Father’s locked himself in his chambers with Zander and Rovert. From what I understand, they are pouring themselves over dusty old scrolls. For several days, he’s taken all his meals alone and left me in complete peace. The respite is more than welcome, but it won’t last. The storm looms, though I don’t know what shape it will take when it arrives.
Rigel is in high spirits today. Pippa and Archer accompany us, but they ride ahead, giving us privacy. Pippa laughs at something Archer says. Again, away from the castle, the princess looks happy.
Growing agitated of idly passing her time at court, she paces like a mountain cat when forced to be still. Archer is her opposite—calm and steadfast. He keeps her grounded, and she gives him life. Her smiles are all for him, and he adores her. I’ve never seen anything like the two of them.
It makes me ache for something I’ve never known was possible. I peer at Rigel from the corner of my eye and wish we could recapture the easiness we shared yesterday.
“We’re almost there,” he says.
The ride is short, only a few hours. A castle rises in the distance. Originally belonging to King Leonard’s wife, it’s one of the newest in Errinton, built after the original estate burned down shortly after my usurper grandfather became king.
Guards stand on the walls, and they order the gates opened when they spot Rigel. The lord calls up his greetings, and they return them like they are actually pleased to see him. I don’t think Father has ever received such a welcome.
We ride into a courtyard, and I try to ignore the curious stares directed at me. Pippa and Archer call greetings to a cluster of Rigel’s archers, and they amble off to join them.
A man steps forward and takes my horse. He’s tall and muscular and looks like he’s had a sword in his hand for the better part of his twenty-five or so years.
The man snaps his fingers for Rigel’s reins. “Yours too, My Lord.” An easy grin stretches across his face. “You have company.”
Rigel’s expression is hard, but the man doesn’t flinch.
Then, with a tight, amused smile, Rigel hands the reins over. “How are things, Malcolm?”
The man whistles for a couple of gawking stable boys and hands the horses off to them.
“Nothing to report.” Malcolm crosses his arms, showing off his impressive biceps. He gives me a small, cocky nod, making sure I notice the movement is purely for show. “The hound had her litter.”
“Make sure Peter gets one.” Rigel’s voice is dry as he watches the man’s obvious preening.
“He’s already picked one out,” Malcolm answers. “A fat male.”
I shift, feeling like an awkward outsider. Malcolm’s attention again slides to me.
“Seirsha, this is Malcolm, the captain of my guard,” Rigel says. “Malcolm, this is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Seirsha.”
Malcolm cocks his head and gives Rigel a questioning look that Rigel chooses to ignore.
Finally, the man bows low over my hand and grins. “A pleasure, Your Highness.”
I grow uncomfortable, wondering if he plans on returning my hand anytime soon.
I’m just about ready to pull it from his grasp when Rigel intervenes, saying, “Enough.”
Malcolm laughs, says his goodbyes, and saunters back to the stables.
Rigel offers me his arm. “This way.”
“Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.”
We travel past the stables, around several small cottages, and finally stop at a large stone structure.
“The smithy’s?” I ask.
Rigel nods and pulls me through the door. It’s hot inside—delightfully so. A man with a thick hide apron works at an anvil. He turns when we enter. “You’re back,” he says in a loud voice that takes me by surprise. His eyes move to me, and he falters.
Rigel nods to the man. “Hello, Henry.”
Once again we go through the mandatory introductions. Unlike Malcolm, Henry seems uncomfortable with my presence. He wipes his hands on an old rag, but it does little to remove the black smudges. I smile at him, hoping to ease his discomfort. We exchange greetings, and then he goes back to work.
We leave Henry in peace and make our way to a small room off the back. There’s a worktable and a forge, but the area looks as if it were intended for something more delicate than iron and steel. A case sits in the corner, and I stop to examine it. Rings, necklaces, and other jewelry sit nestled on black velvet. The pieces are exquisite, and I can’t help but marvel at them.
After I examine the jewelry, I study the armor adorning the walls. This must be Rigel’s personal smithing room.
Rigel waves me over to a dark green rock on the bench.
“What is it?” I ask.
He hands me the rock, and I turn it over in my hand. “Is this the mineral you found when you were a boy?”
It’s cold despite the warm room. The surface is surprisingly smooth, as if it’s been polished, but I know from the jagged edges it has not been worked.
Rigel nods. “This is the exact piece I chipped away from the heart of the mountain.”
“I thought you tried to smelt it.”
“At the time it didn’t work.”
I hand the mineral back to him.
He studies it before he sets it on the bench, and then he waves me over to a shield on the wall. “Do you recognize this?”
“It’s dragon steel.”
The silver metal is darker than steel, though not as dark as iron. It glistens in the firelight.
Rigel grins in a way that reminds me of when he was a boy. “You want to see something amazing?”
I hide my smile with a frown. “What?”
After setting the shield on the workbench, he pulls a sword from a cabinet. It’s a beautiful weapon. Delicate scrollwork runs down the length of the strong, straight blade. He holds the sword and raises an eyebrow at me. Then, with one fluid movement, Rigel strikes the shield. He lays the sword on the bench and lifts the shield so I may inspect it.
