Ophelia Skyfeather's Arc

Chapter 7 of 11

The next afternoon three goblins came into the chamber while Ophelia was turning the eggs. She stood up in the nest and spread her stubbed wings over them. Gruk followed the three in and put a hand on her shoulder. "Nursery," he said. "They check the shells. Warmth. Weight." He nodded at the goblins and they knelt and lifted the eggs one by one into a padded basket. Ophelia reached after them and Gruk caught her wrist, not hard. "They come back," he said. She believed him because she needed to. She sat down in the empty nest and pressed her hands flat against the warm hollow where the eggs had been. She waited. The straw cooled under her palms. By late afternoon the hollow was cold. When Gruk came back alone and unclipped her tether from the ring by the throne room door, she almost cried from relief. "Dinner," he said. "Come." He did not lead her to the dining hall. He turned at the second door and took her into the kitchen. The cook stood by the largest pot on the hearth. Steam rose from the lid. Through the steam she saw the shapes of her three eggs bobbing against the iron frame inside. She made a sound she had never made before. She turned to run and two goblins caught her arms at once. Beside the pot, on a low trestle, lay a roasting spit. It had been sized to her. She saw the leather cuffs at each end. She saw the drip tray. She twisted against the hands and screamed for Gruk. He stood in the doorway and watched her without moving. "Please," she said. "Please, I built the nest. I laid them. I did everything. Please." "You did," Gruk said. His voice was quiet. "Eggs were the deal. Not you kept after." "I'm your mate," she said. "You slept by the nest. You touched my hair." "I did," he said. He did not look away. "Warm bird lays warm eggs. Cook said so." The goblins pulled her toward the trestle. The cook opened a jar of fat and set it by her head. Someone unbuckled her collar to fit the cuffs. She kicked and a goblin took her ankle and held it. She begged him by his name until her voice broke. Gruk crossed the kitchen and crouched by the trestle so his face was level with hers. He brushed her hair back the way he had done by the nest. "Quiet now," he said. "Faster if you're quiet." He stood and told the cook to wait for his word, and walked out. The door shut behind him. The cook picked up the jar of fat. Ophelia lay strapped to the spit and understood, finally, why the first male had left.