6.9

Jewel slept so heavily and deeply that night that she had to be woken by her Father’s hand gently pressing against her shoulder.

The exhaustion remained even into the sumptuous and incredibly rich breakfast.

It was coming to astound her but Jewel was slowly but surely growing to miss the simple porridge her family had at breakfast each morning.

The dishes for breakfast with the Countess were full of meat, eggs and sweet cakes.

Berry preserves and these little rolls of light fluffy bread that honestly tasted more appropriate for a festival cake then anything one should eat every morning.

It was not a tiredness of the body or fire. Jewel’s Wyrm Flame was honestly marginally fiercer and richer then it had been last morning.

But the world seemed to be crushing down on her like she was being buried in lodestone.

There was a feeling like the air was trying to press in and smother her. It was like she was being swallowed up in mud that was not at the command of her friend.

Jaksa the Red and Tsulogothulan had so many terrible things to speak to her about. Things that made the words around her so much worse than she had thought.

And none of it had anything much to do with teaching Jewel about gods, or sorcery or magic.

It all came about because her friend had asked what was bothering Jewel and what happened after she answered.

After that, it felt like hours that they spoke to her.

And she had gone to sleep after their departure with a heavier foreboding then when she had reached her chambers that evening.

That pressure was already returning at breakfast.

Jewel caught appraising gazes all around her.

The way that all of them muttered and planned for Father’s possible death in battle starting up just as they had yesterday. The way they bartered the possibility of taking his place as the Wyrmkeeper.

And there was little comfort she could get from Father. He was still having to sit with the disconcertingly empty chair between him and the Countess Bathory at the head table.

It was too much and before she fully realized it, Jewel had enough.

When one of the knights started another oblique discussion in muttered whispers on the matter of the Wyrmkeeper’s succession?

That was when Jewel raised herself up to standing on two legs like a coat of arms rampant.

Her Wyrm Flame filled her wings and the front half of her coils.

The easing of weight let Jewel raise herself up until her horns were within reach of brushing the high vaulted ceiling.

She did it slowly and with all the proper poise and grace Mother and Muriel had tried to instill into her.

As she rose the conversations around breakfast began to fall quiet.

All those that were looking about themselves became silent as she drew her head up high enough to cast a shadow on the two lesser Knights.

When that was insufficient to draw their attention from their deep speculation on her person Jewel frowned.

When one of them mused on how Jewel could be fitted with a Saddle she discovered a new limit of her patience broken.

“Excuse me, Sir Knights”

Jewel had to work quite hard to keep her voice soft and dainty, the effort was one which changed with every season.

For she had yet to stop growing, and what retained her ladylike tone in spring was a threatening rumble come autumn.

But here and now she did not make the attempt.

The dining knives, plates and cups of the fast breaking meal trembled in her voice.

And finally that drew the Knights to finally look up, necks craning and eyes squinting to see Jewel’s scowling face against the halo of the morning sun streaming through the high windows.

Having gotten their attention she turned her scowl around the room. Sweeping up the gaze of every single eye of the Countess and her War Council.

When Jewel had acknowledged and drawn every eye to her she spoke softer, more gently but still not to the full restricted pitch she had used until now.

“I can count on one hand those of you who have not brazenly besmirched my honor in your whispering words and naked greed for my person.”

She nodded to the Countess and Jaksa the red. Then Father and Tsugotholan.

“The Countess, The Wizards and my own Father. This is the sum and total of those before me that have not bickered and bargained with one another over me like scullery maids with a plump hen between them.”

There were faces of shock, some of anger and much indignation.

One of those at the head table sitting on Father’s left stood and raised his finger to point at Jewel. Already starting to deny her words.

She did not want to hear more from his infuriating tongue, she had listened to it wag to others all of yesterday. Her glare fell on him and she spoke with barely any restraint, her words filling the room and smothering his lies.

“You called my Father an over elevated provincial sheep herd! You all but promised to him—”

Jewel nodded to the man sitting on the standing lord’s left who was staring between them with a dawning realization of horror that tickled her deeply.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“—that it was a near certainty that in the chaos of war-torn skies accidents could happen.”

He stilled into silence and glanced over at Father, even standing the singled out lord was hardly much taller than a head and a half against her Father while seated.

The Countess raised a brow and then spoke. And as was her due Jewel was silent.

“Oh? Marcisław, what dangerous turn of phrases she claims of you. But what possible reason could there be that you'd ever wish ill upon the Barony of Rochford? Your long standing and oath bound ally?”

Jewel spoke over the man again. Drowning out whatever drivel was coming from his lips.

“He promised if such misfortune should come that he would back a transfer of the Title of Wyrmkeeper to a more suitable lord on the War council.”

The Countess laughed, it was not a pleased laugh, it had a creak to it that Jewel had heard in the matriarchs of some of the peasant households.

