Page 85 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)
forty-two
Oryn
O ryn sprawled in an armchair, sipping his dark stonebrew.
Smoke danced on his tongue as Leon grumbled about his wife keeping him waiting, keeping all of Drozia waiting.
Keeping all of Drozia waiting was one of Alsbet’s greatest talents, but he kept that thought to himself.
He was in no hurry to get to the feast anyway.
An acquired taste, stonebrew; it seared like the forge fires, but he thought he might need a dose of dwarven courage this night.
A Great Hall packed full of Leon’s kin and Enya bloody Silverbow in a dress ought to make for a fine evening.
His first glimpse of her in that borrowed blue silk the night before had almost knocked the breath from him.
He was second guessing his choice to claim guest right.
Perhaps he should have packed her off to Colm’s townhouse.
Perhaps he should have sailed straight for the Vale, Frothfangs and Bay of Beasts be damned.
He had known Alsbet would take an interest and Leon’s wife was as formidable as the mountain around them.
When she realized there was nothing between them, he might end up banished, or worse.
She might string him up this very night when she learned he had ceded the dance of honor to Orimum.
The lad had paced his room, working up the courage to ask for it.
Enya Silverbow certainly would not be saving the dance of honor for him, even if speculation was running wild through Alsbet’s court.
The Princess of Dwarves seemed content to let that speculation breed and take on a life of its own.
He took a gulp that seared as it went down.
Oryn was considering fleeing his own welcome feast when two pairs of footfalls echoed down the staircase, chased by girlish giggles and an entirely ungracious snort.
Leon grunted and set his crystal goblet on an end table.
Together, they rose and Oryn realized there was not enough stonebrew in all of Tuminzar.
Where Alsbet had rooted out a Zeskayran gown on such short notice, he couldn’t fathom, but the provocative, two piece ensemble was meant for a night on the desert sands, not the Great Hall of the Palace of Drozia.
Enya had abandoned her ideas of Estryian propriety, it seemed, as moon white flesh stretched between the beaded emerald top and the wispy layered skirts that left the shape of her legs entirely visible.
The beadwork glinted with each rise and fall of her breath, but his eyes lingered on the angry red scar marring her skin in a glaring reminder of his failings.
Her hair had been plaited and bound at her nape, lest the long lengths make the ensemble any less scandalous and even more scandalous was the vow mark in plain view across the expanse of her back.
“Lady Ryerson,” Leon bobbed. “Wife. We are late.”
“It’s impossible to be late to one’s own party,” Alsbet sighed, patting the hair piled atop her head like a great bird’s nest. “And neither can the guests of honor.”
“Lady Silverbow.” Oryn gave a formal, shallow bow and offered his arm, trying to shut out the roaring in his ears. He was half surprised she accepted, letting her hand rest lightly atop his coat sleeve as they descended through the corridors.
“You did not complement my dress, Prince Oryn,” she mused as they waited in the antechamber for the herald to announce their arrival.
Oryn eyed her, looking for the trap. “My apologies, my lady. I didn’t think that you would want me to.”
She huffed. “What would give you that impression?”
He blinked, still not entirely certain their tenuous truce erased her previous promise to relieve him of his hands. “You.”
Enya let out a dark chuckle that was lost in the vibrating crash of the gong .
Liam
Liam didn’t know where to look when he followed Bade and Colm into the Great Hall.
The thrones on the dais had vanished, replaced by a long table set for the royal family and their guests of honor.
Tables just like it were packed between the stone columns, set with plates and goblets in gold and silver.
Dwarf lords and ladies milled about in their finery, their children darting between legs and peering out from around long coats and skirts.
Liam had never seen much of Estryian lords, but he’d never seen such wealth.
Exotic fabrics and furs, intricate laces and extensive embroidery, all lay beneath necklaces and chains of gold and silver, crusted in every color of gemstones.
“They did all of this because we’re here?” He whispered as they settled into what seemed to be a place held for them near the dais.
“They love to be given a reason to feast,” Aiden grinned.
Colm chuckled. “Pace yourself.”
Serving women were already scuttling about, pouring wine and ale and the dark liquid that sent up curls of smoke.
