Chapter 8
The journey to the castle started out even more unpleasantly than I expected.
We trekked across hilly terrain with steep inclines and low dips that jolted my already tense figure in every direction.
To make matters worse, I was uncomfortably aware of the guard’s body seated behind me, and tried to create distance between us by shuffling forwards.
My attempts were in vain; every few minutes I inevitably found myself sliding back towards him.
The constant readjustment got annoying, so eventually I gave up and allowed myself to be nestled against the unfamiliar male who smelt of body odor and hay.
I wasn’t thrilled, but unless I wanted to hike the remainder of the way, I’d have to grit my teeth and endure it.
Despite clutching onto the horse’s mane until my knuckles were white, I was convinced I was going to tumble out of my seat and get trampled.
As time passed, I grew slightly less certain of this outcome, and my attention shifted to the dull ache of my ass and thighs.
Something told me I’d be feeling it for days to come.
It wasn’t all bad. I wasn’t one to fawn, but even I could admit that I was impressed by the dramatic cliffs, towering trees, overgrown grasses and wildflowers that set the scene for our journey.
It was vastly different from the relatively flat landscape of my home in the capital city of Ardalia.
Here, there wasn’t a palm tree or mangrove in sight, and there didn’t appear to be any waterfalls, grottoes, or lagoons.
Even the air felt different to the humidity of Vantillios.
In Solvardunn it was cooler and crisper but I could still detect a hint of salt water in the gentle breeze.
The path we traveled was dense with brush, but we never strayed too far from the ocean.
I could hear it, like it was calling me to return home.
I tried to tune it out but every so often we would pass a gap in the bushes and I could make out the indigo water shimmering in the distance.
To distract myself from the ocean’s call, I put my lessons with Doran to the test by seeing if I could name any of the foreign plants.
The sea thrift and heather were easy to spot by the splashes of pink and purple they brought to the scenery.
I would have loved to have taken a few for my journal, as they would have pressed beautifully.
The long, textured grass I was tempted to reach out and touch, I guessed, was red fescue.
The trees were easy—pine and spruce and… silver yew.
I shivered.
Silver yew was the only tree banned in all of Amaros.
It was something all Velcarin were taught to fear as the only known substance that could nullify our powers and, in some cases, be deadly.
The poison from its berries was lethal, and I had even heard tales of silver yew blades and arrows being used in The Rebellion to kill Velcarin.
Why would the mortals be growing it here? Or was it native to Solvardunn? Either way, my breath didn’t loosen until we had passed it.
The bush became less dense the higher we went, and, eventually, the towering stone walls of the castle came into view. The gatehouse was heavily fortified, but as soon as the guards saw the princess, they scurried to let us in.
I had no idea what to expect of a mortal castle, but as we entered through the iron portcullis, I sucked in a breath.
Built on top of a tall cliff overlooking the ocean, the castle was both intimidating and alluring. Its solid gates, thick walls, battlements and guard towers presented a formidable fortress; against the backdrop of the untamed ocean, it was undeniably impressive.
The castle was a rugged sandstone building with symmetrical columns, towers of varying heights, lofty chimneys, pointed spires, and windows—so many windows.
Large rectangular panes sat perfectly placed beneath molded cornices, while smaller box-shaped frames were interspersed along the sloping roof.
I was admittedly intrigued. This feral beauty was so at odds with the gleaming, glinting majesty of Vellamere Palace. I hoped I’d get to explore it.
On either side of the flagstone pathway leading to the main entrance were neatly-trimmed hedges and beds of white and purple flowers I couldn’t name.
At last, we dismounted the horses. Escorted by the guards, I pushed my stiff body forward, making my way towards the oak front doors carved with intricate, swirling designs.
Without needing to knock, we were greeted by a maid whose eyes widened when she took in the sight of the princess.
“Take Her Highness to His Majesty immediately,” ordered one of the guards. “This one needs to be seen by a healer. She says she swam the princess to safety.” He inclined his head towards me. I bristled at the disrespect but bit my tongue.
The maid nodded and promptly ushered the princess away. Instantly, another maid appeared and requested that I follow her.
Wordlessly, I trailed behind her as she led me into an entrance hall with several doorways and two grand, stone staircases which I assumed led to different wings of the castle. I followed her through one of the doorways and down a long hallway bustling with activity.
She led me to a quiet room with a small desk, three chairs and a wooden table at its center.
After she excused herself, I took a couple of shaky steps towards the shelves lining the walls. My body ached from the horseback ride, but I was far too nosy to sit down.
