Page 74 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Asher surveyed the courtyard of House Emberspire.
Trees with leaves that dripped like strands of rubies lined the walls, and bronze bowls set atop pillars were illuminated with flickering flames that would burn for two nights straight. Firebirds soared overhead, their blazing tails creating a display of fire dust and sparks. Lively music coaxed even the most timid of dancers, drawing them out to partake in the revelry. Wine flowed freely, laughter rang out above the crackling of tinder, and the courtyard came alive.
It was exactly how his mother would have wanted it. The Firelight Festival was always one of her favorites.
At least before his father ruined it for her by indulging in too much alcohol and cavorting with other females, some of whom were married with families of their own.
Asher ground his teeth, jaw clenching. Images from the last Firelight Festival when his mother and father were still alive seared into his mind.
His beautiful mother stood beneath one of the ancient oak trees, her chin lifted proudly with a tight smile on her face, while she watched her husband openly flirt with some female from House Galefell. At first, his hand would linger a little too long on the female’s waist and he’d lean in too close whenever they spoke. But then the innocuous teasing went a step further with his father grabbing a handful of the female’s ass and sloppily kissing her in front of everyone, with no regard to his wife’s feelings.
The sight of his father’s infidelity burned a hole in the pit of Asher’s gut.
Only later, after the festival ended and all their guests went home, did his mother finally call out his father for his blatant misdeeds.
Asher would never forget the transgressions of that night.
In a drunken rage, his father beat his mother mercilessly. Asher heard the echo of her screams and burst into his parents’ bedroom to find his father pummeling her beneath the might of his cruel fists. She’d suffered a broken jaw, a shattered wrist, infinite bruises, and a crushed spirit at his hands.
Asher stumbled into a blind rage.
He accosted his father, lashing out at the bastard who was the source of so much pain and agony within the walls of his home. Stealing the abusive attention away from his mother, he forced his father to attack him instead. What seemed like hours of explosive fury was only a few harrowing minutes of exchanging blows with one another. Asher walked away with a busted lip and two broken ribs, but it was nothing compared to the state of his father. Using his frostfire, he’d burned his father’s hands, blackened the skin so severely, one wrong move would turn them to ash. Then he’d threatened to do the same to the bastard’s cock.
In his heart, he knew he’d done what was right.
But his mother cried, screamed, begged him to stop. To showmercy.
His prick of a father had the nerve to smile. Like he knew he’d won, like he knew exactly how much control he had over the woman he hurt time and again.
Asher decided then and there to call upon the Shadowblade Assassin. He thought that if his father was dead, he could spare his mother. Without her husband, she would be safe. She would be protected. She would be happy.
But it hadn’t been enough to save her life.
The sounds of jovial music and rousing laughter jarred Asher from his thoughts.
He blinked, regaining his focus, the ghosts of his past fading into the dark recesses of his soul where they belonged.
Before his eyes, his courtyard was a swelling throng of merriment.
Fae, mortals, vampires, and even some witches, all in Aeramere for the Season, assembled into two lines for a folk dance. He spied Cyra among them, preparing to dance, her smile wide and full. No shadows haunted her face. She was simply enjoying herself, carrying on without a care in the world. Oblivious to all he’d done to afford her the life she deserved.
That, he thought with some small satisfaction, was as it should be.
Asher nodded curtly in greeting to anyone who passed him, his gaze constantly skimming above their heads. But out in his courtyard with the amber firelight gleaming brightly, contrasting the shift of shadows, there was no sign of lavender hair.
He ignored the rod of annoyance digging into his spine.
A full day had passed, and he’d not heard a word from Novalise. He’d attended Queen Elowyn’s High Council meeting yesterday, and though Ariesian was there as well, he hadn’t said a word, acting as though he hadn’t, in fact, signed away his sister’s life. Of course, there’d been more important matters to discuss. Whispers of possible rebellions to the north, and mounting frustrations and growing unrest sifted through the people of Aeramere like the chilling first breath of winter. Queen Elowyn seemed to think the only way to quell such rumors was to force her son, Prince Aspen, into marriage. She reasoned that if he produced an heir to the throne, then somehow a newborn babe would make them a stronger adversary. As though rulers, monarchs, and emperors weren’t overthrown repeatedly throughout history, royal bloodlines be damned.
It was an absurd thought process.
The birth of an heir wouldn’t be enough to stop the discontent spreading throughout the realm.
And last Asher checked, the furthest thing from Prince Aspen’s mind was a wife.
“Ah, Firebane.”
Asher’s gaze slid to the male standing before him. He inclined his head. “Marintide.”