“Impossible,” I whisper as I step forward. My fingers slide down the metal. “It’s marred it as if it were as soft as gold.”
My eyes meet his gaze, and then they travel back to the sword. I hesitate and then pull the weapon toward me. The scrollwork is intact. It’s perfect.
“What’s this made of?” I ask.
It looks like dragon steel, but it couldn’t have dealt that damage if it were.
Once again, Rigel picks up the green mineral. His eyes shine with excitement. “I figured out how to smelt it.”
“What is it?”
Rigel shakes his head. “It has no name.”
I laugh, still reeling from what I just witnessed. “You have to call it something.”
Our entire kingdom’s greatness was built on the alloy that Rigel’s sword damaged as if it were the softest metal imaginable.
The weight of it hits me. “Do you realize you have singlehandedly discovered the substance that will revive Errinton?”
He attempts to look humble as he runs a hand through his hair, but he’s brimming with excitement.
“Rigel!” I exclaim, laughing. “This is amazing!”
“I wish your father agreed.”
“He doesn’t?”
Rigel shakes his head.
I step forward, unable to keep my eyes off the sword. “Has he seen it?”
“Yes.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at the blade. I don’t understand. This is exactly what Errinton needs.
Rigel touches my shoulder, drawing my attention back to him. “I haven’t given up. I have people mining for the mineral as we speak. Pippa’s brother has requested five suits of armor, and I am hoping Glendon may soon order as well.”
“And you still haven’t named it?”
“I’ve been calling it drachite.”
I think about it. “Dragon stone? Why?”
Rigel runs his hand down the blade. “What does the metal look like?”
&n
bsp; “It looks like dragon steel—but it’s obviously not.”
He meets my eye. “Or is it?”
I frown at him.
“Bear with me.” He sets the sword down. “How do we make dragon steel?”
I’m unsure of the details and squeamish at the thought. When I think of the process, I see Adrinel.
He shakes his head, mock disappointed in my knowledge. “We smelt the hide. The organic material burns away, but the scales—or what we assumed were the scales—melt down at the right temperature. It can then be merged with a certain ratio of iron and become dragon steel.”
“All right?”
Rigel’s becoming quite animated. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this passionate about something.
He continues, “What if what we smelted wasn’t the scales at all—what if it were a mineral present in the hide?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Why do the dragons live in Errinton?”
“They raise their young here. Most simply stay.”
“But why do they come here? Why not Lauramore or Glendon? Why not warm and sunny Triblue—surely it’s more suited to their cold blood.”
I sit on the bench and mull it over.
“They are usually found around the hot springs, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if it’s cold,” I say. His eyes light up, and I think about what I’ve said. “The dragons live here because of the hot springs?”
“Because of a mineral present in the water.”
“You’re saying this drachite leaches from the ground into the water, and then the dragons…what? Soak it up?”
Rigel nods. “Something like that.”
“So this is dragon steel, but purer?”
“That’s right.”
It’s all so very fantastic, it’s hard to wrap my mind around.
Rigel sits next to me and slides the blade over his lap. “Once smelted, it reacts the same way, but because it’s so pure, much less is needed to create the alloy.”
“How did you finally smelt it?”
“The fire must be hotter. I ended up using fire talc to superheat the forge.”
I look at him, surprised. “Is that safe?”
He raises an eyebrow, acknowledging that, once again, I have insulted his pride.
Smiling, I nudge his arm. “It was just a question.”
Rigel shakes his head, but there’s a smile in his eyes.
I run my finger along the scrollwork on the blade. “You made this, didn’t you?”
He nods.
“It’s beautiful.”
Our eyes meet. He’s close, as close as he can be without touching me. The door stands open, but it’s been awhile since I’ve heard the metallic tang of a hammer meeting iron.
Absently, Rigel touches my pendant. As he turns it in his hand, his fingers brush against my skin.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper. “After all this time, why are you speaking to me now?”
He drops the pendant. His eyes search mine, and then he slides his hand to the back of my neck. “When I found myself the victor of the tournament, my mind was consumed with only one thought.”
Terrified, I whisper, “What was it?”
“I was about to be married to the wrong princess.”
I suck in a breath.
Rigel’s thumb rubs gentle circles against my skin. “When I saw you wearing the pendant, it gave me hope.” He leans closer, his eyes serious and dark. “Seirsha, please tell me I may hold onto that hope.”
Overcome, I stare at him. How I wish I could be like Pippa, brave and wild.
I begin, “Father—”
“I don’t care about your father.” He pins me with his eyes. “I told you—my loyalty is to you.” He lowers himself to the floor and kneels in front of me. “I swear it to you now.”
“Yes.”
Rigel raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Yes, what?”
The forge has made it too hot in here to think. I draw together my courage. “Yes…you may hold onto your hope.”
He leans forward. “Seirsha?”
I’m entranced by his breath against my lips. “Hmmm?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Chapter Eight
My heart leaps as Rigel leans closer. Then he stops.
A pained expression crosses his face. “This is wrong.”
I flinch and pull back.
