Wrought of Iron and Silk, Book One [2014 Watty Award Winner]

Chapter 4 - Servant's Quarters

Chapter 4 – Servant's Quarters

Somehow, Cecilia managed to keep a pleasant smile on her face while she served the guests their after-dinner drinks and dessert. The king in disguise? Had it been real? She fingered the sore spot on her arm where she'd fallen and knew it was.

Seeing him again had torn the scab off a wound she'd thought had healed years ago. The moment he looked into her eyes, she instantly remembered what had happened. How she heard the fire before seeing it – the sound of it crawling in the walls like a playful scurrying of mice. And then she had heard pounding at the front door – far off, it seemed – and with the pounding, a man's voice shouting, "Get out! Fire! Fire!"

All of it happened in the bewilderment of a groggy awakening from one of her episodes, each moment piling hard against the moment in front of it – the sound of crawling fire, the pounding door, the shouting, and then the heavy smell of smoke. Her emotions churned with the desire to resurrect those memories, but she refrained. Her yearning couldn't be trusted.

Cecilia sidled behind a wooden container that held a strange tree with a long scaly trunk topped by flat, spreading leaves and some kind of round, hard fruit. The party was unlike anything she'd ever imagined. The glorious silks the women wore made her fingers itch with the desire to touch them, especially the mauve ones. No homespun dresses there.

And the throne room itself made her jaw drop. The great vaulted ceilings over the space made it appear even larger than it was. But what held her captive was the enormous gathering of stars frolicking overhead that stretched across the entire chamber.

The multitude of lights glimmered against a blanket of midnight blue velvet. As each group of constellations danced, they were transformed into the likeness of gilded warriors in scenes from ancient legends. The scene that unfolded overhead was that of the Asgardian women, decked in gala attire, preparing to welcome their husbands, friends and lovers home from war. Branches of laurel strewed the roads; bouquets of flowers were lavishly flung beneath the feet of men and horses, while loving hands twined the necks and limbs of battle-scarred veterans with garlands of many-hued blossoms.

She turned away and her gaze collided with Loki's intent stare. She wanted to look away, but couldn't until a sudden buzz of excitement traveled around the throne room from the rose garden outside. Cecilia heard "Midgard" murmured amongst the shimmering ladies that began rustling past to hearken the commotion.

One of the ladies put her hand on the bark of a small tree. "This is one from Midgard," a young, blond maiden announced. "It was brought here with a cocoon of a Red Glider. The last few days, the outside has become translucent – the butterfly is about to emerge."

"What's taking so long?" another female voice asked. "I'd think the struggle would kill it."

The blond nodded. "The butterfly needs the hardship to make it strong enough to fly. That's what gives it the strength to survive. If I were to help, it would die. So all we can do is stand back and observe its own efforts to free itself."

Cecilia stared as movement began in the small cocoon. The group of ladies crowded around to watch. Once it started, it all happened so fast. She held her breath as the insect, wet and ugly, crawled out and clung motionlessly to the leaf.

"It's letting its wings dry now," the blond said. "That will take hours. That's the end of the show for now. Tomorrow this beauty will be up and flying around. Perhaps the King will release it into his garden."

Even while the blond maiden was smiling, the insect quivered and let go of the leaf. It plummeted to the ground where it tried weakly to crawl before going motionless again.