Wrought of Iron and Silk, Book One [2014 Watty Award Winner]

Chapter 24 - Alive

Chapter 24 – Alive

Every step echoed in the Great Hall of Nidavellir, and Cecilia was glad of her cloak, because it was nearly as cold there as it was in the trellqueen's warren deep below the surface of Grador. Before them an excited crowd of courtiers was spilling forward and Hreidmar's guards struggled to protect their king from being jostled. Even Doryelgar stepped forward and struggled to hide his shock. After five hundred winters, the right hand of the king seemed so weak that the mildest breeze was liable to extinguish his inner fires.

They moved toward the assembly, and the howls of the dwarf court were ringing in Cecilia's ears as their ruddy features beamed up at her face and rough hands clapped her on her shoulders as she approached the dwarf-king's table. All attempts at preserving any sense of discipline collapsed at the sight of her return.

Five chairs were arranged in a semicircle around a table. Elegantly carved pews were lined up in five blocks behind them so that the chieftains and elders could follow the proceedings and have their say. The table was covered in maps and charts of their realms. Before their arrival, the delegates had been discussing the happenings in the north, but now all attention turned to Cecilia and Tin.

Cecilia cleared her throat and swallowed her trepidation. "You banished me from your kingdom, Your Majesty, and now I stand before you," she said, addressing Hreidmar with the time-honored formula.

Hreidmar inclined his head as if to speak, but no sound came out.

"Our journey has been arduous and long," Tin explained. "If the assembly wills it thus, we wish to return to the warrens."

"And why should I entertain such a proposal?"

There was a sudden scream in the hall, sliding into a high-pitched wail of fear, causing those nearby to turn and look for its source. Queen Gilas, flanked by her mischievous dwarf-pets, stood with her hand to her mouth, teeth clenched into the flesh above her thumb as she gazed wide-eyed at the trellqueen's head being held up to the crowd by Cecilia. Black blood pooled on the floor, and then trickled out to scrawl, as if by its own volition.

The Queen's repugnance meant nothing to Cecilia. She was well aware that women of rank were not accustomed to endure such things – a long-bladed knife slicing on through throat, severing artery and vein, splitting links of the spine. They didn't see it, they didn't need to see it, with their veils and cushions and dishes of figs. But the deluded wishes of sheltered monarchs were not what mattered anymore, what mattered was the blood, flesh and bone.

"Silence!" Hreidmar's voice thundered sternly through the hall. His eyes showed no sign of age, only reproach, as he looked down at Cecilia and Tin. No dwarf was more majestic, more imposing than he. His former weakness and frailty had vanished, driven out by rage. "Pray, speak."

The power of her memory, overshadowed by her anger, blinded her judgment with its intensity. She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue felt heavy and dry as ashes. It was all still too much, too soon. Instead, she tightened her grasp on the lank locks of hair in her hand, matted with dry trellblood, and held the severed head higher, as a symbol of reprimand, for all to see. The court gasped in astonishment.

"The time has come to bury our grievances," Cecilia said hotly. "An alliance is what we need, what I desire. I am not your enemy, Your Majesty. And I am surely not here to fight the dwarves of Nidavellir. I have lost enough in this war, but I'd sooner sever my own arm than raise it in a battle against you."

"You are young and impetuous as all Asgardians are," he said with some emphasis. "Here are liars. Liars! It's gone quite mad, the world, quite mad. I do not trust the lines you speak."