Page 36 of Ashborne Phoenix

He knew. I was sure of it. Though he was too far for me to reach with words, I could reach Koa—who flew high above the castle with Kham, and who assured me our mates were in constant contact.

The plan was not thwarted.

So, I took a deep breath, kept my grip on Breckon’s arm, and followed him into the dark, praying it wasn’t a metaphor.

To my surprise, we were ushered to a guarded antechamber. Two massive, daunting, arched doors with iron hinges were opened by royal guards when Breckon nodded, revealing a large tower room.

I gaped at the intricate black-and-white checkered floor, lit in strange patterns by the scrollwork iron windows that lined the long walls, each with a flame torch flickering behind it, as if to push back the oppressive dark of night outside. The thickly carpeted dais at the other end of the chamber sank into shadows behind two golden thrones, and their imperious occupiers. And lining both sides of the chamber as we entered and walked formally toward the king and queen, the Court—all dressed for the Queen’s pleasure, staring and silent, their expressions ranging from lascivious to fearful.

A Crier stepped forward as we approached, his sonorous voice pealing to the rafters and echoing in the stone chamber.

“All honor! All honor this eve! By will of King Burken of Fyrehold, before his throne and assembled Court, comes the Lord Rupert of the House of Breckon, and his chosen Lady Grace of the House of Barnslow, betrothed, each one to the other by the oldest law, written in flame and stone.

“Let Crown and Kingdom bear witness, they come! Supplicants to the Throne, heirs of ancient blood. Let record and writ forever say, they stand on this day before Your Majesty, begging grace and blessing, to give testimony of their intended union, to be seen, to be known, in the old accounting.”

The announcement startled me. I’d seen formal rites among the old families, but none ever left me with such an air of foreboding. As Breckon drew me to a halt just feet from the dais, he sank into a formal bow. While I curtseyed at his side, the Crier continued and my blood ran cold.

“Sire! Sovereign! Defender of this Realm! Who speaks the written law, who upholds the word of law, ruler of what lies above the soil, and of that which lies beneath. Let your hand of blessing lie upon your servants. Let your heart of mercy usher them. And let any who would stand in defiance hear and tremble: The old blood lives! The ancient honor lives! The power of the blood sings in the throne!”

I almost swallowed my tongue. The words were so similar to what Voski had relayed to me when his mother forced him through that horrific blood rite, for a moment I wanted to gather my skirts and flee the room. Instead, I straightened at Breckon’s side, raised my chin, and stared the king in the eye.

The king—handsome, though his jawline was too soft for my taste—leaned on one elbow, rubbing his chin with a finger as he watched Breckon rise from his bow.

“By custom as old as the throne, as old as the blood, your servants ask leave to bind this union!”

The Crier’s final words echoed around the rafters before the cold chamber went silent and we all awaited the king’s response.

But as the king raised his chin and opened his mouth to speak, another voice rose from behind us, sending a jolt through my veins as the room took a collective, shocked breath.

Every person in the room gaped as Voski’s mother stepped up to my side, dressed as grandly as the queen herself, and offering an elegant curtsey, while her eyes glittered with stark warning.

“Sire, there is more than mercy needed this night—I beg forgiveness and leave to advise. The old blood sings, indeed—and will blacken in the wrong veins.”

By Writ and Record

~ GRACE ~

The king’s expression sent a shiver down my spine. His jaw rolled as he sat back in the throne, staring daggers at Lady Ashford, who kept her eyes down, but her shoulders square.

Behind us, everyone whispered until the king lifted his gaze to the room beyond us and they silenced in a blink. He glared a moment longer, then his dark gaze snapped back to the bold woman.

“Any other soul would find themselves already dragged from this chamber, Lady Ashford.” He twitched a finger—one of the ones white-knuckled on the arm of his throne—and two guards trotted forward, bracketing the Lady, who didn’t even give them a glance. She merely stood, chin low, but eyes on the king, and a very small smile curling her lips. “Pray, tell me why you saw fit to interrupt the traditions this evening. And if you value your life, I’d advise you make me care.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course,” she said with another sketched curtsey.

Some of the women behind us gasped at her audacity. I reached for Voski. ‘Are you near? Can you hear this?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry. If this goes bad, I’ll get you out.’

Then the Lady Ashford raised her voice, and turned her head to look between the king and the people behind us, to ensure every word was heard throughout the chamber. “The Old Blood cannot be denied. The Lady Barnslow’s heritage is powerful,” she said slyly, and the whispers of those in the room who understood the subtext rose higher. “While I attend merely as Your Majesty’s friend, our shared pursuit of strength means I am honor-bound to tell you something I learned mere moments before we entered this chamber.”

“Speak frankly, my lady, or speak to my dungeon walls,” the king said through his teeth.

Her smile curled higher on one side and my stomach clenched.

“The power of this union should not be wasted,” she said frankly, with a glance at me. “I fear the Lord Breckon may not be strong enough to make proper use of it. And since only her first pregnancy is guaranteed, I advise you—with every ounce of authority I possess in my meager ways—that you ensure whoever gets a child on her is worth the price.”

“These are issues we have discussed many times. Your advice—”