Page 36 of The Wrath of Ashes (Sins of Balthier #1)
Asha
Being mated and wed was an interesting experience.
After ridding himself of the shame of everyone knowing that he’d been recently deflowered—he found that nobody made any qualms about it.
It was business as usual as Slath took over his magic training and introduced him to matters of state befitting a bearer.
Asha expected paperwork or something mundane, but Slath was more of a face to the kingdom.
He visited people, used his skills as a painter to gift noble houses with his art, and taught Asha the craft.
He had a talent for it to begin with, so it was no surprise when Slath and Asha were invited to a garden party not a few weeks after the mating.
Rath had been invited too, but he so seldom went. His time was better focused elsewhere.
In the cool mountains, it was a mark of pride to afford the greenhouses and servants to tend plants that otherwise couldn’t grow so high.
In the Saurian estate of some duke that Asha missed the name of, he and Slath sat side by side with sketchpads and watercolors, painting the flowers and rather free-handed interpretations of the evening on fine linen parchment.
Asha rather liked having something to do at an event rather than standing around conversing about mindless drivel.
For his base layer, he used a fine charcoal pencil, making use of the poorer tools he’d grown up with.
When the earl’s staff could afford an artist, Asha had been permitted to use scraps and unconventional tools that Rath had praised his skills with.
Though, compared to Slath, he was still a novice.
“I think you’ll outpace me in a dozen years, Asha.
You’re balls at color, but your linework is impeccable. ”
“I doubt it. It’s a passing hobby.”
“Still,” Slath said, leaning over to smudge at some excess charcoal that had broken and rained onto the edge of his paper. “It’s pretty. Let me paint it, okay?”
Asha stared at it then glanced over toward Slath. “Sure. I needed a break, anyway. I’ll need to be home before… Wait, do you need to as well?” Asha gestured toward the sky where the rising moon would be sooner than later.
Slath gestured for them to swap seats and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve not met a dragon or Ashen that matched me. So, I do feel the pull of the moon as many dragons do, but I don’t go into estrus quite yet. If it were so, many dragons would know their designation before mating.”
“Lucky, you and I have our colors to vouch for that.” Asha rubbed at his temple and swapped seats, settling down with a long sigh.
“But I don’t feel like we need to rush out of here this evening. Have Heckle take it easy on your way back, yes?” Slath squeezed Asha’s shoulder and smiled.
“I’d rather not have to chase Rath down when we got home. I’ll spare you the details.” Asha jolted when Slath leaned over, a cloth in hand.
“You smeared charcoal all over your forehead.” Slath’s lips turned up at the corners in a wicked grin that reminded Asha that he and Rath were indeed born of the same stock. “Headache?”
Asha nodded sagely. “Malingering at best. Nothing for it but perhaps some water and a rest before Rath spirits me away.”
“I doubt my brother will have that on his mind if I’m right.” Slath daubed at his palette and smiled as he swathed down a light layer of palest blue with his fine brush.
Asha, for his part, dabbled with another sheet of paper and sketched a rather somber-looking woman—a high dragon’s daughter as she sat staring out at the guests with a feckless expression.
It was rather adorable, and overall candid, which is what Slath said Asha did best. “You’re always right, but what about this time? ”
“I would wager my favorite brush that the moon comes out and you feel nothing but a yawn come on.” Slath daubed at some of the pooling water on the page, careful not to disturb Asha’s light sketch.
“Doubtful. Last time was so intense that—” Asha’s cheeks burned and he settled down.
For his part, Slath seemed unbothered. His keen eyes flicked about before he made eye contact with a rather severe-faced male with a shock of hair such a vibrant red that it couldn’t have possibly been human.
When Asha noted a set of equally red horns entwined with his hair in a windswept way, it confirmed his species.
“Well, you were also in a stupor of lust from your mating and aphrodisiacs. But I’d like a second opinion. Graylan! Sir, if you wouldn’t mind.”
