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I also didn’t know a lot about war or politics. Sahlyn provided the disturbing contemplation that Queen Amira may be allowing an outside force to decimate Feist to mete out the royal line, so she didn’t look like the bad guy. It was vile but didn’t surprise any of us. Argen said he would do his best to sway his father and that after what I had accomplished with Cabro, I may be able to pull in favor of the dwarven king.
As soon as I stepped to the dais, my stupid mouth got away with itself. “I have lifted the curse on Cabro Lightfoot.”
Subtle,Autumn.
King Rimroc’s eyes widened for a brief second. “The prophecy—”
“Creedell and a witch threaded a curse, turning him into an iron dragon. Wielding his legendary blade, I was able to break his curse.”
There was a lot more to it, but I was trying to rush on to my point. I didn’t want the dwarven king's praise or gratitude. I wasn’t sure what he would offer me for releasing a dwarf from a curse, but I’d imagine it would be something. I needed him to help Feist because I didn’t take Iro’s words lightly, and if we were going to continue this quest to take down the queen, we needed to secure the kingdom of Feist’s safety.
“We knew there was a curse with Cabro but were unsure of its exact repercussions.”
“The dwarf is now free but has decided to join his loved ones in the Beyond.”
Rimroc loosed a deep, rumbling sigh and nodded. “That is noble and reasonable.”
The king of the dwarves sounded so lucid. Sometimes he seemed half-mad, not that I condemned him for it. He was the leader of a nearly extinct race and held the remaining dwarves' safety on his shoulders.
“You need to help the kingdom of Feist, King Rimroc.”Fucking smooth, Autumn.
“I need to do nothing, Cursebreaker. Time of the dwarven alliance with Catalan is done.”
“But they are your neighbors, Rimroc. They still follow the old laws. They are—”
He slammed a fist against the arm of his throne chair, and the dais seemed to shake from his might. Despite being a king that hadn’t left his throne in some time, he was still a strong warrior. “That their blood is of the ancient line of Catalan rulers means little now. They are not on the throne.”
“What if they returned to power?”
“Ye are goin’ to go through with takin’ down the queen?”
My breath whooshed out of me. “That’s the plan.”
“I’ll not seat an alliance until that is done.”
Time to throw out a line I didn’t quite understand. If it packed its punch, maybe my deductions held merit. “The bluejay told me you must send aid. You must support Feist, or they will fall to ruin, and with them any chance for the dwarves to regain former glory.”
Rimroc’s eyes widened at my admission. “The bluejay. Is it true?”
I let a small smile slip. “It is, Rimroc. If you stepped foot off your throne now and again, you would see for yourself.”
Rimroc’s face showed the exhaustion of ruling a civilization on the cusp of extinction. A proud, stubborn race forced into suppressed silence. The dwarves weren’t for quiet and hiding; they were for battle and boast.
“Sharpen your weapons—”
“Oh, they are sharpened, Cursebreaker.”
My grin showed teeth. “Can you hear them singing for the song of battle, dwarf king? Doesn’t it hum in your blood, cause heat and flame as hot as a forge?”
His bloodthirsty grin met mine in an ancient show of warriors, forwewere warriors. I was a warrior alongside my ancestors. I may have never been in a battle, but I met my struggles head-on and learned from them. That’s what made me a warrior. I’d never sell myself short on my accomplishments. I may have once, but life was too short for that. I would own the things I had done, the things I would do. But Iro’s words had been insistent, and I knew I had to play the cards for the dwarves to get them to listen. Rimroc was still a warrior at heart; a little song of battle was all it took to get him to rise to the occasion.
After some careful deliberation and my smoothing and stoking the flame of battle in the blood of the dwarven king, he called in his inner circle. Despite hiding, there was still a pecking order, generals and commanders. I left them in the grand amber-lit war room. I'd never seen anything so incredible as that room with its council table, a flat slab of Emberlite weighing as much as two horses. The flame of battle flung through the open fireplace. Rimroc, still able to call that small flame to fruition from nothing, was beautiful. The dwarves still had mountain flame in their blood and a tiny shred of magic in their veins.
Their magic called to me and shivered blissfully against my own. An ember sparked a slumbering flame in my core and wrapped around my heart.
I slowly stepped up to one of the forges and ran a finger across the ancient stone. A hammer was still out on the bench as if its owner was in the middle of crafting when the flame of the mountain stopped burning in the forge. I ran a gentle finger over it as if it may turn to dust.
The heat that curled up against my insides intensified. At my hip, Heartrender began to hum in anticipation. I had noticed it when Rimroc agreed to battle. This mighty sword wished for action, for bloodshed. The blade was for a legendary hero, not a girl playing with fire, hoping not to get burnt. My luck would run out. I just prayed to the Goddess of the Beyond that it was after I freed Sahlyn from his contract and solidified protection for the dwarves. That’s all I asked. I didn’t want to be self-sacrificing, but I knew there wouldn’t be a happily ever after for everyone in this, and I was willing for that not to extend to me.