The ones who could not walk so far anymore but still could shape up an entire harvest with their vicious tongues commanding the young and inexperienced.

The ones that knew all the old rhymes and stories and told them to the children.

Jewel considered the mostly smooth face and still dark hair of the Countess.

She was not very good at judging age but the Countess still looked about the same age as Mother. Or at least Jewel thought that was how she looked.

Nothing like the older peasant women at least, all pale hair and deeply furrowed leathery skin.

The man that had stood settled down in his seat.

The old creaky laugh continued and then with mirth still in her tone Countess Bathory pointed across the way to one of the Knights.

“And what were they saying that offended my dear Lady Rochford’s sensibilities so greatly to bring this to a boil?”

The two knights' heads snapped to the Countess at the gesture and then back to Jewel with looks of true surprise and fear.

Jewel snorted and the gust of her breath made the shining metal and glass of the chandelier sway and tinkle.

“They were discussing fitting me for a saddle and how it would feel to ride me into battle.”

And again the Countess laughed, sharp and creaking and very cruel.

But she pointed again to another and Jewel was starting to feel less angry and more confused.

“Questioned if my loyalty to my Father was closer to that of a hound or a warhorse.”

And it went, Father’s face growing colder and crueler and more full of wroth as each of the people who was breaking fast with him had their moment of shame. The Countess simply grinned in delighted mirth and commanded Jewel to reveal the words she had heard from all around her.

Always addressing Jewel with the utmost respect befitting her title. Giving difference perhaps even in excess of what her rank deserved.

But it was a balm, it was soothing if not comforting.

The Countess was using her like a lash, like the whip of words that had been used to beat against Father so.

But she seemed to respect Jewel as that instrument of violence.

And the Countess did smile even wider the times Jewel simply spoke over the attempts to refute her words.

So she was doing things properly?

Finally when Jewel’s heart was empty of any of the words that had weighed so terribly down upon her all the previous day there was a dead silence.

The Wyrmchild had settled back down into her place at one side of the table.

She stared down at her half eaten breakfast and for all the allure that it might have to her nose there was no appetite.

She had spoken out of turn, she had been a horrible affront and an embarrassment to her Father who was trembling with barely restrained fury.

She was only holding back tears because the Countess did not seem displeased, perhaps she would be spared because her liege was amused by her terrible manners.

But Jewel could see the outrage and more damningly the terror that were mixed among the faces at the tables.

All but Jaksa the Red, Father, The Countess and of course Tsulogothulan were terrified.

In the silence that filled the dining hall the Countess’ Voice finally rose.

Softer than Jewels had been at the start and yet commanding attention all the same.

“Well then! It would appear there is a terrible weakness at risk of poisoning our ranks before even the first arrow is loosed, or sword swung. Before even our armies marched there was an enemy within us.”

Several backs stiffened. A paleness spreads through every face of the ones that had spoken so Ill of Jewel and her Father.

There was a clap of the Lady and Liege of all of them’s hands that made several jolt in surprise and Countess Elizabeth Bathory smiled wider than Jewel had yet seen.

“But a concern of succession in this case is a trifling matter. And it is an enemy easily slain! The title of Wyrmkeeper was one made to secure the binding and care of a Feral Wyrm. A feat uncertain to be successful and fraught with substantial risk. It was viewed as a necessary one.”

Bathory swept her gaze over all that were gathered before speaking solidly and with all the authority of the Countess of Viznove.

“But I see it is not.”

That brought another trembling jolt and a flash of panic in Father’s eyes.

“I hereby declare among all my war council the dissolution of the title of Wyrmkeeper. As the Lord Rochford is not in possession of a Feral Wyrm the title possesses no purpose and if any other should find themselves blessed to hatch a peer to the Lady Jewel of Rochford they will not be bequeathed it unless eight years should pass and the child proves no ability of reason or ability to speak.”

She swept the crowd again and the smile shrank from a broad grin to something slimmer and somehow far more cruel.

Not a tooth shining and yet promising terrible violence besides. Jewel took careful note of every single curve of the Countess’ face. She was going to have to practice that look.

“As is perfectly obvious to any lord of honor, the care of the Lady Jewel of Rochford falls to her family. And in the unlikely and terrible event that her Father should fall that is likely to be the Lady Baroness and Regent Caroline of Rochford. Until such time as the Baron’s Heir is of age.”

The silence was almost deafening.

And it was only as Bathory sat back down that Jewel realized the Countess had even stood up for her address.

“Now then, with that unfortunate misunderstanding dealt with, I wish to thank the diligence of the Lady Jewel of Rochford for bringing this to my attention. Now let us not let a bit of bureaucratic nonsense spoil this wonderful breakfast.”

She raised her red wine in its astoundingly clear crystal chalice and uttered with the same voice of command she had used before.

Lips settling into a slightly annoyed frown.

“Now Eat.”

And mechanically everyone, Jewel included, obeyed.