16. Decadent Baths
Decadent Baths
Yet another day came and went until the path was blocked by an enormous wall of trees.
Torren didn’t say a word to her, just strode on through, leaving Cypress to follow.
If she had thought the Ring for the camp had been large, this one was monumental.
In a perfect circular clearing, sat a grand palace.
Moss and vines crept up every one of the innumerable towers, and flowers bloomed in every nook and cranny.
There was a large, sloping ramp to a set of–even at this distance– enormous doors.
Cypress couldn’t tell what the castle was made of, but the effect was that the entire palace practically blended in with the forest.
Perhaps that was the intent.
The trees around it shimmered and shifted, creatures of all kinds flitting to and fro.
The tops of the palace crested the tree canopy, catching the waning rays of sunlight.
No matter where she looked, people were moving with barely a harsh word spoken, all of them in fine clothing with heavy purses.
Guards walked among the people, though they didn’t seem to strike fear where they strode. Laughter instead of sobs echoed in the alleyways. Children ran freely, shrieking with delight, and dogs at their heels. The people of the Wylds were rich in a way that the average citizen of Grethnah was not.
“This is A’aravos Paravale,” Torren said, raising his hand in a sweeping motion.
“I assume this is the seat of the Wylds?”
“Yes. This has been home to Faerie royalty since before the First Kings.”
“You’re telling me this castle is older than the Keep in Grethnah?”
“A’aravos Paravale is older than Grethnah, Lass.”
Cypress could barely wrap her mind around the scale and grandeur of the palace, let alone its age.
“Why would the Fair Folk leave at all if you have this tucked away in the Wylds?” Cypress asked, without meaning to voice the thought.
“Why should we be subject to being locked away in the forest to suit your preferences?” Torren asked, and there was no missing the edge of anger in his voice.
“That’s not what I meant… It’s just.. Why try to blend or unite with humans at all when you have this, and there's an apparent chance a human will try to kill you?”
“The world is an awfully large place to never step foot beyond your borders, Lass,” Torren replied.
Cypress nodded, but still felt that the people of Faerie didn’t realize how good they truly had it.
When the pair reached the tall vine-covered gates of the palace, a woman rushed out to greet Torren, holding both horses for them to dismount.
“Welcome home, Prince.”
“Thank you, Zxomre,” Torren said after he dismounted, quickly going through a few movements to stretch his back. “This is Lady Cypress. She is my guest.”
Zxomre nodded, giving Cypress a short bow. “Greetings, my Lady.”
“That is not necessary,” Cypress started giving Torren a glare.
Torren chuckled and said, “Can you have rooms readied for her for the evening?”
“Of course. I will have a setting put out for her next to yours during the celebrations as well,” Zxomre said, then disappeared through an arch leading the two horses behind her while Torren strode toward the tall leaf-shaped doors.
“Celebration?” Cypress drawled, still annoyed that Torren had proclaimed her a Lady. It had been… refreshing to not be held up by the expectations of others when they thought of her nobility, or adjacent.
Torren shrugged. “My people love me, and they love to party,” He said as an explanation.
Cypress sighed dramatically. “So much for a quiet evening of rest before going to the Deep Wylds.”
“I thought you were fun, Cypress?” Torren asked, leading her down hallways.
“I never said I wasn’t going to join, merely observing that you failed to mention the celebration in the itinerary earlier,” Cypress countered, taking in every inch of detail she could.
She was practically getting a guided tour of the palace. Anything she learned could be of use later.
Despite Torren’s insistence, Cypress couldn’t quite believe that the crown was entirely behind the raids. She wouldn’t. There had to be another answer for it. Another reason.
“I didn’t realize you hated spontaneity, Lass.”
“If I rip out your throat, would that be spontaneous enough for you?” Cypress remarked, drinking in the details.
They went under another arch framed by intricate, interwoven branches of a tree that seemed to grow through the floor and up through the entire castle.
Laughter peeled from Torren’s lips, making him bend at the waist. Cypress resisted the urge to join him, but even so, her lips curved into a wry smile despite herself.
“Yes, Lass. I do believe that would be spontaneous enough for me,” Torren said, wiping the corners of his eyes, then cleared his throat. With one final chuckle, Torren said, “Welcome to the throne room,” while spinning slowly in place to draw her gaze.
Cypress mirrored his movement.
The grand throne room of Faerie was filled with golden light filtered through a canopy of green, orange, and red leaves. The walls appeared to be painted to resemble white bark, with dark charcoal knots sprinkled across the surface.
The floors were gilded, gold veins spreading across the entire surface, as if impossibly made from the cross-section of an absolutely enormous tree.
Tiny mushrooms dotted the edges of the floor and climbed the walls sporadically. Butterflies flitted to and from flowers that filled the space with a heady, earthy scent.
Wonder filled Cypress, simply standing amid the scene. Birds of all sizes flew among the rafters, singing a tune only they knew.
“This is…” She said, unable to adequately describe the emotion running through her.
“Amazing? Wonderful? Better than you ever thought possible?” Torren said, one after another.
Cypress huffed a laugh and held her forefinger out for a tiny, iridescent winged bird to land on. “Yes.”
Torren let her gaze at the throne room teeming with life for a few more moments without comment. When the bird left her finger, Cypress looked up to find his eyes on her. “Where to next?”
His mouth opened to respond, and then Torren’s eyes darted to the space behind her shoulder.
Cypress turned to look only to find someone new approaching.
They wore a simple brown dress wrapped around their waist and tied with a length of decorative rope.
Tiny antlers grew on either side of their head, and instead of legs and feet like hers, the person had two cloven hooves at the end of their backward-bending knee.