He grimaces and lets out a breath of a laugh. In one smooth movement, he joins me again on the bench and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “No. This” —he motions between us— “is right.” He raises an eyebrow when I flush. “But this” —he motions to the workshop— “is wrong.”
“Then take me somewhere else,” I say, my words oddly breathy.
I’ve startled him, and his eyes drop to my lips. Something hot and sharp travels through me, like a shot of lightning from a summer storm. I can be brave like Pippa. I can be wild.
“For years, all I’ve dreamed of is being kissed—truly kissed—by you.” My heart races, but I continue on, “Kiss me here, kiss me in a stable, kiss me anywhere.” I pin him with my eyes. “But Rigel—kiss me somewhere.”
Rigel’s eyes search mine for only a fraction of a moment. Then he closes the space between us, and his lips find mine. Something breaks in me from the sweetness of it, the rightness. I remember it.
I remember him.
Expecting him to end the moment like when we were young, I sigh against his lips, preparing myself for the agony of parting. Instead, his hand tightens around my waist. The stubble on his jaw rubs against my skin, and I lose all thought. Every heartbreak, every fear, goes into the kiss. His fingers twine in my hair, and then they relax. He’s practicing a measure of control I can’t fathom.
It’s so much stronger than mine.
He finally pulls away. Laughing softly, he runs his lips across mine. It’s a feather-light touch that makes me tingle.
Drinking in the sensation, I close my eyes.
His fingers brush my jaw as he whispers, “Look at me.”
I open my eyes. Why has he stopped? I lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth, coaxing him for more.
He cups my face and breathes out a soft groan. “We must tell no one.”
Startled, I pull back. Is he embarrassed of me, the princess incapable of attracting suitors?
His perceptive eyes harden. “If your Father knew of this, he would do everything in his power to keep us apart.”
I choke out a mirthless laugh. “If he wanted to keep us apart, he went about it in an odd way.”
“Did he?” Rigel tilts his head. “I had to beg Pippa to drag you down from your chambers. You wouldn’t even look at me.” His thumb rubs gentle circles at my waist. “I thought you hated me.”
My gaze shifts to the shields on the wall behind him. “And I thought you were disgusted, thinking that I—”
“Never.” He tilts my head back. A smile plays on his lips. “I know you well enough.”
I’m quiet for a moment, enjoying the feel of his fingers idly drawing circles on the base of my neck.
I meet his eyes. “Did you truly beg Pippa?”
He nods.
Fighting to keep a straight face, I say, “That must have been humbling for you.”
His lips tip in a slow smirk. “It was awful.”
He kisses me again.
I smile against the sweet press of his lips. “How do we hide this? Should I even be with you now?”
“We’re fine.” His smirk grows. “Just wear your bored, indifferent expression whenever you’re in my company, and your father won’t suspect a thing.”
I laugh and push him back. “Have you always been this charming?”
Giving me a wry look, he pulls me to my feet. “I tone it down for the good of the masses.”
I open my mouth to tease him but then shut it. I’ve seen the way the people admire him. There is more truth in that statement than he’d be willing to admit.
&
nbsp; ***
I try not to let my eyes linger on Rigel, but it’s harder now than it’s ever been. It seems every time I glance his way, he meets my gaze. There’s a smile in his eyes, but to anyone else, his expression would be enigmatic.
Father’s called another council meeting. He’s going on about something, but I can’t focus. Again, I let my eyes wander to Rigel. He raises an eyebrow just slightly. For his benefit, I give him a mock haughty look and glance away. When I look back, he’s hiding a smile behind his hand.
I bite back a grin, feeling oddly giddy for cracking Rigel’s impenetrable veneer, and try to listen to Father.
“Sire.” The Marquis of Preywoth crosses his arms. “We have no way to know if this item exists.”
Father narrows his eyes. “That was true before, perhaps, but with this scroll, we have found proof.”
He slams his hand on the faded yellow parchment in front of him as if to prove his point.
The marquis looks unconvinced but wisely stays silent.
Duke Everett clears his throat. “Suppose this sculpture does exist—”
Father doesn’t bother to hide his sneer. “It does.”
The Duke holds his hands out in a placating gesture. “What do you plan to do with it? And how will it aid in your search for an heir?”
Rigel tries to pay attention, but I’m entertaining myself by distracting him. This is the most enjoyable council meeting I’ve ever been to.
“Don’t you understand?” Father stands now, both hands firmly placed on the scroll. “The heir is irrelevant! Whoever possesses the figure will rise like a god. Immortal. Unstoppable.”
Rigel’s eyes snap away from mine, and I whip around toward Father. The room falls quiet, and I can’t hide my horror. Father’s either truly gone mad, or he’s stumbled onto something he shouldn’t be toying with.
Rigel clears his throat to speak, and the room turns toward him. “What creature created this figure?”
I take a breath, already fearing what Father’s answer will be.
Father sits slowly, enjoying the tension in the room. He sets his hands on the table with an air of calculated calm. “Wizard.”
He can’t be serious. He is mad. Humans don’t possess magic. To use it, they must borrow it from forbidden, evil sources. Sources that are more than eager to share.
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 55
