The climb, however daunting, suddenly seems the safest option. Lips pursed, I shove past Soren and grab the first rung. His chuckles follow after me as I haul my aching body upward, rung by rung, cursing him with each minute gain in elevation. My thin soles feel dangerously slippery on the wood. I keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead, not chancing even the tiniest of glances up or down.
It is a long climb.
“How…much…” I wheeze. “Farther?”
“We’re about a third of the way there,” Soren returns from below, sounding not at all winded.
Only a third?
Skies.
“I must say, I’m enjoying the view. Those shapeless breeches of yours are much more flattering from this angle.”
I ignore his commentary, along with the resulting heat in my cheeks. We are getting closer. The light grows brighter as we approach the midpoint of the tower. I hear a torch crackling somewhere nearby, smell the faint whiff of smoke over the scent of damp stone.
“At least,” I pant, lungs burning as I grab another rung, “if I lose my grip”—I haul in a gulp of air—“you’ll break my fall.”
“Glad to know you find me good for something.”
By the time we reach the middle of the beacon, where the ladder splices at a landing, the last of my energy has whittled away into nothingness. Kicking off the final rung, I heave myself onto the stone platform and promptly collapse in a heap, my muscles screaming for reprieve. For a few moments, I lie there with my eyes closed, wheezing audibly.
A shadow moves over my face. My eyes sliver open to see Soren standing directly over me, his tall form blocking out the scant light.
“We need to work on your stamina,” he says lightly. “I’ll add wind sprints to our training program.”
I can only glare at him in response.
He gives me a few more seconds to catch my breath before he drags me to my feet. There are two doors at opposite ends of the landing, each bracketed by wall-mounted torches. Soren leads me through one, and we step out of the beacon onto a wide rampart.
We are atop the towering city walls, I realize with a lurch. To my right, beyond the waist-high parapet, is a precipitous drop straight down to the sea. To my left, the canals coil below us with serpentine grace. My eyes follow the gradual curve of the wall from our position all the way to the northern end of the city, where Soren’s villa sits like a white diamond atop the terraced rise.
“See? What did I tell you?” He winks at me. “Shortcut. Leads straight to the royal grounds. No stairs required.”
My eyes continue their sweep along the curve, following the walls to the other side of the city, where the Westerly Beacon spears up into the sky directly opposite our position. If I squint, I can make out several shadowy forms moving behind the parapets.
“Can you walk around the whole city this way?”
Soren nods. “All the way to the sea gate. Comes in handy when you’re in a rush. The canals are beautiful, but they get unbelievably congested at times.”
I do not doubt that.
It takes about a half hour to make the journey along the top of the walls, a time we pass mostly in companionable silence. I am distracted by the sheer beauty coming at me from every direction, incapable of keeping my eyes from roving over every proffered angle of Hylios. Soren seems amused by my undisguised fascination, studying me as I study the bird’s-eye view.
There, out to sea, three triple-masted merchant vessels race along the waves like gulls in flight. I hope they have a less violent voyage than theSelkie.There, in the middle, the floating market, still a mishmash of barges and flatboats. I wonder if they are moored there permanently or move each day. Andthere, fading out of view behind us, the great harbor, not even a smudge ofsmoke rising off the surface to indicate the ship that sank at its center. How long will its skeleton rest there before being hauled away?
We are not the only ones enjoying an afternoon stroll atop the walls. We pass many Llyrians as we go. Couples strolling arm in arm. Families with fleet-footed children. Painters with easels, their brushstrokes painstaking as they attempt to capture the precise shade of the cresting sea, an unusually stormy palette. They are friendly, greeting Soren with the same warmth I witnessed this morning, but do not intrude with more than a wave or head bob.
“Admit it,” he says finally.
“Admit what?”
“You like my shortcut.”
I press my lips together to contain a smile. “It’s not terrible.”
“I’ll take that as a victory.” He pauses, gaze moving past my face to the city sprawling below. “Is it what you expected? Hylios?”
“I did not know what to expect. How could I?”