“Yes?” Torren asked.
“Lady Cypress’s rooms are prepared, Sir. Your council is awaiting you in your chambers. Dinner is also being prepared as we speak,” the person Cypress now assumed to be castle staff replied, hands clasped before them.
“Thank you, Athima,” Torren said, and turned to Cypress. “Go, get cleaned up and rest, or whatever. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Cypress debated on telling him off for a few moments before she stopped herself.
A bath sounded magnificent after a long day on the road.
As did being thoroughly cleaned before dining with royalty.
If experience had taught her anything, it was that appearances mattered, particularly to those in power.
“Fine. Just don’t try to have me killed at dinner. It would be a shame to have to show your people how terrible you are with a sword.” Cypress said, then turned her back to him and followed the servant out of the throne room.
“Is this your first time in the Wylds, my Lady?” Athima asked, quickly leading Cypress down various halls.
Everywhere Cypress looked, she was met with beauty. Delicate flowers bloomed in the windowsills that didn’t have glass in them. Veins of gold and copper ran through the bark, shimmering in the golden light of the waning sun.
“Yes. Have you always lived here?” Cypress asked, looking at an enormous map of the Wylds, seemingly carved into the wall. Shaded trees shifted over the map, animated birds soaring above it.
Cypress had never seen something so…marvelous.
“Oh yes, My Lady. My family has served the Palace since its birth,” Athima replied.
Cypress hummed, nodding her understanding. And then, her attention caught on one word. “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? You said the Palace’s birth?”
“Oh yes, My Lady. A’aravos Paravale was grown. She is entirely made from a Seedling, and she grows and bends according to the needs of the people. A’aravos Paravale is connected directly to the beating heart of the Wylds.”
Cypress stopped in her tracks, stunned. “This… This was all grown?” She asked and ran her fingertips down the wall. It wasn’t painted to look like tree bark. It was bark.
The Palace was a tree.
“Yes, My Lady,” Athima said, smiling mildly with her hands clasped before her.
Cypress was too stunned to speak for a few moments. “Is there a,” She started, trying to recall what Torren had called the spirits of the trees. “-a Dryaad of A’aravos Paravale?”
Athima smiled and nodded her head. “Her name is A’aravos, and she will keep you safe within her bounds.”
The traditions of the Fair Folk didn’t seem quite so far-fetched anymore when–fingers still pressed to the castle walls–Cypress felt a surge of awareness surge up through her fingers, and a warm embrace around her mind.
As if the castle was welcoming her.
Cypress took a few moments to heed Torren’s advice and silently thank the spirit, the Dryaad inside the castle walls.
“I’m sorry, please lead on,” Cypress said when she was finished and gave Athima a kind smile.
“No need to apologize, My Lady.”
“Really, you needn’t call me Lady,” Cypress said, unable to shoulder the weight of that title. Not here, where her minuscule claim to nobility felt like an insult to the grandeur of this place.
“Is that not your title?” Athima asked, brow furrowed as she led Cypress up a short set of wide stairs. Even they had gold running through them, tiny veins of precious metals.
“In some circles, I suppose so. But I’d prefer you just call me Cypress.”
That seemed to be the simplest explanation. Cypress was still keen on keeping the true nature of Captain Cy a secret.
“But, Prince Torren-”
It didn’t matter what was about to come out of Athima’s mouth next.
“Prine Torren will call me what he likes, but I’d prefer to be just Cypress, if you please.”
Athima snapped her jaw closed and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Cypress.”
Cypress returned the nod with a quiet, “Thank you.”
Athima led on, gliding down a hallway to the opposite end before coming to a stop before an ornate purple door, indicating to Cypress to enter first.
Cypress opened the plum colored door, noting the ornate crystal doorknob and knocker attached to the middle.
The room was grand– grander than even Cade’s rooms, not to mention her quarters at the Keep.
The walls were the same white and charcoal bark as the throne room, and the floor had the gorgeous gold-veined floor, but the leaves and flowers adorning the windowsills and ceiling were a deep plum that perfectly matched the door.
The barest scattering of pink blooms complemented the plum decor perfectly.
A large bed was placed near the window with voluptuous pillows and silky bedding in the same shades of pink and plum purple.
Cypress explored behind a thick tangle of branches that erupted from the wall to form a partition, presuming to find the bathing chambers. Athima was only a few steps behind.
She let out a gasp of surprised delight at what she found behind that partition. There was a delightfully enormous bath made entirely of amethyst crystal.
The outside of the bath was uncut crystal, and the innumerable facets caught and reflected the light from the windows.
The inside was smoothed to an almost mirror finish, with a wide edge that would be the perfect perch for a glass of wine, or something stronger.
The bath was supported with thick branches cradling the bottom, veins of precious metals encircling the wood.
On the wall next to the bath was a pair of faucets and a spout. The handles on the faucets were also made of amethyst crystal, though they were uncut.
Caelith’s Keep had running water in select areas of the sprawling castle, but not all. Cypress had not anticipated being given a room with it here, let alone a room that was as grand as this.
Torren had been placed in little more than a cell during his stay at Caelith’s Keep, down to the guard stationed just outside his door.
“Is everything to your liking, Cypress?” Athima asked.
Cypress couldn’t help but smile at the hesitation of using her name, the instinct to refer to Cypress by her title rearing its head.
“This is all beautiful, thank you.”
Athima nodded. “Something will be brought up for you to wear to the evening's celebrations shortly. Please, make yourself at home,” she said, then bowed and closed the door behind her on her way out.
Cypress looked around the room once more, debating for only a single heartbeat.
That bathtub was calling her name.