His question is blunt and to the point, but I think the Dwarves prefer that form of communication. Other rulers you have to wine and dine and stroke their egos. The Dwarves want honesty and I can relate to that.
"I have not made a decision," King Torben states. "To make one lightly would not be wise."
"I know war is not an easy decision," Ronan says, his hands twisting in his lap. "But it's not one we have much time to waffle. The Tronovians and Bavans will fight Bastian and his demons. We are committed to destroying the portal before Drogon can be unleashed."
"And if he is unleashed?" The Dwarven Prince speaks for the first time and it startles me. His voice is kinder than his father's but his eyes are just as doubtful of our cause.
"Then we will defeat him," Ronan says with such conviction, I believe him.
"A precious sentiment," the king downs the last of his drink. "Have you been to war, Prince Ronan?"
Ronan's nostrils flare. "No."
"I have," Torben growls. "It's brutal. My body bears scars, my mind battles nightmares. It is easy to say, let us go to war. It is another matter entirely to do the deed. Especially without the Celestials who have aided us before, turning the tide. Without them, we do not stand a chance."
"So you would abandon all hope and what?" Ronan's voice deepens, his brow furrowed. "Hide? Wait until Drogon's armycomes and wipes us out kingdom by kingdom until none of us remain?"
"Durne is a fortress inside the mountains," Prince Olav spits, just as indignant as his father. "We can defend ourselves."
"You are far too smart to assume something so stupid," Ronan bites back and I suck in a breath. We're not going to convince the Dwarves to join us. In fact, we might have sealed our fate with them.
But to my surprise, the king laughs, the sound echoing through the room.
"I like you," he points at Ronan. "You aren't afraid to speak with strength. That makes a good leader."
Ronan is taken aback but manages to say, "Thank you."
"I should have known when you pissed off Astrea Talay you were a man others would follow into battle." The Dwarven King taps his fingers against his knees. "But even brave leaders need to strategize. Sometimes it's best to be defensive."
"What if I told you there was a way we might be able to release my father and the other Celestials from Orabelle?"
My question piques the Dwarves' interest. Both men stare at me in speculative wonder.
"I'm listening." The king's focus is now on me, but it's Professor Riggs who graciously saves me.
"Aurelia and her kin journeyed to the Northern Crest where the Portal to Orabelle once stood." Professor Riggs withdraws a linen cloth from his lapel pocket and lays it in his lap. He uncovers it and reveals the glass shard I gave him for safe keeping. "She found a piece of the portal. I've consulted with the Master of Literature at Calmara and she believes it's possible to reconstruct the portal using this as its base. Your engineers are the best and brightest, and with this, there's a chance we open Orabelle again."
The king and prince remain silent.
"If you can construct it," I add, "my blood can open it."
My heart gallops through my chest, anxiously awaiting any response from the Dwarves. After an agonizing minute of the king mulling over our plan, he shakes his head, sadness creeping over his face.
"None of my engineers know how to forge portals," he explains. "Those notes were lost after the war one thousand years ago. The project leader burned his plans, not wanting anymore portals to be opened and unleash hell on our realm again."
"I know it's a risk but – "
"It would take an eternity to convince Dwarven engineers to do what they were all warned to avoid dabbling in," the Dwarf Prince chimes in.
"So, that's it?" I ask, more anger than I expect lacing my words. Maybe it's more than the idea of opening the portal that fuels my crusade for them to help us. The idea of reuniting my mother and father after two decades, the hope I could one day meet him, drives me to not take no for an answer. "You are their king. If you ask it of them, I'm sure they will do everything they can to make you proud."
His eyes find mine and there's a nonchalance in his gaze that solidifies he isn't going to help. "The most I can do is promise my blacksmiths will forge weapons for your armies and if all fails in your crusade to destroy the demons and their portal, I will give you shelter in Durne."
"That is your decision?" Ronan growls, his back teeth grinding.
"We don't have to do either," Olav grips the arms of his chair, knuckles whitening. "Consider yourself fortunate my father is willing to provide Dwarven forged weaponry."
Everything suddenly goes quiet, as if time itself has stopped. Ronan and Olav exchange choice words and I'm worried the nextstep is a full-blown fistfight. Riggs does his best to diffuse the situation, but his words fall on deaf, stubborn ears.
