Page 20

Asha

Standing and walking for the first time made his body wobble and crouch awkwardly. No two steps were the same, like new muscles and bones had twisted under his skin, but at the same time, each step brought him new confidence he’d not had before.

Riding Heckle the day before had made his body ache as he rode the wyvern.

All the ways his body wanted to move then made sudden sense, as if his new posture would have made the sky—as the thought broke through his musings, his wings shuddered, instinctively pawing at the air as he tried to calm them into laying flat once more.

Rath’s were kept neatly tucked, his tail too, so Asha didn’t understand why his were out…

“Don’t understand why it had to be at the ass crack of dawn! I’m sure my brother and Asha were very well-acquainted last night, but—Eternal fire!” Slath pushed through the doors with Jeron prodding his back.

Asha jumped and grabbed at the undergarments he’d been hastily fitted into the night before. “I’m not dressed!”

“Don’t see how you could be, shit.” Slath forged his way in, fishing for a blanket to throw over Asha’s shoulders.

“Fire opal. Spectacular. I could have guessed with hair as golden spun as yours. A fine line between blond and fire.” Rath patted his shoulders and guided him toward the doors. “Let’s get you to my quarters, where I can nab some clothing for you.”

“Rath said you were a water opal…” Asha stumbled along as he followed. Slath’s horns were two small things, arched back and ridged, understated among his black hair. They did have a pearlescent sheen to them, reflecting a blue like nacre.

“He is too kind. Some call what I am a water opal.” Rath shrugged. “The rest of the world calls me a common pearl.”

“There is no common for a pearl.”

“It’s why I have my name, Slathir. We’re all named for our colors. As Mezerath embodies vengeance with his blue, I am a subtle and understated color made by sedentary change. I am droll, in other words.”

“That’s unfair to yourself. I adore pearls. The nacre glistens softly. It’s not a flashy stone—but it holds its worth.” Asha offered a hopeful smile, but Slath had already put himself in a foul mood.

“Never you mind. Let’s get you some clothing.

I’m absolutely livid with Pryd. You weren’t ready for that much moonlight.

” Slath marched him through the castle and to his much smaller wing, pushing him into a rather gaudily decorated changing room.

Slath wore understated and paint-stained clothing, but every surface of his quarters was brightly painted, covered in beautiful murals and accented with thrilling touches.

Asha tightened the blanket over his shoulders and sat when Slath gestured him to sit and wait.

With barely any thought, he forged his way into a closet and threw a few items out just as Jeron caught up with them, sputtering as trousers and jackets hit him in the face. Slath grumbled as he held up one jacket, then another, before glancing at Asha. “Pull your wings and tail in.”

“How, precisely, am I to do that?” Asha glared at the floor, his tail twitching uncoordinatedly.

“You know… Just…” Slath rolled his shoulders and gestured, but the meaning behind it escaped Asha. While making another gesture almost identical to the first, Slath had an epiphany, if the dawning look on his face was to be believed. “Oh…”

Asha couldn’t even move them correctly. He tried lifting a wing, and it jerked awkwardly, the muscles in it surprisingly well developed for a limb that had never moved before. “Don’t even know how to move them.”

“I mean… We could teach you how to fly like I learned…” Slath frowned. “I’d be no better than Pryd just chucking you off the promontory…” Pryd rubbed his chin, but Jeron sighed heavily and marched up.

Asha turned, glancing at his attendant as he huffed. “Jeron? Do you have any idea?”

“Well. They taught us how to deal with an inebriated dragon.” Jeron made a gesture as if requesting permission to touch, and Asha dropped his blanket a little while Jeron prodded at his tender back. “Feel these muscles here?”

Asha flexed and leaned from side to side before nodding. “Yes, they’re—” A shout broke free of his lips as Jeron ran a thumb down his spine, pushing into a point just above his wing bases that made every muscle on them shudder. “Fuck!”

It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. Asha bent forward, panting as his back made some convoluted and painful ripple of muscles.

He’d dislocated a shoulder before, and the sudden sensation of righting the bone back into its socket had an all-too-familiar feel. The sensation of his wings bunching up coincided with that sudden alleviation of pain at the end. “Baltheir’s balls!”

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 habit of 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 face pleasant 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.

Asha frowned and glanced around, seeking out Slath’s dressing mirror.

He’d been afraid to look at himself before.

As he neared the pane of glass, it wasn’t Asha that stared back at him but an Ashen one .

A dragon. He stretched his hand before him, placing his palm on the clean surface, his nails tapping with a gentle click.

A slight sheen had come over his nails, that same fire opal that reflected off the white scales of his tail.

Atop his head sat the weighty pearlescent hue of his horns, and he could see the beauty of them.

But his eyes. They were the same pale blue, his newly elongated irises.

A ring of fire had burst around his pupil, and the whites of his eyes were no more.

Gleaming black framed them. And even his hair had more sheen to it, red in the gold.

He touched his locks and flicked his gaze in the mirror to catch Jeron and Slath as they stared back at him.

“You really are beautiful, you know.” Slath stepped toward him with an outfit draped over his arm.

Asha met his own gaze once more. “I can’t tell…”

He drew his hand back and turned away from his reflection, a familiar sting in his eyes telling him to avoid looking at anyone until the moment passed.

“Come. It’ll take time to understand yourself. It’s a stranger staring back at you, after all.” Jeron coaxed Asha away, and he lost the fight with his tears. Hot trails burned over his cheeks.

“I can’t tell whether it’s a stranger or what I always was.” Asha blinked the tears away, and he wasn’t certain it was the shock of what he saw, the loss of what he didn’t, or that both forms were foreign.