Chapter 2 - Rising Tension
Aldric waited beside the pedestal while the silence grew heavier.
“No knight wishes to try?” he asked.
The men nearest the aisle looked toward their boots.
“No noble?”
A jeweled governor adjusted his cuff and avoided Aldric’s gaze.
“No officer?”
Captain Marcus remained still, the sting of failure visible across his face.
Hawthorne gave a thin smile.
“You have your answer.”
Elias felt his heartbeat against his ribs.
He knew speaking would bring attention.
Attention usually brought questions, and questions often brought punishment.
Stable boys were expected to carry feed, clean stalls, and disappear before important people entered.
They did not interrupt coronations broadcast across America.
They did not challenge Dragon Masters.
They certainly did not touch royal relics.
Yet the inward-curving carvings seemed obvious now.
Every dragon faced the same hidden point.
Elias raised one hand, then lowered it quickly.
No one saw.
He tried again.
His elbow trembled beside his patched sleeve.
“May I try?” he asked.
The words disappeared beneath the vast ceiling.
Elias almost felt relieved.
Then a nearby footman turned.
“What did you say?”
Several heads followed the question.
Elias’s throat tightened.
He stepped from the service corridor.
“May I try the horn?”
The first laugh came from the western gallery.
Another followed near the diplomats’ section.
Within seconds, laughter rippled through the hall like rain striking metal roofing.
A woman whispered, “He still has straw in his hair.”
A young nobleman leaned toward his friend.
“Maybe the horses taught him dragon language.”
Their laughter grew louder.
Elias stopped beside the final row of chairs.
His face burned.
He could smell hay, leather oil, and the soap used in the servants’ washroom.
Against silk gowns and polished uniforms, he looked exactly as small as they believed.
Hawthorne stared at him with open disbelief.
“A child?”
Elias forced himself to meet the chancellor’s eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“A stable child.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you believe three honored men failed because they lacked your special talent?”
“No, sir.”
“Then explain your interruption.”
Elias glanced toward the horn.
“I think they were using it wrong.”
The laughter returned harder.
Gunnar Voss turned red for a different reason.
Captain Marcus looked offended, though Aldric’s expression remained unreadable.
Hawthorne descended one step from the dais.
“You think Dragon Master Aldric misunderstood the Dragon Horn?”
Elias’s knees wanted to bend.
He locked them.
“I think everyone misunderstood it.”
This time, the room did not laugh immediately.
The statement was too bold, even from a child.
A shocked pause arrived first.
Then whispers broke across the chamber.
Hawthorne’s face tightened.
“Remove him.”
Two attendants moved from the wall.
Aldric lifted one armored hand.
“Wait.”
Hawthorne turned slowly.
“You cannot be serious.”
“The rite requires a willing hand.”
“It requires royal dignity.”
“The oldest wording never mentions rank.”
Hawthorne’s eyes sharpened.
“We are not debating old wording during a coronation.”
Aldric looked toward Julian.
“Then let the prince decide.”
Every face shifted toward the throne.
Julian stood beneath the crown canopy, suddenly trapped between ridicule and expectation.
He studied Elias from across the hall.
Their lives could not have appeared more different.
Julian wore silver embroidery and a ceremonial sword.
Elias wore patched cloth and a belt made from braided rope.
Julian had tutors, guards, and an entire nation waiting for his first command.
Elias had a narrow cot above the tack room and nobody waiting anywhere.
Hawthorne leaned toward Julian.
“Your Highness, allowing this would reduce the rite to theater.”
Aldric answered before Julian could speak.
“The rite became theater when we stopped asking what the horn required.”
Hawthorne’s jaw shifted.
Julian noticed the movement.
So did Elias.
The prince looked toward the horn again.
Nothing had changed across its bronze surface.
Still, Julian seemed to hear something within the silence.
“One final attempt,” he said.
Hawthorne stared at him.
Julian repeated himself.
“One final attempt.”
The prince’s voice remained young, but the second command carried authority.
Hawthorne bowed stiffly.
“As you wish.”
The attendants stepped back.
Elias remained frozen beside the aisle.
Aldric extended one hand toward him.
“Come forward.”
Elias began walking.
His boots scraped against polished marble with every step.
The sound seemed louder than the laughter had been.
Rows of nobles turned as he passed.
Some smiled cruelly.
Others watched with embarrassed sympathy.
One elderly woman removed her jeweled spectacles and cleaned them, as though better vision might explain him.
Elias passed Gunnar Voss.
The champion folded his arms.
“Try not to drop it on yourself.”
Elias kept moving.
Captain Marcus stood beside the pedestal.
“You will follow every instruction,” the captain said.
Elias nodded.
Hawthorne interrupted.
“He will touch nothing until the Dragon Master approves.”
Aldric looked down at Elias.
“What did you notice?”
Elias pointed toward the carvings without touching them.
“The dragons all turn inward.”
Aldric leaned closer.
“They have always been carved that way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why does that matter?”
“They are not carrying sound outward.”
Aldric’s eyes moved across the bronze lines.
Elias continued.
“They are carrying something toward the center.”
Marcus frowned.
“A horn carries breath.”
“This one might carry recognition.”
Hawthorne laughed once, without humor.
“Recognition of what?”
Elias looked at the concealed crown shape beneath the dragons’ tails.
“I don’t know.”
Hawthorne stepped closer.
“Then you know nothing.”
Elias turned toward him.
“I know it never asked them to blow.”
Aldric’s head lifted.
The hall quieted again.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed the Dragon Master’s face.
He placed one gloved finger near the horn’s mouthpiece.
The carved line beneath it did not connect with the dragon pattern.
Instead, the pattern converged near the broad middle curve.
Aldric removed his glove.
He touched that point.
Nothing happened.
Several nobles chuckled again.
Hawthorne exhaled through his nose.
“Enough.”
Elias noticed Aldric’s hand position.
“You touched above the crown.”
Aldric stepped aside.
“Show me.”
Hawthorne moved between Elias and the pedestal.
“No.”
The force of his answer startled the nearest guards.
Aldric’s gaze narrowed.
“You allowed the attempt.”
“I allowed a ceremonial gesture, not unsupervised contact.”
Elias watched Hawthorne’s face.
The chancellor no longer looked amused.
A pale line had appeared around his mouth.
Julian saw it too.
“Let him touch it,” the prince ordered.
Hawthorne turned toward the throne.
“Your Highness, you do not understand the risk.”
“Neither do you.”
The reply struck harder than Julian intended.
A few heads turned away to hide surprise.
Hawthorne stepped aside, but only after a long pause.
Elias approached the pedestal.
The horn seemed larger from this close.
Its bronze surface reflected his face in a distorted curve.
He saw wide eyes, wind-chapped cheeks, and a piece of straw caught near his ear.
He almost removed it.
Then he heard someone whisper behind him.
“Stable rat.”
Elias closed his eyes briefly.
He remembered cold mornings before sunrise.
He remembered carrying water while other children rode buses toward Crownridge Elementary.
He remembered watching school windows from the stable hill during winter.
He remembered promises that next semester might be different.
Nobody in the hall expected anything from him except embarrassment.
That knowledge steadied him.
He lifted his right hand.
“Stop that boy from touching the horn!” Hawthorne shouted.
The command cracked through the chamber.
Elias’s fingertips reached the bronze before anyone moved.
May you like
Warmth entered his skin.
The carvings opened their eyes.
