I scramble to my feet and find a rough cloth has been laid across the seating. I sit, back straight, as the carriage starts to move. My gaze soaks in the fine fabrics lining the walls. Several of them are painted and stitched with golden threads. There's even a makeshift window made out of magical glass as clear as crystal. It keeps out most of the chill, but a frozen sort of stale air hangs around.
When we reach the palace, I am taken aback by how much of it is still rubble. I mark the completely destroyed hall, and the steps that look as if they've been ripped from the ground up. Slaves swarm the area, carrying lumber and stone as they patch the structure’s skeleton.
Seconds later, the door to the carriage is yanked open.
"Out," one grumbles, and I stand carefully before hopping off the tall platform.
None of them help; they just begin to walk.
We ascend the stairs to the palace when Ra'Sa's voice returns.
Nearly finished. I will come to you soon.
I suck my teeth and say,No. They let me out.
There's a long pause, only filled with the sound of boots and slippers across polished floors as we head to the throne room.
Where are you?
I hesitate as the gilded wall adornments become increasingly elaborate. Precious metals glint, and the marble around meseems to glow from within. Hundreds of candles are lit in the chandeliers above us, and I savor the moment we begin crossing the plush carpet. It's soft on my aching feet.
We slow, and I see the entrance to the throne room.
The palace. I think they're taking me to see King Rholker?
What?
I don't answer.
Melisa. That's dangerous—he’s a murderer. Get out.
I can't do that.
Two large gilded doors are pulled open. Rows of polished wooden pews line the way, each upholstered with patterned velveteen fabric.
The statues of Khuohr's brides holding up basins of fire have been lit and line the path to the throne where High King Rholker sits. He reclines against the gilded chair with a fresh, angry scar slashed across his eye. His oiled curls are arranged just so across his shoulders. A scepter is clutched proudly in one of his hands, and a golden, bejeweled crown rests upon his brow.
A woman stands behind him—aBruja—lurking like a shadow. She almost sinks into the background, and my eyes cannot focus on her, try as I might.
To the left of Rholker sits the Elf King on the throne typically reserved for the queen. I also spot Lord Fektir, the new advisor to the king. He wears several Enduar diamonds on his doublet and scowls at me as I enter.
Elf King Arion is dressed for the high court in elaborate robes and silver details. I had informed Estela that the relationship between Rholker and the Elves was strong, but this is a united alliance like I've never seen.
I continue up the carpeted path. Upon reaching the end, I bow deeply enough for my head to touch the ground as the giant to my left announces me.
My muscles scream at the action, and gods, do I smell.
"Melisa, Formen Eneko's comfort woman, My King,” the warrior belts out.
I stay there, looking at the short fibers of the hand-woven rug before Rholker's voice rumbles across the room.
"Rise."
I do. Slowly to account for my aches. Although I'm a stinking, ugly mess, I arm myself with my protective smile. The two kings look down at me. My empty stomach churns.
What am I doing here?
Tell me what's happening,Ra’Sa insists.