25. The Sharing of Mead
The Sharing of Mead
F eeling the carved skulls beneath my hands brought little in the way of distraction as I sat upon the fireglass chair, watching people file into the throne room.
My fingers traced idly over the eye sockets, round and round in an endless, entranced motion.
There weren’t nearly as many people as there were for the AEldinian delegation, but their scrutiny was just as intense.
The Erling crown sat upon my brow, its black, metal rim digging into the back of my skull painfully.
I’d asked Siva not to pin my hair so tight, but the old woman was set in her ways, and insisted on the traditional, closely tied braids for this evening’s ceremony.
The heavy silver rings and wooden beads she’d laced through my hair only added to the straining weight.
It was not a fight I’d thought worth having, and the old woman drew some childish complacency out of me, so I’d given her an allowance. This time, at least.
In addition to the traditional hairstyle, I’d decided to draw a few of the ancient markings on my face.
I didn’t really know why, but something about them felt right for the occasion.
I’d smudged black kohl across my lids and under my eyes, in a single line down my chin, and in three horizontal dots on my forehead.
Simple marks, intended to center my focus more than anything.
But the deep pigment of kohl was a stark contrast to the paleness of my skin and hair, giving me a fearsome look.
Maybe it would remind this dragon prince why he was really here.
Lenn stood stoically at my right shoulder, decked in his formal surcoat and a fur mantle, showing off the ceremonial sword he wore at his hip.
He’d even combed his beard for the occasion and made two braids right down the front of it in the style of Clan Ylfring—black and red beads and silver thread woven into his wiry hair.
When he’d seen the ancient marks on my face, I thought there’d been a glimmer of pride in his gaze.
It was a welcome change from our interactions over the last day, though it did little to calm my nerves now.
Relax, Asvoria, the Shadow rumbled. She’d awoken shortly before we arrived in the throne room, seemingly well-rested. These ceremonies are painfully dull. Say a few words, share the cup, done before suppertime. Nothing to fret over.
Maybe so. But as you’ve said before, no queen has ever had to deal with a Talon that has some measure of control over our power. I shifted my hips, silken skirts gliding across the fireglass seat. Nor one so damn exasperating either, I’d wager.
He is rather presumptuous, I’ll give you that.
I made to chew on my bottom lip, but resisted the urge, though memories coursed through my mind. We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened, I said softly, scanning the room. Did you… Did you feel anything strange after we lost control of the draugr ?
Stranger than a dragon’s uncontrollable fury taking over your senses? she asked, a note of bitterness in her voice.
After that, I snapped, when the draugr were coming toward me and I couldn’t run away. It was like… I thought I heard a voice.
You’re always hearing a voice, Asvoria.
Not you! I rolled my eyes at her impertinence.
She let out a sigh, pushing against my mind as she did so, a slight pressure right at my temple. I didn’t hear a voice so much as I felt a draw, she admitted reluctantly . And we were disconnected somehow—there was an unbreachable wall between us.
Yes, I sensed that too, I replied. But there was definitely some kind of voice, telling me to stay with Trygg—to protect him. Though I don’t know why. He was the one protecting me.
Very strange. She paused for a long moment, pulsing in a hypnotic pattern. This voice, did it sound like anyone or any thing in particular?
My mouth twisted involuntarily as I tapped at the carved skulls. Not really, no. It was deep, but neither male nor female… Primal, somehow. Like an innate instinct I couldn’t ignore.
Troubling, she mused. You certainly wouldn’t be the first Falk woman to have an attraction toward her Talon, but ? —
That is not what I mean, Shadow, I hissed, squeezing the unyielding fireglass beneath my palms.
She shook, rumbling a low laugh. You forget that I am deeply attuned to the workings of the human mind, Asvoria.
Though I do not feel such inclinations myself, I recognize that you find him appealing in some way, base though it might be.
It’s entirely natural. He is a virile male, pleasant enough to look at, and you ? —
I don’t know what’s gotten into you, I cut in, releasing a long breath and rolling my shoulders. Yes, Trygg is…
Trygg was many things. Infuriating, charming, and noble all at once.
He could also be kind and compassionate, as well as rude and presumptuous.