The male turned a kind eye to Slath and sauntered over, his scarlet nails tapping a little tattoo on the rim of a delicate glass in his hand. “Slath. It’s lovely to see you here. Your renditions are always a treat.”
“You’d say anything to charm me. We both know it, Gray.” Slath gave the male a stern glare that made him look away almost sheepishly. “But I called you because I wish to ask a favor.”
“Always with you, my prince. You call on me only when you need things.” He sighed in an overdramatic huff and batted thick, red lashes over completely black eyes. The pits of them were eerie, and Asha found it unnerving that he was unable to see where the male looked.
“Our king consort here is feeling under the weather. Would you have any insight? My theory is rather amateur at best.” Slath daubed at a bit of yellow on his palette and blended it into the blue, creating a green transition.
Asha hesitated as he ceased sketching.
“My liege. May I touch your neck and hands for a moment?” Graylan turned to Asha and extended his claw-tipped hand.
Scales rose along Asha’s arms at the feel of another dragon invading his space, but he tamped the defensiveness down before agreeing.
Slath’s nudge to his shoulder and gesture had Asha stiffening to stand before him.
“If Slath says it’s proper.”
“I’m a physician. Dragonkind has called on me for near a hundred years for their ailments.” Graylan rolled his frilled sleeve ends up and reached forward to feel along Asha’s neck, pushing back the fine silk collar of his embroidered coat. Asha loved the feel of Rath’s magic surrounding him.
“I doubt I’m ill. I’m merely a little tired.” Asha laughed, his chuckle a nervous and tentative thing that had Graylan snorting.
“Not ill at all, strictly speaking. I suppose I should thank you for this juicy gossip, Slath.” Graylan winked and took Asha’s hands and turned them over. “Now look me in the eyes—yes, I know it’s difficult. I need to see your sclera—yes. I think so.”
Asha bit his lip at the admission but twitched at the sensation of foreign magic brushing over him, vibrating through his body and into his belly. Graylan’s deep gaze and the sensation combined and Asha had a feeling….
“Clutches do run in your lines, do they not?” Graylan squeezed Asha’s hands. “Two eggs.”
Slath fumbled his brush and grinned, a splatter of yellow trailing the page. “Two?”
“Fortune smiles, and fate has called. Send word to the castle to check the catacombs to see who has passed. Would you?” His somber smile faded. “Do tell the kingdom who has left this world.”
Asha must have had a strange expression mixed with his shock, because Slath leaned over and whispered, “We do not announce an egg or expectations. We announce the passing of an elder—so it is assumed they are to be reborn in spirit.”
Asha nodded, his entire body numb as he tried to piece together what he’d been told.
“Honestly, nobody here would think ill of you if you left early.” Graylan smiled, the expression far more somber than Asha would have expected.
“I think that may be a good idea, all things said.” Slath patted Asha’s shoulder and aided him in packing up their things.
Asha nodded in thanks to Graylan and helped Slath put a dry sheet of paper over the wet painting before rolling it up. Despite the sizeable news he’d just gotten, his mind wouldn’t focus on it, only on other things. “We’ll need to straighten that out when we get back to the castle.”
Slath furrowed his brow as if lost, before brightening for a moment. “Ah. Yes, we’ll see to it. I’ll have Pryd go check the catacombs while we get you settled.”
Asha nodded as he walked away, bidding a polite farewell to a few onlookers as they made their way to the stables.
Heckle gave him an extra sniff and nuzzle—overly affectionate as he’d always been.
Then again, the past few days, the wyvern had been less playful and more simpering.
Perhaps it was the eggs. Eggs. Asha sidled atop Heckle and rested a hand over his navel.
It did feel a little different, maybe tauter, muscles slightly distended there.
Nothing that would have alerted him to a child. Er. Egg—eggs.
“Fly gentle. It’s not too far to the castle.” Slath took off first, and Asha followed. The headache he’d sported still stung, but that was an afterthought as he held Heckle’s reins tightly.
He had a lot to think about.