Chapter 31
Thirty - One
Shaye
Kamari leads us through Starnborough and I'm oddly impressed by how quickly she's learned the layout of the castle.
"It's not much further," she says, not sparing us a second glance.
"Did Thrane say what he wanted?" My nerves are swelling. With the mood he's been in today, I am gearing up for an abrasive meeting.
She casually shrugs a shoulder. "Like I told you before, all he said was it was important."
Atlas squeezes my hand; a silent reassurance everything will be all right. I wish I could say it eased my anxiety, but it doesn't.
Thrane and my mother clock us the moment we appear down the corridor.
"Good of you to finally make an appearance." Thrane scans us holding hands and sighs. "I see you are now attached at the hip."
"You're lucky we showed up at all," I snarl. "Why'd you send for us?"
"I requested you. Not your – "
My mother grabs my left hand and gasps. "Fiancé!" She grins at Atlas. "I didn't know you were asking her tonight."
"It felt like the right moment," he says and my mouth flops open.
"Wait," I hold my hands up. "You knew he was going to propose?"
"She helped design your engagement ring."
Another warm wave of emotion crashes against me, tugging a smile across my face. I'm so happy Atlas and my mother are getting to know one another better. And to team up on a secret engagement ring – my heart is about to burst through my ribcage.
"Amma," I whimper and she wraps her arms around me.
"I am so happy for you, my darling girl," she whispers into my hair.
"Yes, yes," Thrane huffs, rolling his eyes. "Congratulations and salutations. Now, there are more important matters we need to tend to."
I flick a tear from my cheek and scoff. "You sure do know how to celebrate good news."
Thrane flashes me a disgruntled look. "In my eyes you were already engaged. This is nothing new or surprising. That doesn't mean I'm not happy for you both."
Atlas drapes his arm across my shoulders. "You looked overjoyed," he flatlines.
"This is my face, Atlas. Surely you have come to understand that by now." Thrane quickly moves on from our official engagement to peek through a crack in a door left slightly ajar.
"What's so important it couldn't wait until morning?" I slide up next to Thrane and being nosy, attempt to see what he's looking at.
"The Dwarven king and prince are lounging," he whispers, making room for me beside him. "It's imperative we speak to them privately about reforging the Portal to Orabelle."
"They haven't even made a decision if they are going to join the war efforts. Why would they – "
"They will," he says with such confidence, I believe him. "Dwarves cannot help but get involved when it involves weaponry. Their economy booms when there is war since all the kingdoms involved purchase resources from them."
"That's morbid," I crinkle my nose and stare up at him.
He shrugs. "That's politics. Now, we have to convince them to rebuild the portal if we stand a chance at winning this war."
My heart lodges inside my throat. "Do you think they'll listen?" I quirk a brow when he narrows his gaze on me. "No offense, but they don't seem too keen on listening to Frost Elves."
"Perhaps they'll listen to us." Ronan's voice echoes down the hallway. He escorts Professor Riggs to our rendezvous point.
"What are you doing here?" I straighten.
"After chatting with Thrane when you arrived from the Northern Crest, I've been speaking with Professor Riggs about his research and think if anyone can convince the Dwarves to help, he and I can.
" Ronan's chest swells, his assuredness in himself growing.
"I am far more charming than Thrane and more stubborn than my father.
" He shrugs a nonchalant shoulder. "And besides, Thrane asked us to help. "
"Well, if you are speaking with them, then why am I here?"
"You'll be joining them," Thrane informs me. "It's your blood and kin after all."
"Fair enough." I breathe through my nose, steadying my thumping heart, and roll my shoulders back. "Let's do this."
Ronan nods and pushes the door open, holding it for me to walk inside first. I haven't been in this room before.
But that's not saying much. I've only visited Starnborough a handful of times and most of my visits were with King Soren in his study or throne room.
But this great hall is impressive. The arched ceiling reminds me of Prue's and the Old Kingdom.
Wooden beams, two roaring fireplaces, stone floors, and dozens of comfy chairs and sofas to relax.
"This is the Grand Lounge," Ronan whispers as we approach King Torben and his son at the far end of the room.
"During the summer, we open the balcony doors.
It's the nicest breeze and this room boasts some of the best views of the city.
" He beams, as if he's proud to be showing me around his ancestral home.
But as pretty and cozy as the space is, I remain focused on the task at hand. Persuading Dwarves to do anything they haven't already decided to do themselves is a monumental task.
