Ophelia Skyfeather's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

The cook turned the crank until the fat ran clear and the skin darkened along her thighs. Ophelia stopped rolling her head. She watched the coals when they passed her eyes and the ceiling when it passed after. The pot lid had gone quiet. The cook lifted her off the forks when he judged her done and laid the spit across a wooden trestle. He cut the straps at her wrists and ankles because the meat pulled cleaner without them. He carved a long strip from her flank into a bowl and carried it out to the hall, and two other goblins came in with platters and knives and did the same until the spit held only bone and the shape of what she had been. They fished the three eggs from the pot with a slotted ladle and cracked them into a dish. They peeled the shells with their thumbs. Gruk Ironjaw sat at the long table with his chiefs on either side. The eastern chief sat at his right hand where an ally sits. Gruk ate the first strip from the bowl the cook set before him. He chewed once and swallowed. He said it was good. He passed the bowl down the table and the chiefs took their portions and ate. The eggs went around on a wooden board, split open, the yolks still soft. Gruk took one and ate it in two bites. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. A chief across the table asked if there would be another harpy. Gruk looked at the platter between them, at the wing bone the cook had set out for show. He said no. He said one had been enough to feed the table and settle the deal, and a second would only teach the clans to expect it. The chief nodded and did not ask again. When the platters were empty the cook came in with the collar in his hand, the leather stained where her neck had worn it. He set it on the table beside the king. Gruk picked it up, looked at it once, and dropped it into the fire behind him. The leather curled and caught. He turned back to his chiefs and called for the drink. Outside the hall the wind moved through the eaves and no one in the room heard it. The nest in his chambers still held her feathers and the iron cup she had drunk from. In the morning a goblin would sweep it into a sack and burn the sack in the yard, and the chamber would be ready for whatever the king brought home next.