They had gone over and over the fortunes of the day, and by this point, Thea was tired of retelling her mechanical magic tricks, and although proud of them, she was also somewhat embarrassed.
It was a strange and enervating experience...to be lauded for the technical achievements she had yearned to practise her entire life. And here she was, six levels down from that life, beingtoasted every bit as enthusiastically as she would have been were she the Queen of Arcvale.
Which realisation brought her spirits thundering down.
It was somewhat of a coincidence that, apparently, Lyra’s thoughts ran along similar lines.
“How will you transport the Mistletoe machine up to the sixth level?” She smiled over the rim of her snifter. “It will have to be there for the Turning of the Green, won’t it.”
Silence fell.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” She put down her glass, a worried look on her face.
“No, no, dear girl. Not at all.” Hiram reached for her hand and held it snugly within his fingers. “It’s just that with all the excitement, I am thinking we all forgot about the next step.” He sighed. “Most of us aren’t really comfortable at the upper levels. Which is why we tend to keep to ourselves down here.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, couldn’t someone from the Council of Wardens come down and transport it himself, rather than you?”
Dorothea cleared her throat. “I understand that those gentlemen aren’t fond of venturing beyond their familiar surroundings, Lyra.”
“Really? How strange. The Wardens have authority over pretty much everything in Arcvale, don’t they? Including the Forge?” She glanced at Hiram. “Forgive my ignorance, but the hierarchy of the uppermost levels is quite beyond me.”
Hiram raised her hand and dropped a kiss on it, a move that seemed so natural, nobody raised an eyebrow. “The workings of the Council are pretty much beyond everyone, Lyra. And between you and me, I believe they work hard to keep it that way.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” she replied, a frown on her face. “After all, Arcvale is composed of all levels, not just the top one.”
“An egalitarian view, Lyra, and most commendable.” Silas nodded. “But Hiram’s right. I cannot actually recall the last time a Warden came this far down.”
Dorothea swirled her brandy gently around the bowl of her snifter. “I seem to recall something about the Council changing its regulations. Quite some time ago...” She frowned. “I think it was when I was still being tutored, so that would put it about five or six years ago.”
“Oh, Thea, you know I think I remember reading something about it. I was expecting Gen at the time, so it would have been closer to six years ago now.”
Silas had remained silent throughout this exchange, but now he just sighed, a deep and profound sigh that caught Dorothea’s attention immediately. “What is it, Silas?”
He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, letting it fall loosely wherever it wished. “I’m not an enthusiastic supporter of the Council,” he said quietly. “We, and when I say we I mean the Forge, are pretty much neglected these days.”
“But...that’s wrong,” she frowned. “Arcvale needs the Forge to...well, to survive. Not just for Christmas decorations, but for all the other wonderful things it makes possible.” She paused for breath. “The transportation systems, for example. And so many everyday conveniences that we sometimes take far too much for granted. I know I do.” She nodded emphatically. “But now? Now I’ve been down here and seen how hard everyone works, and how you all care about each other? I believe that every member of the Council of Wardens should be obliged to spend at least a week here. Otherwise, how can they value something of which they know nothing?” She blinked. “I’m not sure that came out quite right...”
“We know what you mean, dear girl,” grinned Hiram. “More brandy?”
The laugh was general, but the point had been made, and Dorothea turned it over in her mind as the surrounding conversation continued.
It was heartwarming to see Hiram, the gentle giant, tend to Lyra, the wounded chick, with such kindness. And it was equally heartwarming to see Lyra’s reserve melting in the sunshine he radiated. She would never be whole, never go dancing or running along through tunnels with Gen. But she might, if Dorothea read Hiram’s expression correctly, find a new and wonderful life with a man who would become family. Something she believed that both parties desperately desired.
“I suppose we should make some sort of transportation arrangements.” Silas stared at his brandy. “I can have a crew put together in time. All they have to do is make the right connections and everything will be up and running.”
Dorothea looked at him. “Silas. Shouldn’t the Forge Marshal be present?”
“I haven’t been up there in some time,” he answered quietly. “The Council always finds a willing Warden to make the speeches and push the right levers.”
“Well, I say we should leave that until tomorrow. Tonight is for celebrating an amazing lady, who has hauled a lot of pistons out of a very hot fire.” Hiram raised his glass. “A toast, my friends. To Miss Thea of the Magic Toolbox.”
“To Miss Thea.”
Everyone echoed the toast as Dorothea blushed crimson. It wasn’t her moment, it was everyone’s moment. And she was on the verge of saying so when she saw Silas’s warm smile and the glint in his eyes over his brandy.
It stirred something heated inside her. Something she knew she wanted to explore.
So she simply rose with a smile, curtsied gracefully, and sat down again, wondering what else this night might bring.
