Page 71 of Ashborne Phoenix

“Lady Grace of the House of Barnslow, I stand before witnesses to the binding vow.” He coughed lightly, then cleared his throat, his eyes sharpening. “I stand to offer myself, and my line. The House of Breckon would take the House of Barnslow. Do you receive me?”

I blinked, then swallowed. ‘Your mother gave instructions about the vows, but I never expected—’

‘Say yes, Grace,’ Voski urged me. I flinched, but did as he said.

“I do.”

The king’s eyes widened a hair and he sat back in his throne, watching us with mingled thrill and horror.

‘What is going to happen? Why do they all look… hungry?’

‘Because they are—for power. Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Just react as you would.’

I took a deep breath, steadying as Breckon smiled. He cleared his throat, then began to speak, his voice strong, but growing hoarser with each word. As if he were emotional. But there was no sign of that on his face.

“Then I call on the witnesses to hear me!” His voice echoed through the silent chamber. The watching Cruors leaned closer. “By the blood of my fathers, I come! By the blood of my fathers, I b-bind myself—” He coughed suddenly, like he’d inhaled something on the word. “What is m-mine, I make yours. By kin. By birthright. By family name—”

Breckon broke off into a terrible, hacking cough, clearing his throat hard between splutters, but coughing again so desperately, his face began to redden, and tears wet the corners of his eyes.

He still held my hands, but as the coughing grew worse, he leaned forward, lifting my hands so he could cover his mouth with his sleeve. Then, when he could inhale again, he turned toward the king, shaking his head. “I will finish, only…” More coughing. “J-just a moment,” he wheezed, so hoarse his voice seemed to whistle.

I looked at the royals, then around the room. The Court whispered to each other, some of the ladies clutching the arms of their husbands, or the gloved hands of their friends.

I opened my mouth, but Voski nearly shouted in my head, ‘Don’t speak! Force him to finish!’

‘What is happening?’

‘Mother was right—the power is turning on him. He can’t vow to you.’

I stared, horrified, as Breckon bent forward at the waist, no longer attempting to speak, but coughing so hard, his entire body convulsed. He jerked at my hands with the force of his body’s attempts to evict whatever blocked his airway.

Then, after one particularly sharp hack, he raised his head to inhale desperately—leaving a red smear on his sleeve.

I recoiled instinctively as sharp cries and murmurs rose from the watchers. But Breckon didn’t release my hands, only continued to fight for air, gripping me tightly and keeping me there with him.

And as the hubbub in the room grew, and Breckon’s hacks squelched into hoarse cries, he suddenly dropped my hands, bending forward, mouth agape, scrabbling at his throat, clawing at his cravat, his eyes bulging.

“He broke the hold!”

“He’s going to die!” a woman shrieked as Breckon dropped to his knees, his face beet red.

The king shot to his feet, his face furious—and pointed straight between us to the Lady Ashford who stood just a few feet behind, unflustered, and her hands clasped before her, smiling.

“You said there was no babe! You said she bled!”

Cough, cough—wheeze.

“So I was told,” Lady Ashford said calmly. “Sire, I assure you, I have done nothing to the man. This is not my magik.”

“Trick! It’s… a sp-spell!” Breckon wheezed, then devolved into another fit of coughing.

A wave of scandalized horror rippled through the room. The queen crowded her husband’s side, as the king raised his hands for quiet. “This is not over. Do not leave the chamber!”

“Certainly not! None of you want to miss this.”

Voski.

Everyone—including me—whirled to find the owner of that strong, vibrant, dark voice, ringing to the rafters.