Northern_Lights_2016

7 From Silk to Steel Becca Simon They would say later that he had ridden boldly to his death; that he fought with the courage and might of the king’s entire elite force, tirelessly and without rest, in order to return the princess safe and sound from the horrible dragon’s fire. They would tell tales in great halls over roasts and wine of his selfless and bountiful love for the princess; they would erect a statue in his honor and drink to his good fortune in the afterlife. But Lucretia knew. She knew it wasn’t the fruits of love he pursued, that he cared not for her safety; that she was nearly a prize to be won — the key to a life of riches and fame under the grateful eye of the king. She also knew that the songs and prayers of a thousand kinsmen would mean little to a corpse rotting in hell. “What news, Verioth? Has he breached the outer bailey?” The dragon shimmied his huge body up the crumbling stone steps, scales reflecting the flickering crimson light radiating from the scarcely lit hall and giving them the appearance of pristine jewels that seemed to drape like a curtain over the stairs. “Yes, he barrels quickly for the main gate. He is lucky I have spared his life for this long; I can hardly stand the puny creature’s putrid scent, even from such a distance.” Lucretia smirked. “We will mark his entry with the most triumphant of celebrations.” The castle they stood in was vast and crumbling; it had long stood silent and mournful against the pale mountains it was hidden within, forgotten by all but Verioth, a silent sentinel that flew wary and watchful over the neighboring kingdom for countless decades. Tonight would be the first in many years of dormancy that he would see the sky dyed red once more. Despite her resolve, Lucretia could not help but feel dwarfed under the castle’s sheer size, looking as though the stillness that held it in tact would collapse with a single swipe of Verioth’s great tail. The great hall she gazed out upon had seen its better days; the long tables that lined it had sank dejectedly into the ground, and the great chandelier which used to illuminate the room dangled precariously from a single chain. “Your form is one of resolve, but your face is creased with worry,” The great dragon observed, leveling its mighty face to the girl’s, whose amber eyes widened at the sight. Just one of his magnificent eyes seemed as though they had the capability to swallow her whole. “Are you certain you are prepared to carry through with this? Surely you have not forgotten what happens after, have you?” “I will not falter beneath the constant fear I’ve been subjugated to all my life, Verioth. There is nothing for me to return to. I already told you, my life and integrity, who I am now, who I will become, and what meager, dim existence I was before; I give it all to you.” Though she was lithe, delicate, and meager in size, her shoulders were squared proudly, head held high, eyes burning with malignity and a thirst for justice. In a single dignified movement, the beast lowered itself to Lucretia’s feet in a reverent bow. “I ask, then, that you remove the blade from my neck.” She hesitated for only a moment before she nodded firmly and crossed the platform, smoothing her hand over the dragon’s rigid neck until it stopped on a tethered rope hung around his neck. Gingerly, she pulled the rope back and over his head until she held the object hanging from it in her hands. It was heavy and barely visible in the low lighting of the room. The golden shoulder of the sword glinted, and upon turning around the weapon in her hand, she noticed the blade was pitch black, edges jagged as if rising up in dark flame. The guard resembled Verioth’s wings, raised in flight, the hilt inscribed ornately in a language she did not understand. “It was forged by my own fires, made from the very scales upon my back,” Verioth’s voice was deep and mellifluous, carrying a thoughtful tone Lucretia rarely heard. “I hope you’ll find it a suitable arm to aid you in battle. Never in all the centuries I have roamed the sky have I met a princess quite like you. It has been a pleasure training you, Lucretia. I hope you find the freedom you seek.” “Thank you,” Lucretia smiled gently, placing a palm on the great beast’s snout. “You are not the monster the legends would have one believe.” She had never believed the legends. Day after day she spent locked up like a caged bird in her father’s castle, told never to act out of line or speak too brashly, often advised not to speak at all. She moved like a shadow without a voice through the castle halls, occasionally stepping into the light only to be greeted by throngs of frothing men. An accidental slip of the tongue often resulted in being beat into submission by the king or some other such member of the royal court, disfiguring her