Chapter 11 #2
“Those are Dormishade.” She strides over to me. “If you inhale the scent, they’ll put you to sleep.”
“Really?” I say in disbelief, looking back at the flowers.
She nods, walking alongside me. “You can crush the dried petals and make tea with them when you can’t sleep, though.”
“Interesting.” I hum a note of acknowledgement as we descend.
The dirt path transforms into cobblestone as the city around us takes shape.
The roads are wide and arranged in neat rows, with large homes and shops standing on each side, built from dark wood and arched stained-glass windows.
Between each building lay a narrow alley, begging for someone to get lost in it.
There is a constant hum of chatter and activity all around me. Merchants set up their booths to sell goods, while farmers carry carts full of fresh produce. Several Elvarrans return home from the mines, carrying pickaxes and shovels, their faces smudged with thick, black soot.
The Northern Alps are home to a plethora of mines, providing Khalessor with an abundance of natural resources such as salt, crystal, stone, and ore.
The small amount of these resources that reach the south are incredibly expensive and rare; Cathros always experienced steel shortages, making it difficult to craft enough weapons.
A streak of long, curly brunette hair flashes across my vision. A woman nearly leaps into Taryn’s arms, hugging her close. She’s beautiful—warm brown skin, freckled cheeks, tall ears. I notice how similar they look, nearly a mirror reflection.
“I’ve missed you!” Taryn releases the woman. “Come. We have much to catch up on…” her voice trails off as they depart, walking in the other direction.
I watch as more Elvarrans rush to greet the soldiers.
Others trail off, disappearing down different roads and alleyways.
Every time Valentin left for battle, I had no idea if he would return home.
All I could do was wait for a letter or try to overhear gossip in the castle.
It was agonizing. The Elvarrans must endure the same hardship, never knowing when their family will return.
“So?” A deep voice rumbles beside me.
I glance to my right and see Wrath. He has a smug expression on his face. My focus was so captivated by my surroundings that I did not notice him walking alongside me. I wonder how long he was watching me wander from place to place.
“It’s quite beautiful here,” I tell him.
To say anything else would be a lie. Khalessor is one of a kind, a kingdom that lives harmoniously with nature. It’s far more beautiful than Avelisar, which felt like it was holding on by a thread. Everywhere I look is something I’ve never seen.
“Thank you,” he says graciously.
I turn my attention back to the road and nearly stop in my tracks at the sight of the castle.
The facade is stunningly ornate, each arch and pillar masterfully carved from white stone.
A large circular window sits in the center, with detailed tracery resembling lace.
Several tall, slender spires shoot out from the top, crowning each buttress with gilded details.
The beauty of Khalessor is so surreal that it feels like a dream I might wake from at any moment.
My only anchor to reality is the reminder that I am walking alongside Wrath’s Blade, and this is his kingdom.
How could remaining within the castle walls have been best for me when a place this majestic existed all along?
We reach the castle's front steps and ascend towards the large front gates.
Two guards flank either side of the door, allowing us entry.
As I step into the main hall, tall, pointed arch ceilings and elaborate stained-glass windows that shift in the light hang above us.
There is an invisible energy swirling around me, almost as if the castle breathes with magic.
“Raelys,” Wrath says. Hearing him say my name makes my spine stiffen. “You should rest. Your body may take some time to adjust to the altitude of the north. The air is thinner up here. You may feel dizzy when exerting yourself.”
“All right.” I observe him, still unsure whether to trust him.
“Barnham will take you to one of the guestrooms.”
“Thank you.”
Without another word, he walks away. I glance behind me, realizing Barnham is standing close by. He guides me through several passageways before leading me down a small corridor and unlocking a door for me.
Handing me the key, he says, “If you’re plotting anything—”
I cut him off. “You seem to forget that his magic binds me not to cross him.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t still wreak havoc.” Barnham’s tone is deadly, a clear warning to avoid strife. He walks away, and all I can hear are his retreating footsteps, leaving me in the silent and empty corridor.
I push open the wooden door and step into a small, dimly lit room.
It has the necessities: a small bed, a woven rug on the floor, a trunk for belongings, and a small private washroom.
Closing the door behind me, I set the key down on the bedside table.
I yank off my riding boots, cloak, and satchel, tossing them lazily to the floor.
I flop onto the bed and fall right to sleep.