Thalia Thornbreak's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Thalia did not walk far. Two hours on the road, and doubt gnawed her raw. Sylvara had promised to object at the coronation. But a promise was only breath. If the priestess lost her nerve before the court, Thalia would kneel and marry a stranger. She turned off the path and went back to the ivy-choked castle. Sylvara had not yet left it. She found the priestess beneath the ruined arch, gathering fallen wisteria blossoms into her palm. Purple clusters hung from the trees that had grown through the broken wall. "I need more than your word," Thalia said. "Words break. If you falter, I have nothing." Sylvara did not look up. "You do not trust an old woman." "I trust proof." Then a sound came from deeper in the castle. A slow scrape of scales on stone. Thalia drew the jeweled sword at her hip, its amethyst pommel catching the light. She stepped through the fractured doorway. A white dragon lay curled in the roofless hall. Its scales shimmered like the inside of a shell. She had thought it stone. She had thought it dead. She crept closer, blade raised. The dragon opened one violet eye. Thalia froze. The creature lifted its head and looked at her, not with hunger, but with a strange, quiet weight. It leaned toward her chest, breathing slow. She felt it read her somehow, past the sword, past her fear, down to the wish she had never spoken aloud. She wanted the crown. She wanted to earn it, not be handed it. The dragon huffed warm air and lowered its head. It knew her true heart. And it did not burn her. Sylvara stood in the doorway now, blossoms forgotten. "A wyvern of the old grove," she breathed. "They come only to those the forest itself would crown. In all my years I have seen one only once." Thalia lowered the blade. "It carries messages. Faster than any rider." The idea struck hard. "You will not stand at the coronation and speak for me. You will send your objection now, sealed and witnessed, before you can change your mind." Sylvara's face tightened. Thalia held her gaze. "Bind yourself in writing," Thalia said. "Give the beast your sealed word to carry to the court. Then you cannot vanish. Then I am not trusting breath." The old priestess studied her for a long moment. At last she pressed her thumb to the wisteria sap and drew her Grove sign across a strip of bark. She spoke the lawful objection aloud, so the dragon heard it, and tied the bark to its claw. The wyvern spread luminous wings and rose through the broken roof. It flew toward the elven court, carrying Sylvara's sealed refusal. Thalia's pact was no longer fragile. It was airborne, witnessed, and beyond taking back. But the objection would reach her parents a full day before she did. They would know she meant to fight. And they would have that day to prepare.