Chapter 9 - THE THRONE ROOM OF ASHEVALE
The Grand Throne Room of Ashevale was a marvel of ancient architecture—a colossal hall of white marble pillars, towering stained-glass windows depicting a thousand years of imperial history, and at the far end, elevated upon a dais of black basalt, the legendary Dragon Throne itself.
Today, however, the grand hall was empty of court sycophants and trembling nobles. Only Lord Vane stood at the foot of the basalt dais, his face pale, clutching a ceremonial dagger with a trembling grip, backed by a dozen desperate personal guards.
The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall splintered inward with a deafening crash.
Dileia Halloway walked through the threshold first, her boots echoing sharply against the polished marble floor, pulling her father’s newly reinforced firewood sled behind her. Bram walked beside her, carrying his smithing hammer over his shoulder like a battle-mace.
And behind them, filling the entire nave of the grand hall with his magnificent, scale-armored bulk, came Emperor Kestrel. His tail swept the marble gently as he entered, his golden eyes fixed entirely upon the trembling chancellor.
Vane pointed his ceremonial dagger toward Dileia, his voice trembling with desperate fury. “You—you peasant girl! This is high treason! You have no right to stand in this hall!”
Dileia stopped twenty paces from the dais, letting go of the sled’s pull-rope. She raised her right hand, turning her palm upward.
The invisible scale-mark blazed to life, casting a brilliant, warm golden glow across the white marble floor, illuminating the entire hall with the pure light of the Imperial Sigil.
“I carry the mark of the Dragon Throne,” Dileia said, her voice clear, steady, and echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “And I am here to collect a debt.”
Vane laughed hysterically, a high-pitched, frantic sound. “A debt? From a beast? A dragon owes nothing to humanity!”
“You are entirely mistaken, chancellor,” Kestrel rumbled, stepping forward until his massive head towered directly over the basalt dais, plunging Vane into total shadow. “An emperor owes everything to the land that bears him, and the people who pull him out of the snow when he falls.”
Kestrel lowered his snout until he was inches from Vane’s face. The chancellor dropped his dagger, falling to his knees as the sheer psychic weight of the dragon’s presence crushed his last remaining defiance.
“You conspired against the crown,” Kestrel commanded softly, his voice vibrating through the stone floor. “You used poisoned iron in the dark. And for your crimes against the road, your title is stripped, your lands are forfeited, and your name is stricken from the imperial ledgers forever.”
Two palace guards, who had wisely chosen the side of justice, stepped forward, hoisted the sobbing ex-chancellor by his velvet collar, and dragged him out of the grand hall into the light of day.
Silence descended upon the throne room once more.
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Kestrel turned his massive head toward the empty basalt dais, and then down to Dileia.
“The throne is restored,” Kestrel said quietly. “And the empire is healed.”