Other spirits, both clear and amber, were being passed up and down the benches and handed over shoulders to those still on their feet.
The din rose to a roar as the hall filled, voices echoing up into the high arches until a gong suddenly sounded so loud, it sent ripples through the ale in front of Liam.
Dwarves scampered for their seats. As the first resonating note died, a second sounded, and the hall fell silent.
“Your prince comes! Your princess comes! Hail House Stonehammer!” A voice boomed from the end of the dais, echoing around the silent hall.
“Hail House Stonehammer!” The gathered dwarves roared.
Men and women alike thumped fist to chest and stomped their boots in rhythm as the royal children emerged from a shadowy hall and climbed the steps of the dais.
It filled the hall with a pulse that rattled Liam’s teeth and reverberated to his marrow.
He might leave the Palace of Drozia deaf if they kept this up, but Liam emulated the others as the princes and princesses filed to their seats, the older dutifully nudging the younger along.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Leondonderick and Her Royal Highness, Princess Alsbeterra!”
Again, the thumping started, building to a deafening crescendo as the dwarves he’d dined with the night before took their places, beaming out at the gathered folk.
Dining with bloody royalty. When Leon raised his hands, the pounding cut off.
The herald waited for the echo to die amongst the columns.
“Their honored guests, Prince Oryn Brydove of Eastwood, and Lady Enya Ryerson of Estryia.”
Liam craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Enya striding in as the dwarves drummed cutlery on the table, the ring a high pitched clatter compared to the royal greeting.
Had she not been on Oryn’s arm, he may not have recognized the woman with a painted face and a dress that was barely there.
His companions chuckled as Oryn stiffly deposited Enya in the chair at Alsbet’s side and went to take his place of honor on the prince’s right.
Prince Leon raised his hands and the thrumming stopped.
“Be welcome!” He bellowed. “We thank Simdeni for the mountain, Solignis for the forge fires, Mosphaera and Sakaala for the food on our table, and Nimala for old friends and new. It is in the honor of those friends that we gather in the sacred mountain tonight. My brother’s come home!
” He pounded his fist to his chest as he turned to Oryn.
“And he’s brought a special treat - the Silverbow!
” Excited murmurs broke out as the he gestured to Enya. “Let the feast begin!”
Whoops and shouts went up as the prince and princess sank into their high backed chairs.
Serving women came rushing forward with great platters full of deviled eggs, stuffed mushrooms, shrimp and oysters, things on toast, things wrapped in cheeses and meats, and things Liam had never seen or heard of before.
His eyes went wide at the things tipped onto his plate by smiling, helpful dwarven women.
“Pace yourself,” Colm warned again. “This is just the first course.”
“How many are there?” He asked around a mouthful.
“Fifteen.”
As Liam stuffed himself to bursting, he hoped Enya regretted such a revealing dress.
Oryn
Perched high on the dais, Oryn watched her dance, never lacking for a line of partners just as she hadn’t in the inn in Ested.
He’d thought Orimum taking the honored first dance might hold some of his kin at bay, but every dwarf in Tuminzar wanted to get their hands on the Silverbow.
Leon’s cousins squabbled over who would have next and Enya swirled like the sun, pulling half the court into her orbit.
Oryn cursed whoever had left that gods damned dress behind in Drozia.
For his own dance of honor, he’d taken Gitaela by the waist for a turn about the floor. Leon’s eldest had no lack of partners either, but Oryn noted the way the girl batted her eyes at Liam bloody Marsh. His brother might run him through for that.
His irritation mounted as he watched Aiden haggle to the front of the line and lead Enya off into a jaunty dwarven jig.
Oryn watched every dip of his hand, every flicker of his eye and scowled as she crashed into his arms, laughing at a misstep.
Liam cut in for Greenridge Girl , which was known here by another name with different steps, but the dwarves followed the lead of the outlanders.
When they formed up neat lines for a stuffy Estryian tune, Colm took the place across from her, his smiles and hands wholly respectable as they came together and parted.
Enya looked around at the others for the steps in a swirl of skirts.
Oryn sipped his stonebrew, wondering what he’d done to deserve this sort of treatment from Alsbet.
Perhaps he should have written more often from Durelli.