But aside from all that, he was captivating.
Dark hair, eyes that were nearly silver, and an imposing form all combined to make a compelling sum.
And that smile of his—always cropping up at inappropriate moments and setting my pulse racing.
His wit that kept me on my toes and, despite everything, excited me.
A shiver ran down my spine, breaking my reverie.
I turned my attention back to the Shadow. He is handsome, alright. But I don’t want to be with him.
I’d never thought of being with Corbyn like that before either, but there was the dream… The phantom memory of his lips pressing into mine…
Do not misunderstand me, she shot back, interrupting my straying thoughts.
I am not speaking of love. But the prince does hold some interest for you, Asvoria.
I feel it every time you see him. It would not be surprising in the slightest if his effect on the darkthread mixes with your emotions and causes these lapses in control.
My cheeks grew warm under her accusation. I only hoped the dais was removed enough from the crowd that they wouldn’t notice.
Then I think it’s high time we take that trip to the library, I said, settling further back into my throne. Was there ever actually a queen that took her Talon to bed?
Looking for a precedent to excuse you?
Not in the slightest! I only want to gain some insight. Determine if there’s a way to—I don’t know—cease his interference, if that’s truly the root of it. So tell me. Did any of them ever get involved with a Talon?
The Shadow scoffed, flopping like a fish out of water.
You queens all blend together after a thousand years, she groused.
One of you—Lisbet, I think was her name—I was only with for about a month before she died in childbed.
But I was with your mother for nigh on five decades…
She fell quiet, contemplating. Somewhere around Kadia the Seventh, I think. Start with her.
Tomorrow, I assured her. She was certainly acting strange. I didn’t know what to make of it any more than I knew what to make of my feelings about Trygg. Very little made sense these days, and I hated stumbling around in the dark.
Silence swept over the throne room like a wave.
I looked down the length of the hall, training my eyes on the entrance beneath the gallery.
Two figures stood there, side-by-side in the shadows of the archway.
Their wings spread out behind them as they strode into the throne room.
Every eye turned, some unabashedly curious, others cold and embittered.
The coldest gaze belonged to Freya Vilke. She stood at the base of the dais, Lukas right behind her and equally as icy. I wondered if she’d told him of our meeting earlier in the day.
Corbyn and Trygg made their way to the dais, treading soundlessly on the black runner covering the polished floors.
I looked between them, trying to keep my face impassive.
But I found my gaze inexplicably drawn to the broad line of the prince’s shoulders, and the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw.
To his full mouth, which seemed constantly twisted in amusement—to his gray eyes, always staring at me like he knew my deepest secrets.
My heartbeat quickened and my fingers tightened around the skulls on my throne.
As I said, the Shadow declared triumphantly, a natural, base attraction.
Shut your mouth . Even though she was right, I didn’t want to hear it. Not now.
The dragons wore their scaled plate armor.
Their hand-and-a-half swords, belted at their hips, glittered in the torchlight.
The hilts, pommels, and scabbards were crusted with jewels that matched their scales.
Corbyn’s sword looked remarkably like Lenn’s, though his would’ve been made in the royal forge of Ilfa Esari—a parting gift in honor of his service to the treaty.
They came to a stop at the foot of the dais, looking up at me.
Corbyn’s gaze remained placid. Impressive, considering the day he’d had.
How he managed to keep his emotions buried so deep down, I might never know.
It was enviable, really. I always felt like my face divulged my innermost thoughts for all the world to see. Corbyn was so stately, even now.
Trygg, on the other hand, seemed as cocky as always, a playful arch to his dark brows and a mischievous glint in his stormy eyes. So impertinent. It riled something deep within me—frustration, even when I thought I had a handle on my temper.
Corbyn looked over at the prince with a subtle nod and Trygg stepped forward. His hands fell to his sides as he bowed his head, dark hair cascading in a shadowy curtain. The room was silent as the grave now. Waiting. Watching.
“I stand before you,” he began, lifting his gaze, “wings folded and fire quenched.”
The same phrase Corbyn spoke to Rensif Lightwing. I recognized it now for the sign of respect it truly was. I tightened my fingers on the skulls.