6. Wing and Talon
Wing and Talon
L enn came around midmorning, after I’d finished a meager breakfast and my third cup of black tea.
“Wings on the horizon,” was all he said.
They’d be here any moment. My pulse pounded out of my chest as I exited into the corridor, sparing what I hoped was a reassuring glance to the three Hersir women standing guard there. Lenn trailed behind me.
I led the way down the hall, the soft swish of my gown the only sound.
It was the dress my mother wore the day she’d first shown me the portraits, nearly eighteen years past. With a skirt like the midnight sky and a tight-fitted bodice embroidered with silver scrollwork at the neckline.
That dress I’d always loved and secretly coveted. It seemed appropriate for the occasion.
The Erling crown rested on my brow, somehow heavier than last night.
The maids had fashioned my hair in a messy, yet artful, tangle of braids, piling around and behind the crown into a knot at the base of my skull.
I was being pulled in every direction, the tension on my scalp bordering on uncomfortable.
But none of that seemed to matter. This was all for show—I needed to look the part of Queen, today more than ever.
Lenn was a stalwart presence at my side, lumbering down the corridor with a burly sort of grace. Between the heavy set of his brow and the enormous, two-handed sword strapped to his back, he did not look a man to be trifled with.
“Walk proud, skatten min. Your mother’s spirit is with you.”
For all that he looked rock solid, there was a slight waver to his voice. But I straightened my shoulders all the same. It’s what my mother would have done. Put on a brave face and do what needed doing. I hoped Lenn was right about her spirit. Even with the Shadow’s power, I did not feel her.
The corridor opened to the great staircase, which led down to the entry. On the landing, six of the Hersir—identifiable by the long, silver-tipped spears they carried—awaited our arrival. As did another.
“Lukas,” I breathed, coming to a stop as he turned.
He gave me a small smile. “I came to wish you luck,” he said, taking my hand in his and giving it a light squeeze. Despite the tension between us in recent days, my heart warmed at his touch.
I returned his squeeze, willing a smile to my face as well. “Thank you. You’ll be in the throne room?”
“Of course,” he replied, leaning closer. “I’m right behind you.”
An echo of his words from yesterday. It was a little comforting, knowing I had his support. With a slight nod, I released his hand and turned back to the stairs, gazing down to the entry hall.
Lenn motioned to the warrior closest to us, Fiia, and she gathered the others to attention.
I descended the stairs, staring rigidly ahead as they filed in behind us.
The clatter of their armored boots echoed off the cavernous ceiling.
I grit my teeth against the noise and the pain in my ears that came with it.
Ever since the Shadow’s arrival, all my senses operated on a higher level.
The smallest of noises, which never bothered me before, now grated on my nerves.
The slightest foul smell had my stomach rolling with nausea.
And my sight picked up things that others appeared not to notice.
It was no wonder I seemed always to be in a foul mood these days.
The cacophony around me now certainly didn’t help.
When we stepped off the stairs onto the black rugs running the length of the entry hall, I breathed a sigh of relief.
One that quickly faded when I saw Corbyn lingering near the double doors of the Citadel’s entry.
My feet tangled and I was immensely grateful for my voluminous skirts covering the stumble.
Ever observant, Lenn placed a gentle hold on the back of my arm, steadying me instantly.
Corbyn seemed to notice it too, quirking an eyebrow.
He looked more relaxed than he had in the last week—even more than last night in the portrait gallery—which set the little hairs on my neck on end.
He wasn’t wearing his scaled plate armor, opting instead for a simple white shirt, open at the collar and down the back.
Also noticeably absent were his sword and tell-tale scarlet cape.
His auburn hair, normally slicked back, cascaded freely about his face.
His wings weren’t even on display. I’d never seen him like this before. He almost looked… human.
I did my best to ignore him, but heat rose to my face all the same. My scar burned with the sudden rush of blood, furthering my embarrassment. Hastily, I took a sharp left turn and stepped under a gilded archway into the throne room.
It was a massive hall flanked on both sides by soaring granite columns which supported an upper gallery.
