Page 61 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)
Chapter Thirty-Three
The capital city of the Isles was nestled on a beautiful green island surrounded by fields of sand and shallow pools of the ocean’s run-off.
After knifing through the crowd at the docks, they travelled through a circular stretch of compact townhomes and markets scattered around the protective walls.
It was only a short journey from there to the main trade gate.
They were let inside without issue, but once Ingrid got a glimpse of Enitha’s castle, relief faded, and the buzzing, ear-ringing anxiousness returned.
The structure spanned for miles, made of beautifully chiseled sandstone all connected by arching bridges and open verandas.
It seemed more like a city than the city itself, with its architecture seemingly designed by many different minds.
Manically placed towers extended upward in random corners, domed Romanesque temples popped up in the center, and an entire section of the eastern part of the castle was fronted by intricate carvings of the faces of past kings and queens.
It would be so easy, Ingrid thought frightfully, to get lost. Swallowed up. Unable to find your way out.
From the first step inside the gate, Ingrid paid extra close attention to their whereabouts.
The merchant’s path they took was narrow and blocked off from the rest of the castle, winding around the side until they had reached a side entrance to the great hall.
The two guards who had escorted them stopped suddenly at the door to the throne room, turned, and marched back to where they’d started.
Only one other party had arrived that day to meet with Queen Enitha.
A local farmer and his family were there to ask for leniency on their impost for the year.
By the looks of them, they’d been waiting most of the afternoon.
As time slogged on, the father, of middle age with a grey scraggily beard, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while the mother, wearing a fine dress that looked to have been washed early that morning, did her best to remain composed.
Next to the family stood a tall, slender male with short-cropped golden locks and inquisitive eyes.
He wore a silver pin on his jacket to mark his station as a council member.
When Ingrid first arrived, he’d introduced himself simply as Gerhardt, but added the Lord of Royal Treasury moniker once it was apparent that she and her friends had no idea who he was.
It was, after all, “a very coveted position” in the court of the Isles.
“Able?”
The mother turned her head, perplexed.
“Yes, you three,” Gerhardt said to the family, his nasally tone making the annoyance all the more obvious. “Are you able?”
The farmer and his wife only nodded, their postures straightening.
“Come with me.”
The parents took a step forward, but the odd, fidgety council member seemed to frighten the child, and she ducked behind her mother, tugging at her dress until she was almost hanging off it to keep them from going inside.
“Come, Xanthia,” the mother said. “We must see the queen now.”
“No! I wanna go home!”
Gerhardt didn’t make any effort to hide his impatience. “This way, please! Our royal highness has a full docket.” He gestured to Ingrid’s party as if a line of hundreds stood behind them.
“Coming,” the mother said with a smile.
“Apologies.” The father picked up his child and slung her over his shoulder. “She’s just a bit?—”
“Now or never, I’m afraid,” Gerhardt cut in. He turned and opened the tall white door to the throne room.
The hulking passage was adorned with carvings of the Occi Isles’ sigil, the imposing Occanthus bird, and the child’s cries grew louder as she saw the somewhat monstrous creature. The father stopped abruptly, trying to soothe her.
With the ten-foot-tall door still open, a gust of air hit Ingrid, carrying strong, rich floral perfume, fruity spirits, smoky fire and herb-seasoned meats.
She salivated at the food and winced at the harsh perfume simultaneously.
Then, standing tall on her toes, she caught a glimpse of the lounging crowd scattered on either side of the central aisle leading to the monarchal chair.
Where Maradenn’s royal meeting quarters had been like a cathedral, with its vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, waving banners and quiet decorum, Enitha’s court was more like a grandiose outdoor festival.
Parties of ten or more sat on low circular sofas dressed in flowy whites and beiges to accommodate the slightly warmer weather blowing in from the open stone structure surrounding them.
Only the armored guards looked to be sober.
The door closed before Ingrid could see more, but not five minutes later, Gerhardt pushed it back open with a grunt and escorted the family out with more hurried gestures of his hands. The child was still in tears, the mother silent, and the father had a look of shock on his now pale face.
“May the Mother hold you in this trying time,” Gerhardt sneered. “Bless you!” His kindness quickly faded as the three distraught subjects faded out of his view.
“What an ignoble trio,” he said, pointedly turning to the world-walkers.
