin up. “If you call me that again, you’ll owe me a story.”
“Then I’ll pay in full.”
Her eyes narrowed in challenge, but the spark in them softened. She moved toward the hearth. “You once said dragons taste emotion in the air. What do I taste like now?”
I joined her by the fire. “Ash and honey,” I said. “Heat held just below breaking.”
She turned to face me, expression unreadable. “Then maybe you should see what happens when it breaks.”
We were close enough now that her words brushed my throat. I could smell the faint trace of the court’s spiced wine on her breath, could hear the flutter of her heartbeat like the flicker of wings against glass. I wanted to taste the truth of her courage, the way she carried her fear and still met the world head-on.
“I remember,” she said, voice low, “when they called me a weapon. When they decided I was only as valuable as the orders I obeyed.”
I reached out, tracing my fingers along the back of her hand. “And now?”
“Now I’m deciding what I’m worth.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“So are you. Still think I should’ve stayed with my family?” she asked, softer than she meant to.
My answer was just as soft. “Not for a moment.”
Her smile was defiance wrapped in grace. The bond shimmered between us—an unseen thread, pulling tighter each time we drew breath.
A sudden crash echoed from far below, followed by laughter. The feast was still in full swing. The sound reached us like a reminder of the world outside this chamber, of alliances and debts waiting to be called in.
“They’ll wonder where we’ve gone,” she said.
“Let them.”
She laughed under her breath. “Three minutes, you said.”
“Four, now.”
The flickering fire threw shifting gold across her face. I caught a lock of her hair between my fingers, felt the faint hum of magic where it brushed my skin. The flame in the hearth flared, responding to something neither of us voiced.
“You planned for this too?” she asked, teasing.
“No,” I said. “This, I could never plan for.”
Her gaze searched mine as if weighing truth against impulse. “Then ask me to stay.”
The question caught in my chest. I didn’t want to command her—only to be chosen. “Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
The single word struck like a spark in dry tinder.
I reached for her, my hand cupping her cheek like I’d held myself back far too long.
The air thickened, fragrant with smoke and salt. I stepped nearer, slow, deliberate, giving her space to step back if she wished. She didn’t. My mouth found hers. Slow at first, as if relearning the shape of her after too many hours apart, then deeper, until the weight of the world outside this door slipped away entirely.
She reached up and brushed her thumb across the ridge of an old scar at my jaw. “I thought dragons healed clean.”
“Most do.”
“What makes you different?”
“You,” I said, and meant it.
Her hand lingered. “Flattery.”
“Fact.”
She gripped my coat’s fabric, pulling me closer. My hands slid down her back, warm even through the layers. Outside, the wind moved through the open wall, carrying the distant sound of rushing water far below. The crystals hummed faintly, their light shifting like embers in a hearth.
She let her eyes close, breathing me in, letting the softness underfoot and the velvet brush of my sleeve blur into a single feeling: safe.
My fingers slid from her jaw to the curve of her neck, tracing the edge of the ribbon from her hair.
“Too many eyes in the hall,” I murmured. “Here, no one to interrupt.”
The breeze stirred loose flowers in her hair, carrying the faint perfume of her bath. The fire behind her caught the edges of her hair, turning every strand to copper and flame. My other hand found her waist, thumb brushing the tightly laced fabric of her gown like a problem I intended to solve.
“You planned this,” she accused softly, though her voice lacked bite.
“I told you,” I said, lips ghosting her temple, “we dragons are always down for an excuse to celebrate… and to claim what’s ours.”
“Tell me something true,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
I considered a dozen evasions and discarded them all. “I don’t remember what peace felt like until tonight.”
That drew a breath from her—half laugh, half ache. “Then don’t ruin it.”
“I intend not to.”
Her hands found my lapels, the fine fabric smooth beneath her fingers, closing the final inch between us. Her lips found mine with the tentative courage of someone stepping into a storm and realizing it’s warm rain. The kiss deepened slowly, not with urgency but with recognition. For a heartbeat I saw it—the shimmer of red light threading from her skin into mine, the ancient signature of the Ashborn spark.
She pulled back, eyes wide. “Did you see—?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“That what burns in you answers what burns in me.”
A hush fell around us, the kind that comes before lightning. I touched her cheek, tracing the pulse beneath. “You’re trembling.”
“So are you.”
I smiled. “I’ve waited centuries to find someone who could make me.”
The hearth flared again, then steadied. Shadows lengthened, curling along the stone floor like serpents returning to rest. The whole chamber seemed to breathe with us.
“I’m still angry with you,” she reminded me, though her words caught slightly as my mouth found the line of her jaw.
“I know,” I said, unconcerned.
She didn’t answer in words. The silence that followed was its own kind of vow. She stepped closer until our foreheads touched. The fire dipped low, then surged higher, echoing the shared rhythm of our breath. The old marks along my shoulders began to warm, light threading faintly beneath the skin. The soft scrape of my stubble against her skin, the slow, deliberate mapping of my hands down her back, the faint heat radiating even through layers—it all combined into a steady, delicious burn low in my stomach.
She felt it too. “Veyrakh…”
“It’s the bond,” I murmured. “It answers when we do.”
Her fingers traced the edge of one glowing mark, slow, reverent. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It remembers.”
Her breath caught against my throat, the air between us charged, bright as a forge about to spark. The fire answered in kind, flames arching higher, painting her skin in liquid gold.
“Careful, little flame,” I whispered.
She smiled, unafraid. “Maybe I want to burn.”
When my lips met hers, it wasn’t the chaste brush from earlier. This was slower. Deeper. Each pass coaxing the air from her lungs until she leaned in, fingers curling against my chest for balance.
When I pulled back just enough to speak, my voice was rougher. “Tell me you want to stay here all night.”
“I’ll do you one better,” she said, curling a hand into my shirt front to pull me down. “I’ll prove it.”
When she looked up again, her eyes reflected the flames. There was fear in them, but not of me. Of what we both knew this could change.
“I won’t promise safety,” I said. “Only truth.”
“That’s all I want.”
The words hit like a challenge. The bond pulsed once—alive, undeniable—and for a heartbeat I forgot where I ended, and she began. The room dimmed, the court’s distant revel lost beneath the rhythm of our joined hearts.
We stood like that—heat, breath, heartbeat—until the words between us no longer mattered. I bent my head, kissed her once more, and the world narrowed to light and skin and the faint crackle of fire.
I kissed her again, slower this time, a promise of what waited beyond the fragile peace of this moment.
What happened after… that belongs to fire and silence.
We didn’t go back to the feast.
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