Page 170 of Ashborne Forged

My mother had trafficked in dark power since before my birth, and brushed shoulders with some of the most powerful people in the kingdoms as a result of it. I’d always known how many of them dabbled in the craft. They’d been frequent visitors of our home, and patrons of my parents games. I knew she whispered in the ears of rulers, and manipulated events among the wealthy and powerful. When I’d read those codes, and seen one of her sick mantras used by spies, I’d known she was involved. But I’d assumed it was a political venture. Just her little nod to her own, disgusting practices. I’d always seen her as a spider—weaving webs, tying up the resources of other, ignorant people, to position herself for prey. I’d assumed she avoided Court because those people had power in the land that exceeded hers in magik, and she didn’t want to face the challenge.

Even she could not beat death if a ruler had her executed.

But, I’d been wrong. So wrong.

The King of Fyrehold didn’t speak as a man who admired a strong woman with political savvy who’d successfully navigated challenges to curry favor. These words, this plan, were spoken as if they were co-conspirators in her perverted practices.

I’d known coming to her would put me in their path once more. I’d known that even if she crawled under a rock, she’d never stop weaving. Not for long.

But this? They all believed Grace was a vessel for their sick power?

No. No!

The king wasn’t just Mother’s political ally. He was an adherent. A Cruor.

“Your archaic stipulations are little more than superstition. She carries the blood and is innocent of the Guiding Law—the only requirements. I will not let you make me question what we both know to be true. The moment she vows to a man, her womb is—”

I recoiled instinctively and lost my footing. Swallowing curses as I was forced to catch myself, shimmy down, before I fell with a thud. And by the time I climbed once more, pressing my ear to that crack, their voices had stopped.

Had they heard me slide against the stones? Were they already on their way to find me? Or were they merely done arguing and returning to the ballroom?

Shit. Shit!

‘Voski? What alarms you?’

I was so angry. And so frightened. But, as I climbed back down, hurriedly tugged on my boots, and sprinted through the passages to take position before Breckon and Grace returned to their chambers, I made myself tell him.

‘This wedding… it’s not about a marriage contract, Kham. The king isn’t upholding his friend’s betrothal—they think…’ I wanted to be sick just thinking about it. ‘My mother… her power… they all believe there are certain bloodlines, families whose children harbor the Old Blood and will carry Cruor power. These fuckers think if they get children on Grace, she’ll provide them with powerful young. Magikly powerful. They want to use her, Kham. Breckon isn’t a prideful Lord, unwilling to give up his betrothed. He’s an ambitious sorcerer, attempting to build a legacy. And he wants to use Grace to do it.’

The feeling from Kham was one of nausea and righteous indignation. ‘We will not allow it,’ he said simply, but the words rolled into a growl at the end. ‘We will not let her be harmed. We’ll get her out. You, me, and Koa.’

‘No, we won’t,’ I sent, my breath hissing through my teeth because my jaw was clenched to keep me from screaming. ‘I will,’ I corrected.

‘Voski, you cannot do this alone. You don’t need to. We’ve been provided to you—’

‘And if they see dragons come to her aid, they’ll never stop hunting her. Your power exceeds theirs, Kham. We can’t take the risk. She’ll be hounded for the rest of her days. I’m done waiting. I’m done leaving this kind of evil in the world. I walked away once because you told me to trust them into the Creator’s hands. I’m not doing it again. And definitely not with her.’

57. Insanity

~ GRACE ~

I woke with a jolt when a hand rested on my leg, over the covers. I sucked in to scream, reaching for the blade I’d slipped inside my pillowcase—only to realize the calloused palm over my mouth, and the gentle touch on my calf was Voski’s.

Voski. In my room.

I went still, but my heart thundered. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get in here?’

‘I came through his rooms.’

I almost bit down on his hand. ‘Has your mind been pickled?!’

‘It was needed, Grace. Truly needed. We have to talk.’

I pushed up to sit as he sank onto the bed next to me, one hand still on my leg, his eyes glittering in the dark. He moved like a snake so even the bed seemed to barely shift with his weight. My breath caught as I reached for him, my heart rushing with need—but even though he gathered me up and curled himself around me, holding me tightly, there was a stiffness to him. And his trembling didn’t seem born of desire, as much as fear.

Something, deep in his chest, was cold. Unmoving. An injured animal afraid to shift for the pain it might cause.

‘Voski, what’s going on?’