“They come to ask for special treatment, yet never bring any gifts to lighten the burden of her majesty.” He pointed to the chest of jewels and trinkets Raidinn was pushing on a four-wheeled cart.
“Don’t misunderstand. You’ll certainly catch her attention with those.
But it hardly has to be a treasure. Anything at all. A sample from their crop. Anything!”
All of Dean, Ingrid and Raidinn stumbled with a response, so Tyla cut in with another inspired performance. “Rabble tend to be untutored in such things. They expect us to take pity, I’m sure.”
The lord of treasury lit up at that. “Yes, yes, that does fit the pattern.” He fiddled with his pin, thinking. “Grisly business I’ve found myself in. How I was unlucky enough to be assigned to reception on public court days, only the Mother knows.”
One of the guards bristled behind, the steel of his armor clanging.
“Not all bad, though,” Gerhardt caught himself.
“It is a reprieve taking visitors such as yourselves. Oh! The tales I hear from merchants! Of their travels. I would love to see the East someday, the shores of Seerside! And I’ve heard the shops in Airdenn are all made of glass! What a picture that must be!”
Dean cleared his throat, preparing to test out his put-on accent. “I’m sure you have some tales yourself?” He looked to the raucous noise coming from behind the door, smiling suggestively. “I’m told this court is never wanting for entertainment.”
“Exaggeration, I’m sure. We’re like any kingdom.
Work greatly outweighs leisure.” Gerhardt’s eyebrows shot up in a curious V-shape.
“Speaking of, let us delay no longer. The quicker we agree on price, the quicker we can get to those tales from...” He turned, resting his hand on the door but not moving to open it.
“Forgive me, where was it you’re from again? ”
Ingrid couldn’t help but stiffen.
“All over, really. My sister and I—” Dean gestured to Ingrid, following Callinora’s plan. Due to Enitha’s unrivalled jealousy, she thought it best to play two sets of siblings. “We are from Danneslaw, originally. But now we reside in the north of Pardos.”
“Pardos, you say? Well, that explains the accent escaping me, then. How fascinating. We rarely host anyone hailing from further than Banebrook.” He put a finger to his lips. “As you might’ve guessed by my rather unprofessional excitement.”
“Nonsense,” Tyla said with a click of her tongue. “You’ve given us such a lovely welcome.”
The lord of treasury clapped his hands together. His eyes brightened as he beheld Tyla, whom he seemed to shower with curious glances since her agreeable comment about the low-born. “You’re too kind,” he said with a slight bow to her. “And may I ask, are you also Pardosians?"
“Yes,” Tyla confirmed, lightly tapping her host’s forearm before gesturing to Raidinn. “Both of us. Born and bred.”
“Ahh! Your betrothed?” Gerhardt’s eyes searched her, not so much as peeking at Raidinn.
“Brother,” the twins grunted simultaneously.
Gerhardt delighted in this, licking his lips in an unsightly way that must’ve been a tic of his.
“How picturesque. Family business takes on new meaning with you four, I see. Lovely! Her majesty will certainly enjoy your… company.” There was a salaciousness in his smirk that boded well for the mission, and Callinora’s intel as a whole, but Ingrid couldn’t help but feel another twinge of unease.
With a lean, Gerhardt swung the door open, extending a welcoming arm and bowing again as the foursome shuffled in past the guards and made the long walk down the center aisle, passing the crowd that now seemed twice the size as when Ingrid had first glimpsed it.
Servants were scantily clad in nothing but silver loincloths and bejeweled masks, holding serving dishes full of wine and fresh produce. High members of the court pawed at them, as well as each other, while other lords and ladies were too far gone from drink (or something else) to sit upright.
The noise of it hummed endlessly. Chatter layered on top of growls of delight and demands for more drink.
Ingrid gawked and caught herself in time to avoid the six eyes of a trio locked in the throes of passion.
A few expletive remarks were even hurled at them as they approached the throne, commenting on both the females’ and the males’ appearance.
Then, clear and controlling, a distant shout silenced everything.
“Come, come! Welcome!” the voice continued bellowing.
It was a husky cadence, yet feminine in its melody. The owner of the voice was still too far away to make out, so the four “merchants” walked on, inching closer to the two ivory pillars encasing the steps to the dais.