“Yes, but how did you escape?” asked elder sister. Both women leaned in.
“You see…” began Eve. She realized this was the heart of the question. They wanted to know if the rumors were true. If she had, in fact, killed the man who had been her husband. “As we walked to the marriage hut, there was a sudden flash of light.”
“A flash of light?” elder sister asked.
“Where did the light come from?” asked younger sister.
“I had to shield my eyes,” exclaimed Eve, “from the brilliance of it. It could have blinded me for sure!”
“Yes, yes, what was the source?” elder sister pressed. The two of them leaned forward.
“I felt the heat cooking my skin. I thought the sun had struck us all down, the sky punishing us all! I did not know!” Eve cried. “I squinted my eyes enough to look, and that is when I saw…” Eve paused for effect. She raised her hands, “The dragon!” she hissed.
“A real dragon?” questioned the younger woman. Elder sister rolled her eyes and folded her arms in a huff.
“Yes, indeed,” Eve said, turning very serious, still teasing the one sister-in-law who wasn’t completely convinced the story was untrue. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go take my medicine.”
“What for?” elder sister pried, her interest piqued once more.
“You see, if you are too close to a dragon, you will slowly turn to gold, unless you take daily medicine.”
At that point, she jumped up to escape the women. She heard the two sisters-in-law complaining about her imagination as she left. Eve scampered down the hallway, feeling the first mischievous giggle she had felt in a long time.
As she made her escape, a jarring noise came from somewhere outside. Clangs of swords and shouts of men. Twisted struggles and booted feet scraping across the dirt. Eve turned toward the stadium, where her father would be if there were complications. She came to the railing that overlooked the rectangular throne room. Her father sat poised on his seat at the far end, facing the high open doors. Her brothers lined the walk up to him, as they did for any confrontation of consequence. Eve hung over the balcony. From this position, she could see outside the front of the palace. The guards shouted at each other as they came from their posts. Then she heard noise from inside as a rush of attendants flurried by behind her.
“What is happening? What is happening?” she called as they whizzed by and down the steps to the first floor. Unease gripped her core. She feared terrible news. Were they being attacked? Had Timicin decided to defy the ancestors and finally wage a war because she had not already agreed to marry one of his men? Or, and this thought twisted and made her want to vomit, was she about to see Michel’s body?
Her father looked like he might burst into flames at any moment as he prepared for whatever was coming through that door. Her brothers flexed into their fighting positions, prepared to defend their father and tribe.
Her two sisters-in-law peeked in from the door behind her. Eve saw the one bite her nails and the other scold her for doing so.
For one second, the noise halted, and the silence blanketed the great hall. Then her father bellowed, “Bring him in!”
They came into view: several guards, Khuyag, and Timicin.
Then she saw him—Michel—at the center, arms bound, struggling.
Emotions tangled through her, causing her limbs to shake.At least, she thought,at least he was alive.
“Father!” Eve shouted from the balcony into the open space, putting all the desperation she felt into her voice.
“Quiet!” he shouted back to her, without taking his eyes off the commotion at the far end of the hall.
The guards dragged Michel across the carpet runner as Michel tried to catch his balance, missing some steps and stumbling. He looked a mess, clothes in tatters, dirt smeared across his face and down his shirt. She didn’t know why he was here or at whose behest. Her heart ached for him, but she held herself back to understand under what circumstances he had returned.
“Leave him,” her father commanded the guards as he leaned forward in his seat. The guards backed away, leaving Michel in the center of the room, facing her father. Eve’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest.
Her father, on the other hand, smoldered in his seat, pure fire. “How have you come here?” her father boomed, now in French.
“I escaped the cell a week ago,” Michel spoke back, his voice loud and firm despite his tattered looks. “I have spent that time in hiding, looking for a way into your palace. To have your audience.”
Her father stirred in his seat, obviously not happy that Michel had evaded his security. Eve realized that, in the time that she had been mentally tracking his movements, he had never even left.
“You have my audience,” her father thundered. “Why are you here?”
Michel stood tall with his head up, looking square at her father. He was taller than her brothers, but they were clad in their warrior attire, while Michel had none of his protection or weapons. Still, he stared at her father with that pride he always carried. For once, she appreciated his arrogance.
“Speak,” her father commanded.