The shelves housed an assortment of herbs, a mortar and pestle, vials of liquids, a myriad of bizarre instruments, and dusty tomes. All items that aided the mortals in healing themselves without magic. Fascinating.
I reached out to touch a set of bulbous glasses just as there was a knock at the door.
Without waiting for a response, two women entered.
The first was tall and lean, wore her gray hair in a low bun, and had a no-nonsense expression on her face.
She was followed by a much friendlier-looking woman dressed in sweeping robes the color of a lily pad.
“So, you are the mysterious savior of Princess Amalie,” the first woman said briskly.
Hands now clasped behind my back, I nodded.
The woman continued, “My name is Ingrid, and I’m the matron of Cliffcrest Castle. What is your name, child?”
“Alara.” I might as well be truthful about something.
“Very well. You must be in shock. Marta has a tonic for that.” She indicated the second woman with a tilt of her head. “In the meantime, let her take a look at you.”
Skeptically, I took a seat on the wooden table and remained still while Marta inspected me.
Once she had finished her thorough examination, she spoke. “That cut on your arm will require an ointment to prevent infection. May I?”
I couldn’t exactly tell her that the scratch would completely heal as soon as my magic renewed itself, so, reluctantly, I allowed her to take my arm.
She retrieved a vial from one of the shelves and began dabbing the small cut. I hissed at the sting.
“Count your lucky stars you don’t require any stitches,” she said, not unkindly. “Would you like a tonic? For the shock?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Thank you.”
“That will do, Marta,” Ingrid said, standing. “His Majesty would like to speak to the young lady, but she will need to be cleaned first.”
I couldn’t argue with that. My dress had dried, but it was now completely covered in horse hair and filth. I looked like I had been tussling in a barn; I was in desperate need of a bath.
“Come with me,” she said, frowning at the dress. “I’ll have a bath drawn for you. The maids will find you some clean clothing.”
Without waiting for my response, she took my arm and led me out of the room, completely ignoring Marta’s protests that I needed to rest. I met her hurried pace as she led me to a simple bathing chamber.
“A good scrub is what you need,” she announced. “The staff will assist you in removing your clothing and pouch.”
I didn’t like the idea of parting with the pouch. In fact, a bead of sweat slid down the back of my neck at the thought. “What will you do with it?” I asked, a note of panic in my voice.
She raised her eyebrows. “I can have the maids wash and return it to you, if you wish.” Her tone of voice suggested she would rather see the garment burned.
“Not the dress, the pouch. I need to have it with me at all times.” Without it, I was monumentally fucked. I couldn’t risk losing it.
She looked at me like I had just asked where the king liked to be tickled. “Dear girl, you cannot possibly be suggesting that you meet the king with a half-drenched pouch hanging off your shoulder?”
I dug my heels in, preparing for a fight. “It’s important to me. It holds the only possessions I have left in this world.”
Speaking to me as if she was reasoning with a small child, she said, “I will personally ensure that it is kept safe during your audience with the king. Now, kindly allow the maids to remove your garment and help you into the bath. I must stress that we cannot keep His Majesty waiting.”
I weighed up the risks. I didn’t want to part with the pouch, but it would look strange if I brought it along to my meeting with the king like some sort of peddler. I wanted to make a good impression. I needed to. Everything rested on it.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I want it returned to me as soon as the meeting is over.”
“As you wish,” she responded impatiently, gesturing for the maids.
After being disrobed and led to a compact tub where my body and hair were thoroughly lathered and scrubbed, I was hauled out of the water and helped into a peacock blue and green satin gown.
Ingrid clucked at the tangled mess of knots that was my hair and insisted that the maids, “See to that immediately.”
Finally, I stood in the small room attached to the bathing chamber and looked in the full-length mirror.
I was impressed. The gown was more textured and fabric-heavy than anything I had ever worn.
It had a square neckline, long, layered sleeves and voluminous skirts that flared out from the waist. My charm bracelet was matched with a simple gold necklace and my hair—the color a blend of gold and pearl—was pulled into an elegant braided bun at the nape of my neck.
Unlike full-blooded Mer, I didn’t have gemstone-colored eyes. For the first time in my life, I was grateful for the mundane green-gray color that made it easier for me to pass as a mortal. It meant I wouldn’t have to waste my elementary powers on a glamor.
Ingrid returned. Circling me, she appraised every inch of my appearance with a critical eye, eventually nodding in approval. “I knew there was a beauty underneath all that muck,” she said, more to herself than to me.
“Thank you.” My attempt to sound humble came across as snarky. I would need to work on that.
She didn’t seem to notice, as she was too preoccupied with ushering me out the door. It was time to meet the king.