Then again, whenever I think of our new home, my mind becomes frazzled, my muscles tense yet again, and I feel like my lungs will collapse in my chest. What awaits us at the end of this carriage ride?
Warm light of the setting sun blazes through the window of the carriage, bathing the inside in a red-orange glow. I lean forward, looking out the window. It seems the trees have cleared, and we are no longer in the dense forest. The sky is every shade of gold, pink, and orange, but the quality of color is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It glimmers and glows, enhanced by the red leaves of the trees covering the distant hillsides.
I lean back and Foxglove takes my place at the window. “Ah, we’re almost to the palace,” he says.
My heart begins to race. As much as I want the ride to be over, I’m not ready to enter the home of the king and my husband-to-be. The thought alone churns my stomach, making bile rise in my throat.
A moment later, the carriage begins to slow, and I feel the weight shift, as if we’re making an ascent. Amelie grips my hand, chest heaving as she clutches her necklace. Her fingers tremble within mine. Or are mine the ones trembling? With a deep breath, I close my eyes, steadying my nerves and smothering my panic in a blanket of calm. The calm of a surgeon.
The carriage stops. “We’re here,” Foxglove says.
I force myself to open my eyes. Breathe. Hold yourself together.
Foxglove pushes open the carriage door and exits. Amelie’s grip grows tighter, and neither of us makes any move to leave our seats. After a few moments, Foxglove peers back inside. “Come on. Did you not hear? You’re home!”
Another deep breath. My free hand pats my dagger. As if moving through water, I slowly leave the seat and make my way to the door. Amelie trails behind me, her fingers laced in mine. Foxglove offers me his hand as I step from the carriage to the marble path beneath it. More light from the setting sun greets me outside, overwhelming my senses.
Foxglove extends his free hand, indicating the other side of the carriage. “Welcome to Bircharbor Palace.”
I step away from the carriage and turn until massive golden spires come into view. My breath catches in my throat, and for one blessed moment, I forget my anxiety. The palace is more beautiful than any structure I’ve ever seen, with walls of red-orange carnelian, yellow citrine, and golden-brown tiger’s eye. There’s nothing behind the palace but blushing sky, no forest, tree, or shrub. It’s as if the palace stands at the end of the world. A cool breeze brushes my face, slightly warmer than the autumn weather back home, and I catch the hint of salt on the air.
I’m nearly swept beneath the weight of my awe, but I dampen it, reminding myself this is not a beautiful palace but a prison. A place of death. I’m not standing before an architectural miracle but at the maw of a vicious beast.
I steal a glance at Amelie, who seems to be struck with the wonder I felt a moment ago. Her head tilts to the side as she studies the palace. The look on her face is the same she gets when considering a new gown.
“Come,” Foxglove says and rounds the carriage.
We follow, but I freeze when we reach the horse-creatures that had been pulling the carriage. This is my first opportunity to see them up close and beneath proper light since our travels began. Last night, I had only the impression of something beastly and strange, but the sight before me is more chilling than I’d imagined.
The creatures have sleek, equine bodies covered in smooth black fur, and flowing manes of onyx hair. Their necks are longer and slimmer than a regular horse, curving sinuously, the legs more graceful and less jointed. Their teeth are bared, showing sharp razors of opalescent white. Their glowing yellow eyes seem to bore into us.
Foxglove rolls his eyes impatiently when he sees we’ve stopped following him. “Puca. Harmless, really, especially when you have them under control.”
“And…you have them under control?” Amelie asks in her quavering voice.
Foxglove laughs. “They serve King Aspen. Puca are great for aiding transportation. Not nearly as fast as a kelpie, but let’s not speak of them.”
It’s unnerving that he didn’t answer the question, considering he supposedly can’t lie.
“Impressed with the puca, are we?” A feminine voice draws my attention away from the creatures to the woman approaching us. She’s petite with brown skin and olive-green eyes, her face dusted with gold on her eyelids, lips, and over her cheekbones. Her hair is in wild, black curls, tangled with tiny sticks, leaves, and branches. She wears a gauzy gown in a deep bronze. It covers less skin than a nightdress and leaves little to the imagination, despite the fact that the thin fabric reaches past her ankles.
“Darling! It’s so good to see you.” Foxglove reaches out to her and they embrace, exchanging kisses on the cheek.
When she pulls away, the small woman eyes Amelie and me. She lifts an eyebrow, as if uninspired by what she’s found. “Are these the girls?”
“Yes, they are,” Foxglove says. “Meet Amelie and Evelyn Fairfield.”
The woman puts her hands on her hips. “Hey.”
I hesitate, waiting for her to introduce herself. “And you are?”
“I’m to be your…what’s it called?” She looks to Foxglove. “A slave? Servant?”
He laughs. “I think in the human world it’s called a lady’s maid, Lorelei.”
“Yes. That.” She doesn’t look pleased.
Her name sparks recognition, and it takes me a moment to place it. “Wait, you’re Lorelei? The Lorelei?”
She grins. “My reputation precedes me.”
“For getting Hank Osterman’s arm mutilated by a bear trap.”
She lifts her chin with pride, as if I’d complimented her. “That was me.”
A flush deepens in my cheeks, which Foxglove seems to notice. He steps toward me, hands fluttering in the air as if they can pull the tension from it. “Lorelei is serving you as punishment for her crime against the Butcher of Stone Ninety-Four, or whatever human name you call him. See? Amends are made.”
My eyes narrow at Lorelei, who seems to be relishing in my anger.
“Come now, Lorelei,” Foxglove says. “You’re supposed to make them feel welcome.”
She plasters an exaggerated smile on her lips, then says in the most honey-sweet, high-pitched voice, “Oh, by all means. Welcome.”
Foxglove claps his hands, then turns toward the palace. “That’s better. Come along everyone.”
I give Amelie’s fingers a reassuring squeeze as we follow Foxglove and Lorelei toward the palace. We make our way down the marble path away from the carriage, then up massive, citrine steps. The enormous double doors are open wide, and two guards outfitted in bronze armor engraved with maple leaves stand on either side, golden spears in hand. I’m surprised to find one of the guards appears female, her features slightly more feminine than her counterpart, with a long brown braid of hair plaited down her back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a female guard in Eisleigh. Then again, I’ve hardly had the opportunity to meet any royal guards before this, considering Eisleigh’s king resides on the mainland.
Inside the palace, I feel equally as overwhelmed as when I first saw the outside. Everything from the floor to the walls is constructed of stone in golds, reds, browns, and yellows. Golden arches and spiraling staircases steal my attention, then the smaller details like paintings, tapestries, and vases assault my senses.