Page 29 of Aubade Rising

Cathair looms ahead of us, blazing white as we turn the final bend in the river.

I hadn’t spent much time contemplating what the city would be like but, even if I had, nothing could have prepared me for the vast expanse of white limestone buildings covering the valley floor and stretching into the green foothills on both sides of the river.

Up close, many of the buildings are covered with winding vines of budding wisteria, about to flower.

The grey finger-like buds droop over every doorway and windowsill, looking like petrified worms crawling from the brickwork.

The ferry takes us into the heart of the city and the sunshine bounces off the white stone, bleaching my eyes and causing my head to ache.

Eskar was reluctant to give me much detail on Cathair and says he wants me to discover it for myself.

We won’t be staying long, but there is time for me to pay my respects to the Principal at the Academy and to restock our supplies.

I hope we’ll have sufficient time for Eskar to keep his promise to take me to one of the cafes in the city which sells the best stewed apple pastries.

From the way he described them, I get a sense of its being an almost religious experience and one I want to share with him.

Growing up, he would sneak from his family home and visit every patisserie in the city.

Even if it’s been years, he knows his way around.

The Academy is perched in the foothills and I see its domed roofs as we sail by them.

As with all the academies in Trevesiga, this has its own pragmatic specialism, focusing on agriculture and farming with research on drainage and harvests.

I’m told this was where the complex aqueduct that feeds all of Trevesiga was first designed.

Our plan is to keep a low profile politically, other than meeting with the Principal. Even agreeing to that took some convincing from Eskar. After the attack in Pentargon, he’s taking no chances. We wait on the ferry long after the other passengers have departed and skulk quietly on to the shore.

Barely a few steps onto dry land, a pompous-looking city official steps directly into our path.

“The Governor is thrilled you are making a visit to our beautiful city. He has graciously extended a dinner invitation this evening.”

“Excuse us – you have the wrong people.” Eskar attempts to pass the official but he’s surprisingly nimble and side-steps him.

Eskar turns, furious to see the official has weaselled his way between us.

I look at him in alarm. How did the Governor find out about our visit?

The expedition is meant to be secret. I haven’t even reached out to the Academy’s Principal yet.

“I’m certain, I don’t. The Governor was quite specific: The King’s Verax and the King’s Alchemist will be travelling together and will be the last passengers to disembark. I’ve been waiting a while.”

Eskar tenses, looking to see if anyone else is paying attention to the official’s loud voice.

There goes keeping a low profile.

“If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll take you to the Governor’s house now.

There’s a long list of people who are looking forward to meeting you.

” Anxiety tightens my throat, as any of these people could be a threat.

I don’t want to play any political game with more entitled Mordros when I need to get to the Haag. I don’t have the time.

He offers his arm and, before I can accept it, I find Eskar at my side, linking us firmly together.

“Lead on then.” Eskar’s disinterested tone perfectly plays the bored aristocratic member of the Concord, dismissing the official as not worth his notice. I attempt to copy his expression, mimicking the look of haughty distain I’ve seen Dervla adopt when she doesn’t get her way.

The official huffs and reluctantly walks ahead, turning back every few steps to check we are following. I risk a glance at Eskar whilst the official’s back is turned and recognise the steely set of his jaw, eyes darting back and forth, assessing our path.

Even so close to the harbour the streets are immaculately clean, and every house has window boxes with neatly pruned and well-watered flowers.

I scrape my fingers through my windswept hair as we pass, feeling out of place.

Despite it being close to the end of the day, a time where I would expect a city to be busy and bustling with people jostling to get home quickly, it’s quiet and serene.

No one rushes, voices are muted and people take the time to point out a newly flowering plant or interesting shop display to their companions.

The affluence in this city is clear: children are well-dressed for the spring winds, hats neatly tied under their chins and, unlike me, not a hair out of place.

We leave the harbour, climbing the valley slopes and the houses become larger, each building secluded in its own private plot, ice-white stone walls and wrought iron railings separate each from its neighbours.

Eskar pauses in front of one and I note the large brass nameplate on the gate front which says Devath.

The sheer scale and opulence of it puts even Howl’s mansion in Pentargon to shame.

“The Governor must allow us time to freshen up after such a long journey. We will attend his dinner once we have settled in.”

I tense, expecting the official to argue, but he is at ease with the suggestion, smiling obsequiously and attempting a half bow towards Eskar.

“Of course, Verax. A carriage will be sent to collect you.”

“No need, I prefer to travel in my own.”

“Very well, I look forward to seeing you both later.” He backs away awkwardly and, once at a respectable distance, turns and scuttles up the hill.

Eskar watches until he is safely out of sight before steering me away.

“Quick. We don’t have much time.” He tugs my hood farther over my head so my face is obscured. He does the same to himself and takes my hand, leading me back into the city.

In confusion, I follow without question as we twist and turn through the quiet streets, I assume the reason we double back several times is to make sure we’re not being followed.

By now, the bright moonlight illuminates the stone; soft reflections cast off the buildings, chasing away the shadows.

I try to count the turns but the feel of his strong hand covering mine and taking charge has my brain faltering.

Between a closed music shop and what looks to be a patisserie is a narrow, bland doorway. No adornments or name plate. Eskar checks the street, confirming we are alone. He slips a small silver key from his pocket, opens the door on creaky hinges and ushers me inside.

In the crowded hallway I can smell the salty ocean clinging to his coat. I resist climbing the dusty stairs in front of me until I know what I’m walking into.

“Welcome to my home.” He shrugs off his coat and leaves his bag by the doorway, gesturing for me to go upstairs.