HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Rise: Part II, Chapter 9

For a lingering moment, Cecily and Oril's eyes were locked in a formidable tug of wills; the victor of which could hardly have been deciphered. During that brief, but abrupt introduction, a hundred thoughts whirled through her mind, the most prominent being a sense of self-preservation at having now being unmasked as a "valuable" asset to Daire.

And to have been exposed before a huge gathering of courtiers – all of them standing quietly, facing her – only heightened her feeling of anxiety. Without a moment's hesitation, Ryelgar steered Cecily backward into the crowd, which scurried aside to clear a path for them until they reached the center of the chamber.

To her immediate left was an assembly of performers, playing their assorted instruments in a lively piece. To her right, a tall, incandescent fire flickered, wavering orange and yellow hues along the stone walls. But in the distance, at the farthest end of the hall, was an imposing and most grandiose sight to behold. For there, seated at an enormous table where they were finishing off a large supper, were the most immediate members of Oril's family, and they were flanked by a bustling team of armed footmen and butlers tending to their every whim.

Two young dwarves were in the midst of devouring a massive plateful of food, eating heartily, and certainly well on their way to becoming the bloated heaps that Cecily had come to know from her storybooks. Beside the duo, sat an elderly dwarf with a long gray beard, who was carefully cleaning underneath his fingernails with the sharp ends of his fork, while his lovely consort did not appear to be interested, or in fact, doing anything more than brooding to herself.

From where she was standing, her eyes caught the outline of a figure in the shadows behind Narvi, a fleeting glimpse of one of her dwarf-pets, his pudgy hand across his mouth, silently rejoicing at her evident discomfort. It seemed like a cruel creature.

"My masters," Ryelgar began with a bow, "will you be gracious enough to hear of this matter from Imrath?"

One of the young dwarves at the table belched and Cecily tried to hide her repulsion.

"Speak," Oril said not too unkindly, with a sweep of his large, coal-colored hand.

"Great Elders of Bráithre Delve," Cecily said respectfully. "I seek your council. Shall I speak before this company?"

Oril signaled almost indiscernibly to the nearest retainer, who himself signaled almost indiscernibly to all the rest of the dwarves around the room. Instantly, the crowds behind her receded. Within mere moments, the musicians ceased their songs and the servants quickly withdraw from the hall; the tall double doors thundered shut behind them. Even Hael, with all his strength, retreated to the shadows of the far corners of the hall.

"And, now?" Oril said with a smile.

"Do speak up, young one," Narvi said in a most charmed tone. "We are all indeed excited to hear the fresh gossip you bring us from Imrath."

There was a brief, but commanding pause.

"Why doesn't it say anything?" asked one of the gluttonous young dwarves, his eyelids drooping with boredom.

Everyone waited, but not a word escaped from her lips.

"Father," the young dwarf said with a measure of irritation. "This foolish creature wastes our time."

"Perhaps it's a mute!" yelled an elder dwarf at the table.

With that, the royal family whooped with laughter and began slapping their hands on the table. And in the increasing merriment of that moment, Narvi's dwarf-pet, peering out again from behind her chair, now allowed himself to burst into quite vocal and open mirth.