Page 24 of The Curse of Indy Moore (The Cursed Duology #1)
Where Indy Faces the Lioness
Mercy’s chair legs came to life, once firm wood and now as nimble as my own.
The chair arms folded inward to form a bar that kept Mercy safely tucked against the back.
They led us down the curved hall that followed the spherical shape of the exterior.
I half expected the interior to have an entirely different shape, but apparently the artificers hadn’t gone so far as to enchant the spire yet.
Doors towered on either side of us, uncanny in their heights.
Plaques adorned each, containing names of artificers and a rune beneath that I guessed had to do with their area of study or perhaps their title.
Any doors that were opened led to a lounge-like study area.
I didn’t have the time to see more than that.
“Must we meet the sovereign?” I asked, my voice little more than a nervous squeak.
We were meant to acquire permission for Mr. Hawthorne’s work, not attend a meeting far above my station, where the sovereign herself would attend.
Thanks to Mr. Hawthorne, I had nice attire, but that didn’t make me ready to see her.
She was always nothing more than a picture hanging near town hall or in a schoolbook, and I would prefer she remained that way.
“Mercy is correct to assume that Her Royal Majesty will be pleased to meet you, and I would rather not hear complaints from the High Artificer should I refuse, so yes, we must meet her,” he replied, hands slid into his trouser pockets.
Fausta Avagnon was not to be trifled with, a warrior sovereign who stood against the northern kingdom of Arestat twice within her reign.
Both wars ended because of her tenacity and skill, so history said, and I was one to believe it after seeing posters of her scarred expression throughout Cavehallow and even Westshire.
While not known for brutality, our sovereign never backed down from a fight, so I didn’t know what to expect from the meeting.
“Have you met the sovereign?” I asked.
“I have,” he replied.
“What is she like?”
“Stately.” His clipped answers did nothing to ease my concerns.
Mercy stopped in front of a door marked by a golden snake wrapped into an infinity symbol and inscribed with runes.
Four soldiers guarded the door. Two were covered in armor that concealed their faces entirely.
The other two were artificers based on the scepters in their hands.
They wore matching robes in the royal house’s blue colors.
Mercy half-heartedly introduced us prior to one of the guards opening the door.
“The meeting should be about to adjourn,” Mercy declared. “I will retrieve you momentarily.”
They went into the room, leaving Mr. Hawthorne and I beneath the heavy attention of the guards.
The artificers had an air of calm about them, though their eyes were steely and unrelenting.
The guards stood strong and tall, neither of them removing their attention from me.
I half expected one to take a swing. Hopefully, shaking didn’t warrant their concern because I couldn’t stop myself.
The staring didn’t help, either. I was not accustomed to being glared down by a metal suit nearly twice my size.
Surely they could not move well in all that, especially against artificers.
Barely a moment later, Mercy invited us in. I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast. I was feeling sick again and cursed the universe for its endless need to upset me.
The council room ran more long than wide, with tall windows at the back, letting in swatches of golden light.
Banners bled from the ceiling, each of them depicting a separate house sigil.
If I remembered any of my schooling, I could name them, but unfortunately I preferred to sleep than study.
Another iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, so large that I questioned how anything could hold its weight.
Beneath the chandelier was an oval-shaped table where twenty people sat.
The sovereign sat at the farthest end of the room, her cool white skin discolored along her left cheek to her throat from burn scars.
Her brown hair streaked by gray was wrapped tightly around her head, a crown tucked atop it, glistening silver adorned by gems in the same blue of the steeples of her castle.
Everything about her was sharp, precise lines as if she instructed the creation of her own form.
She was breathtaking, the type of woman that no art could properly depict.
When the sovereign stood, the others followed, bowing their heads in silence.
She stalked around the table, her muscular arms at her back.
She was a head shorter than me but had the presence of a lioness.
Behind her, a man followed with the same pale white skin and wavy brown hair.
Their eyes had the same shape but varied in color, hers a deep hazel and his brown.
“Mr. Hawthorne, you have brought someone rather intriguing,” the sovereign said in a smooth and otherwise soothing voice.