When the Dwarves notice the three of us approaching, their smiles fade.
Well, shit. If looks could kill, we'd be slayed two times over.
"Good evening, King Torben," Ronan tips his head in respect. "Prince Olav."
The Dwarven royals stare at us. I swallow hard. Neither acknowledged Ronan's greeting and there's been no invitation to join them. This is going from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. Heat burns my cheeks as the awkward silence stretches.
"I would ask if we can sit with you, but it looks as if I'm already doing that," Riggs' voice pierces through the tension.
The Dwarven King spies Riggs' wheelchair and barks out a deep, hearty laugh. He wags a ringed finger at the smiling professor. "Ah, you are quick-witted. I like that." The king motions for us to take the remaining seats. "Please, join us. We could use some jovial company."
Ronan and I exchange a look, but Riggs doesn't hesitate to roll his chair to sit across from the father and son. "Thank you for inviting us to share a glass of wine with you," Riggs' diplomatic manners kick in. "Or are we drinking ale?" He spies their ornate steins. "Something from Durne, perhaps?"
The king leans forward and whispers, "The Tronovians do not know good ale. If we are to make it through this wedding, we needed the good stuff."
The two men cackle, throwing their heads back as if they were old friends getting reacquainted.
"We have good drinks – "
I elbow Ronan in his ribcage, stealing his last words. He covers his retort with a cough, and I smile when the royals look our way.
"Yes, thank you for letting us join you, Your Majesty," I say sweetly, hoping the Dwarves missed what Ronan sputtered.
The shrewd king casts a disgruntled look Ronan's direction before softening when he takes me in. "You are Sylvane's daughter."
I nod. "And Enver Sol's."
He waves a hand to alert the staff of needing three more steins. "And if memory serves me correctly," he starts and I already know I'm not going to like what he says next, "the fiancé of the Beast of Midori."
Ronan balls his fist before quickly releasing it. I see the switch from Ronan my friend to Ronan, the future King of Tronovia. "An engagement broken off long ago, King Torben."
"Actually," I flash my left hand to diffuse the tension. "I'm engaged to Atlas Harland. King Soren's nephew."
The Dwarves don't seem impressed. They don't even offer congratulations upon sight of my ring.
Ronan on the other hand is beaming. There will be time for us to swap stories later, but for now, we have to get the Dwarves on our side and as of now, we're not looking good.
The king pours ale from a small barrel on the table into our steins and we all take one as to not further irritate the Dwarf.
"Let's be honest with one another," Torben hums after downing half his stein. "You are not here to keep me company. You are here to discuss the war."
Ronan nods, no need to hide our intentions. "Where do you stand?"
His question is blunt and to the point, but I think the Dwarves prefer that form of communication. Other rulers you have to wine and dine and stroke their egos. The Dwarves want honesty and I can relate to that.
"I have not made a decision," King Torben states. "To make one lightly would not be wise."
"I know war is not an easy decision," Ronan says, his hands twisting in his lap. "But it's not one we have much time to waffle. The Tronovians and Bavans will fight Bastian and his demons. We are committed to destroying the portal before Drogon can be unleashed."
"And if he is unleashed?" The Dwarven Prince speaks for the first time and it startles me. His voice is kinder than his father's but his eyes are just as doubtful of our cause.
"Then we will defeat him," Ronan says with such conviction, I believe him.
"A precious sentiment," the king downs the last of his drink. "Have you been to war, Prince Ronan?"
Ronan's nostrils flare. "No."
"I have," Torben growls. "It's brutal. My body bears scars, my mind battles nightmares. It is easy to say, let us go to war. It is another matter entirely to do the deed. Especially without the Celestials who have aided us before, turning the tide. Without them, we do not stand a chance."
"So you would abandon all hope and what?" Ronan's voice deepens, his brow furrowed. "Hide? Wait until Drogon's army comes and wipes us out kingdom by kingdom until none of us remain?"
"Durne is a fortress inside the mountains," Prince Olav spits, just as indignant as his father. "We can defend ourselves."
"You are far too smart to assume something so stupid," Ronan bites back and I suck in a breath. We're not going to convince the Dwarves to join us. In fact, we might have sealed our fate with them.
But to my surprise, the king laughs, the sound echoing through the room.
"I like you," he points at Ronan. "You aren't afraid to speak with strength. That makes a good leader."
Ronan is taken aback but manages to say, "Thank you."