But before violence erupts, something else seizes the assembly.
Sanguisyl. The massive wyvern raises his great head from where he had been resting beside his rider. He releases a loud roar. Blood-red scales along his neck begin to rise like hackles on an enraged wolf. His massive form coils and shifts with growing agitation, tail lashing back and forth.
“What madness is this?” Finnbheara mutters, his attention diverted from the prisoner dispute by his mount’s inexplicable behavior. “Sanguisyl, cease!”
But the great wyvern pays no heed to his rider’s words. He takes a step forward and several elven council members scramble backward with undignified haste. His massive head lowers until those predatory golden eyes are level with where Rhianelle stands. A rumbling growl builds in his chest, low and threatening.
Seneschal Kearne interposes himself between the wyvern and his queen, sword already drawn. “Control your beast!” he snarls.
“Enough! Calm yourself!” Finnbheara grabs Sanguisyl’s neck harness, using his full weight to pull the wyvern’s head away from Rhianelle. “Down, stop this!”
The wyvern ignores him and continues to circle Rhianelle. Lady Tierra draws her bow with smooth efficiency, arrow nocked and aimed at the wyvern’s eye.
But Rhianelle raises a hand, stopping her.
Sanguisyl’s nostrils flare wide, working frantically as if trying to identify an elusive scent. His golden eyes are fixed on my wife. Steam rises from his nostrils in steady plumes.
Rhianelle has not moved during the entire confrontation. She stands exactly where the wyvern’s attention found her, hands folded calmly before her. Her expression shows no trace of fear. Those violet eyes meet Sanguisyl’s golden gaze without flinching.
The wyvern’s massive jaws part to reveal rows of teeth, each one as long as my forearm. A low rumble emanates from deep in his chest.
“Sanguisyl, heel!” Finnbheara yells, throwing every ounce of command into his voice.
The wyvern finally responds, but his eyes remain fixed on my wife. His nostrils continue working, searching for something only he can perceive.
Prince Finnbheara’s face burns with embarrassment and fury. “Forgive the interruption. Sanguisyl has never behaved this way. I don’t understand—“
“Perhaps your mount recognizes the futility of this negotiation,” Lord Ctibor suggests coldly. “The dwarf remains our prisoner.”
The prince’s jaw works silently for several heartbeats. Then he turns toward the freed prisoners and nods curtly.
With visible effort, he manages to guide Sanguisyl back from his aggressive posture. The great wyvern’s golden eyes neverleave Rhianelle as the fae delegation prepares to mount their beasts.
As Finnbheara swings himself back into the saddle, he offers one final bow toward Rhianelle. “Our talks are concluded for today. But my father will not be pleased to hear about Hrolf.”
I think of the Arawynn deal I made with Rhianelle.
Kill the Fae King.
Soon, my love.
Prince Finnbheara’s parting glance promises this matter is far from resolved. He pulls on the reins and his wyvern launches skyward. The others follow, a storm of wings and scales.
I remain in the shadows until the elven delegation disperses, my eyes never leaving Rhianelle’s form. She watches the sky long after the wyverns disappear into the clouds.
My wife knows this is it.
The beginning of the end.
The forge burnsday and night at the prison where they lock him. I approach the massive ironbound doors at the entrance. The air grows thick with smoke and the acrid bite of heated metal.
“Full house,” the younger guard says, reaching for the coins.
“You’re bluffing again, Tommen,” his companion grumbles.
The guards barely glance up from their card game as I pass. Their carelessness would be concerning if our prisoner showed any interest in escape, but Hrolf seems content enough in his captivity.
I push through the heavy door, leaving their bickering behind. The temperature rises immediately and I understand why the guards prefer their posts outside. This is no ordinaryprison. The elves have given Hrolf exactly what he craves most. A cage built from his deepest desire.