Mr. Hawthorne bowed low. I did the same, unaccustomed and certainly not educated on how to address the sovereign. I should have asked that earlier. What if I came all the way here to cure my curse only to be beheaded for offending royalty?
The sovereign found no offense in my manners because she held out her hand for me to shake.
“Miss Indy Moore, cursed by Mother Wolf, let me offer my condolences and apologize for all of us being so eager toward your misfortune. It is rare for us to find one such as you in a head space to move, let alone hold yourself as normally as ever.”
“I appreciate your condolences, Your Majesty,” I replied, trying to keep my voice firm, though nothing hid the tremor in my hand. “And I understand where everyone is coming from. I simply wish to get the help I sorely need.”
Understood, but still disliked. The artificers had the same eyes as Mr. Hawthorne upon our initial meeting. They didn’t see a person but a specimen, one that willingly walked into their nest because she had no other choice.
“You will, that I assure you. Mr. Hawthorne did right to bring you here, where you can be placed in capable hands,” the sovereign said.
“I will conduct the research myself, Your Majesty,” said Mr. Hawthorne, his head still bowed slightly. “We are here to submit my research project and acquire Miss Moore’s proper consent, of course.”
The man behind the sovereign stepped closer, his eyes firm when he said, “It was admirable of you to desire assisting the girl; however, there are far more studied artificers who could do better by her, specifically those who study demonology. You are an inscriptionist, are you not?”
“I have expertise in many fields, Your Highness. I am more than capable of handling Miss Moore’s case,” Mr. Hawthorne replied with his attention set firmly on the sovereign, confident and warm, even in the face of the stranger’s backhanded comment.
“Your Majesty, your brother is right. There are many artificers more suited for this line of work,” another artificer said from the table, older, with long graying hair braided down her back.
She glided across the floor to speak in the sovereign’s ear.
“One from Trinity Schoolhouse should not be handed a case as important as this. We must give this young girl the best possible chance of success, and that would be through another.”
“I did not expect to find myself questioned and ridiculed in an institute of academic study, Mrs. Churning. How far have we fallen to argue over the rights to a project founded by another?” Mr. Hawthorne said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t accuse every person in the room of attempting to steal his work.
The artificers broke out in a chorus of disagreements. Mrs. Churning went red in the face, then the sovereign raised a hand, and the room fell silent.
“That is enough.” The sovereign’s attention drifted to Mercy. “Take Miss Moore to a nearby lounge. We have more to discuss.”
Mercy bowed their head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Mercy went for the door, but I didn’t.
The moment we walked in the room, there were hungry eyes and envious attention all over me.
Mr. Hawthorne warned me of that. I would be the center of attention, so much so that the sovereign herself wanted to see me.
He must have known we would face an issue such as this when we arrived.
He certainly didn’t appear shocked or even mildly perturbed when standing silently beside me.
He helped me, albeit not initially, and he handled things so well in Westshire. He took the time to speak to the villagers when he could have turned his nose up at them as Francesca had countless times. That may have merely been a role he played to get what he wanted, but I appreciated it.
Trinity Schoolhouse, Mrs. Churning had said with such disdain.
That was the name of the school Otis said he taught at and Mr. Hawthorne attended.
He mentioned earlier that he didn’t have the money to go to a more renowned artificer academy.
I wasn’t foolish enough not to understand what was happening.
They were trying to say, without outright stating it, Mr. Hawthorne wasn’t as good as them simply because of his schooling.
I wouldn’t work with anyone so ignorant.
“Before I leave, Your Majesty, I would hope to put in my own thoughts, considering I am the one cursed. I should hope my opinion holds considerable weight,” I said, hating that my voice shook slightly, but frankly, I had faced worse.
The sovereign had a fierceness to her. She carried the weight of a ruler, and I didn’t doubt her capabilities. However, she was no Carline, a literal force of nature threatening to change my life entirely without so much as a struggle. If I could fight against Carline, I could stand my ground here.
“Go on,” the sovereign encouraged.