The dark, polished floors were like the mirrored surface of a midnight lake.
High above us, sunlight flooded the room through an enormous glass dome, bouncing off the white columns.
They shimmered and sparkled with bolts of thin light piercing in every direction.
As I walked, I glimpsed a flash of my own face in the floor. The black diamonds set into the Erling crown dazzled in the sun, and the snow-white color of my hair practically glowed. I looked so regal like this—I hardly recognized myself.
Those who’d already arrived loitered about on either side of the room, sticking to the spots underneath the gallery.
Various nobles, military leaders from the clans, and officials from my own household.
They acknowledged me as I walked past with bows and curtsies.
I nodded tersely at the Jarlum, thronged together on the left side of the hall close to the dais.
With a quick ascent up two long steps, I stood upon the platform, facing down the glittering black throne in front of me.
The throne of Bridja Falk.
The first time I’d sat on the throne was seven days ago, the day after my mother was killed. The High Priestess had come down from her remote Temple nestled in the Sacred Forest, said a few ancient prayers, and placed the Erling crown upon my head. Simple as that, I was Queen.
Officially speaking, anyways. The actual transfer of power had already happened, when the Shadow was bound to my soul by the darkthread. But no one knew the truth of that exchange. All they knew was there was only ever one Shadewarden, and with my mother gone, that was me.
No time for mourning. There was too much to do.
Slowly, I turned to face all the eyes trained on me. The weight of their attention was stifling. I sank down onto the throne, balking slightly at the cold, unyielding surface of the seat. The arms stretched forward at my sides, ending in the effigies of two open-mouthed skulls.
It was said that Bridja Falk tasked a dragonman to form the throne for her out of a rare rock found deep in the Tordun Mountains. The name of that rock was lost to history, but the throne I now sat upon was given a name inspired by the legend surrounding it: fireglass.
The material tinkled quietly as I tapped against it, fingers curling around both the skulls.
It was a hollow sort of comfort, feeling their curves and edges.
But it was something to ground me; to keep my head from spinning out of control.
Lenn stepped up to the dais and settled into his place behind my right shoulder.
For this meeting, he’d be the only one allowed up here beside me.
Not even Lukas could stand by my side, as we weren’t yet married.
The thought settled sourly in my stomach.
Our relationship had been tense for months now, with him pressuring me to set a date for the wedding.
But there was no way I could think about that now.
I only hoped he wouldn’t take the further delay harder than he already had.
I saw him then, falling into line next to Freya Vilke—his mother—and the other Jarlum. He gave me a reassuring nod, but it did little to dispel the panic rising in my chest.
Please remember to breathe, the Shadow hummed softly. I’ll not have you fainting in front of the dragonmen.
I released a pent-up breath, willing my shoulders to relax.
Well, at least if I did, they’d be entertained.
Corbyn might even smile for the first time in his miserable life.
The quip came to mind before I could squash it, and the Shadow sputtered quickly.
Are… are you laughing? I asked her. It was an absurd thought, but it was the only thing I could equate it to.
Don’t sound so surprised.
Yes, that was laughter in her voice, though it was slightly off. As if she wasn’t completely familiar with the act.
There are many things about you that surprise me, Shadow.
Mmm, she hummed again, as is only right. Pay attention now, Asvoria.
I returned my focus to the hall. The Hersir who’d accompanied us from the landing now spread out in front of the dais in an intimidating arc.
Each woman held her spear pointed upwards, their grips anything but relaxed.
More of the Hersir were stationed about the room—lined against the walls, mixed with the crowd, and patrolling the gallery.
Their presence should have been comforting, but the sight of these fierce warrior women didn’t ease the hollow pit in my gut.
A resounding boom echoed through the throne room, bouncing around in the dome before chasing off into the corners.
All hushed conversations died and every head in the room swiveled to the massive, gilded arch.
I inhaled deeply, willing steel into my spine.
Lenn shifted behind me as he crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
“Demons at the door,” he muttered darkly.
The Shadow bristled at that, circling like an eel in a tank.