Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Our echoing footsteps drift off when we stop in front of the grand entry. My guard salutes and is saluted in return and then everybody looks at me.
I drop my stare to the polished white floor and try to look as small and nonthreatening as possible. Underneath the red felt skirt that I’m using as a cloak, I want to sneak a hand into my pocket and palm the crystal knife just to calm myself, but I can’t risk its discovery—
With a coordinated set of ceremonial moves, the inner two guards in red step forward, unlatch ornate ivory handles, and open wide the gold panels—
What is on the other side takes my breath away.
Seventy-Six
The Mural.
I step forward though I’m not ordered to do so, and just as I breach the threshold, I look back at my guard.
He shakes his head. “No, missus. I am not allowed in there…” He lowers his voice. “Do be careful.”
Under the brim of his cap, he seems honestly concerned about me, and he stays where he is as the guards in red shut me in alone. As the golden doors are locked, I turn back around, and get my breath caught anew. The ceremonial hall is twice as long as the colonnade I walked down and easily four times as wide. With a ceiling that surely must touch the sky, and twin rows of towering columns to support the yawning expanse above, the space is everything I pictured a royal court to be. Yet that’s not what captures my attention.
On either side of the columns that delineate the aisle down the center, there is a mounted army of statues standing at the ready, the uniformed warriors fully weaponed and astride horses that stand hands taller than myself.
“The warrior queen…” I whisper as I walk over to one.
The detail of the carving is astonishing, down to the buckles on the boots and the stirrups, the mane of the horse, the fierce facial expression of the soldier … it’s all so life-like, I could swear they’re breathing.
I wander down the lineup. There must be … a thousand of them. Set nose to tail, with four deep on each side, they face downward toward an ornate raised platform, and as I reemerge in the processional aisle, I focus on what’s ahead.
The bejeweled throne sits up high on the dais, gleaming gold and sparkling with gems, and I cannot comprehend any of it. My eyes have never seen anything like this; even the whispered stories and exaggerated gossip from Prosperitus don’t come anywhere close to the reality of the royal court I’m in, the statues I’m surrounded by … the magnificent seat of authority down there.
The amount of wealth needed to build and sustain this is beyond my grasp, and so too is the power required to hold on to it all—
Something trickles into my consciousness, and my eyes go past the throne, to the semi-circular walling behind it. The bowed expanse is painted with some kind of mural, and even as my instincts prickle, I know I’m not here to look at the art, or get lost in the majesty. I need to get to Merc and free us both.
Perhaps that’s how the soldier dies? In the course of the rescue?
“Hello?” I call out.
When I get no reply except the echoing of my own voice, I limp down for the throne, and think of the crown Mr. Lewis gave me. Assuming they’ve gone through my pack, they must have found the box—and maybe my journey is finished? If they turned that circlet of black crystals in to the queen?
As I pass by the stone warriors, I note once again how their faces are all different, just like the female statues in the hall. And it’s as I continue along, looking at each passing row of fighters, that I have the unmistakable sense that I’m being watched. Glancing up, I look to the ceiling, and then down to the floor … and finally to the side. Through the forest of static men and horses, I see a set of doors. And another. And another.
Ah, so this is what’s on the other side of all those guarded portals that I counted as we came down the colonnade.
I keep going, putting my hand in my pocket, palming the crystal knife, and telling myself that of course I feel as though I’m being monitored. There are thousands of “eyes” upon me.
Except I know it’s something else.
When I eventually reach the dais, I stand before the throne and trace the gemstones with my eyes as my mind spins with all manner of what-nexts—
Until my attention is abruptly caught by something else.
“What even is this,” I murmur. “This cannot be…”
Frowning, I go around behind the throne and inspect a mural that was painted on the curved wall. At first, there’s almost too much to take in, but as I pace back and forth along the images … I realize that a story is depicted, and the narrative starts on the left.