Page 162 of Silverbow
She thought she caught a glimpse of a smile on Oryn’s hard face. “Have we finally found a fear, Lady Silverbow?” He murmured so quietly, she didn’t think their escort heard.
Her breath stolen by the the view, Enya only shot him a look that indeed made the corners of his mouth turn up.
She hadn’t thought to ask what kind of reception they would receive in Drozia. He’d once told her she would like the dwarven capital, but that was before she’d known he was a prince. She suddenly became keenly aware that she was wearing travel stained clothes and a three-day old braid. At her side, Oryn looked as unruffled as ever.Bloody gargoyle.
Her insides settled as they stepped out onto the plaza, but when it became clear that their escort aimed for the gilded party waiting on the palace steps, her mouth went a bit too dry. Standing at the front of the assembled group, with a hand resting casually on the war hammer at his belt, a dwarf with long onyx hair flecked with gray at the temples regarded them from under bushy, furrowed brows. He wore a studded leather jerkin under his coat trimmed in thread of gold and leather backed gauntlets at his wrists. Around his waist, was a wide gold belt set with rubies that matched the crown atop his head.
To his right, stood a woman with russet hair and a bulbous nose. Around her collarbone hung a wide band of gold over a draped charcoal gown. Her warm brown eyes met Enya’s and lingered. Flanking them on the steps were seven dwarven men in a variety of dress, from sweeping robes to short coats. One had a crinkled face with hair as white as snow. Another had skin that looked like polished ebony. All were bedecked in more gold and jewels than Enya had everseen.
Behind them, another pair lingered back amongst the columns and Enya’s breath caught. A tall, slender woman in a flowing white gown stood beside a man in powder blue robes. His hair was the same silver-gray as Oryn’s, and when his companion cocked her head with interest, Enya caught the flash of a pointed ear.
She darted a look at Oryn, still cursing him for not having prepared her for a bloody royal welcome. Amusement danced in his icy eyes.Just do what he does.It was easier said than done as he dismounted smoothly. Enya cast a panicked look around at the other demi-elves who leapt off their mounts with ease. She kicked her feet from her stirrups and prodded with a toe to find the step Oryn wielded for her.
He didn’t so much as look her way as she found it, but it lowered her gently to the stones. If the dwarves thought someone levitating was unusual, they didn’t show it as their discerning gazes swept around their party. Oryn raised a fist to his chest and thumped three times. Enya looked down at her sling. She certainly wouldn’t be doingthat.
“Your Highness,” Oryn bowed. “We seek the hospitality of your hearth.”
“My hearth is yours, Oryn, Son of Elred. Be welcome,” the crowned dwarf said in a voice that rumbled like the mountain itself. He turned dark eyes toward the gathered men behind her. “Be welcome, Bade, Son of Graund. Colm, Son of Augus. Aiden, Son of Bellas.”
A bushy eyebrow quirked toward Enya in silent question.
“May I introduce, Your Highness, Lady Enya Ryerson, daughter of Rhiannon,” he said, gesturing to her. Enya blinked at him in surprise as a murmur ran through the gathered dwarves. That was not a name she had given him, but she schooled her features to neutrality, wondering what she was supposed to be doing with her hands as the dwarves surveyed her. “And her companion, Liam Marsh, son of Del.”
“Be welcome, Enya, daughter of Rhainnon. Liam, Son of Del,” he intoned.
One of the dwarf lords cleared his throat and Enya felt Oryn stiffen beside her.
“We received word from Estryia concerning the lady that has some of my advisors…nervous,” the dwarf said, his eyes sweeping over her and back to Oryn. “Do you vouch for the lady, Prince?”
Oryn inclined his head. “I would not dishonor your hearth or the gift of your hospitality.”
“Then that settles it!” He boomed, clapping his hands to disperse his advisors. “Be gone, the lot of you.”
With that dismissal, the seven assembled men made to leave, but the woman cleared her throat and held out her palm expectantly. One by one, each dwarf dropped a gold mark into her hand as they filed away. Whatever barrier of formality stood between them suddenly collapsed and the dwarf stalked forward. “Brother!”
Enya blinked in surprise as strong arms wrapped around Oryn’s middle in a tight embrace. The woman at his side pocketed her gold and swept forward, beaming.
“Three years, Oryn Brydove and you send so little notice, we can hardly prepare a proper feast,” she snapped, but the hardness didn’t meet her eyes as Oryn stooped to plant a kiss on her brow.
“But I see you still managed to place bets on which of my party would need Alloralla’s healing.”
“I heard the most curious rumor that you had in your possession a bounty that you did not turn in,” she said with another assessing look at Enya. She elbowed the man beside her. He produced his own gold mark with a resigned sigh. “At least the poor girl remains on her feet. Have you forgotten your manners, Oryn?”
Oryn turned to Enya. “Prince Leondonderick, Prince of Dwarves, and the rock on which Drozia stands, his wife, Princess Alsbeterra.”
Alsbeterra gave a wry snort, but she turned a warm smile on Enya. “Above the third floor, dear, it’s just Leon and Alsbet.”
“A pleasure,” Enya said a bit breathlessly.
“Baths and meals await,” Alsbet said merrily.
She clapped her hands and dwarves in plum livery came hurrying forward to take their horses. Enya moved to object, but Oryn was already unbuckling her saddle bags and hefting the dragon eggs over his shoulder under Alsbet’s watchful eye.
“Ah, and whichever healer you prefer.”
The elves were gliding toward them with other worldly grace.
“Brydove,” the male drawled. “It seems I’m always to be summoned when your party arrives.”
