Page 4 of Crown of Ashes and Awe

I stopped suddenly and lifted my chin to stare at the bastion looming on the hill. I could only imagine the commotion going on behind the large slabs of glass that stared down at the gully like flat watchful eyes. And since my glorified shack and I were the only things in the gully besides waves of red rock, they were looking at me.

“And tonight, I’ll be on the inside, looking out.”

If I had fancy clothes to wear, I would wear them. I would defy Demius and allow the whole family to learn I was a woman. I'd imagined it a thousand times, but Demius forbade it, just as he'd forbidden me to visit the city of Sunbasin. Did that mean he was softening on all sides?

I was far too excited to sit, but I slipped under the ledge of the roof, out of the sun, to shift my weight back and forth. If I sat still, my adrenaline would ignite in my blood. Every minute or so, I would look up the hill again, to imagine the preparations happening inside those walls and to sniff the air, looking for hints of what their servants might be preparing.

Demius said most celebrations called for sweet cake. And just imagining such a smell in the canyon made my mouth water. Or maybe it watered at the thought of what an older, fully mature Viggo Semel might look like…

2

THE DUSTED AND THE DUSTLESS

Ididn’t bind my breasts as firmly as usual, but Demius must not have noticed since he allowed me out the door. I wore my whitest, best quality robes, but that was as fancy as I could manage, ignoring the fact that the hem would be covered with red dust by the time we hiked to the keep.

A pity I didn’t have a dragon to pluck me off the ground and deliver me to the ledge unmarked.

The Semel family only used their imposing canyon home a few times a year when they grew weary of the cold somewhere else. Sometimes they came and went in a matter of days. Sometimes we didn’t notice until a dragon arrived to take them away again. The family preferred to keep themselves above the dusty layer of the canyon—or at least away from those who groveled in it.

They knew Demius was one of the Everfolk—the Everkind were those who had, at one time, been mortal. When the Great Plague hit, all of Hestia was made immortal in order to survive that scourge. But still, the Everfolk were revered, and even the Semels showed my master that deference.

His advice was sought by both the dusted and dustless. Stuck in a remote arm of the canyon as we were, his snippets of wisdom (along with our healthy and hidden crops of dragonspice) were our primary sources of trade. Without both, our fresh food would be limited to whatever plants we could grow in a small oasis to the west.

Thankfully, dragonspice required little water to thrive, and the plants themselves blended in with the landscape, so even dragon riders couldn’t find them.

Inevitably, before our meager vegetable garden ripened, some other life form would harvest the bulk of it—sometimes the two-legged type who wandered from the path and laid waste to our labors. Or rather, my labors. I couldn’t remember the last time Demius got down on hands and knees to tend a tender stalk.

Besides the Semel’s keep, the nearest dwelling was high up the canyon, three hours’ walk from the gully. In all the times we’d traveled beyond that point, on our journeys to harvest our dragonspice, the same face never answered the door twice. So, if the Semels wanted to add revelers to their celebration, Demius and I were their only familiar options unless someone else arrived by dragonback.

A shiver ran up my spine at the prospect of seeing one of those black beasts up close. I’d read all about them, of course, but other than the smaller browns who delivered and collected the Semels from their keep, I’d only caught a silhouette in the sky. And then, only on a rare occasion.

We and the Semels rarely interacted, but from our northside porch, their place was the only point of interest on the visible landscape. Unfortunately, when looking out their expansive clear windows, our glorified shack was the prominent feature—a rough rectangle of wood and logs that impeded their view of the dramatically beautiful walls of the gully.

More than strangers, then—we were unintentional, reciprocal voyeurs.

When Demius and I reached the entrance, I shook what dust I could from my hem, then held my head high as we were escorted through the door and into the cool cave of their great hall. Mother Semel stood beside a circular table that held a tower of cakes. She fussed with the small leaves and berries that decorated it. The tantalizingly sweet smell conjured a phantom weight in my stomach that I couldn’t wait to relieve.

Dressed in a gown of intense green that shimmered when she moved, she greeted us with a genuine smile. Before she could speak, however, all heads turned to the great black shadow descending on the west ledge.

“Viggo is here!” Mother Semel hurried toward the doors, hindered by delicate shoes. The rest of the family peeled themselves away from the cool walls for a closer look at the dragon.

Father Semel opened the glass door to the ledge and a breathless Viggo swept inside. His expression matched the severity of his black uniform—a rather large, tall uniform that fit him surprisingly well. “A blue dragon,” he announced. “Sighted. Pursued by two guardians.” He gulped for air.“Verified!”

The house fell silent. A sheet of chills covered my back like an icy blanket. I immediately looked for Demius’ reaction.

No disappointment. No alarm. He didn’t even seem surprised.

“A blue dragon. Verified,”was repeated around the room.

Every few years, sightings were reported, usually by people seeking attention for one reason or another, or by one of theArd Draoiin an attempt to frighten people into supporting their order. Much like a religious sect, these people believed in and eagerly awaited the return of the blue dragon and the fulfillment of Moire’s prophecy.Ard Draoitranslated toHigh Druids, though few of their members could boast real powers.

Although dragons of all colors had been used as threats for disobedient children, they’d never been more than folklore to me. But throughout Hestian history, I’d never known of any sighting being verified…

Prophecy, folklore, it didn’t matter now. The truth had been instilled in us from Hestia’s beginnings. A blue dragon would mean death…for all of us.

“My dragon is large,” Viggo shouted. “I’m allowed to take you all to Ristat. Take only what’s important. And hurry!”

Ristat!The capital city! I never imagined?—

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