“Here we are,” I echoed, and sat back, mulling over everything he’d said.
Our ride continued. Farmland turned to villages, villages to towns.
I was surprised by how poor the roads were—muddy and torn ragged on edges stretched too wide, as if a marching parade had come through, flattening everything in its path. Marc-André studied the damage with dismay but didn’t comment, and I wondered if he was somehow embarrassed that the king’s highway had been allowed to fall into such a state.
Towns grew closer and closer together until eventually we were in the capitol itself and our path became paved with bricks. I’d never seen so many people milling about, nor buildings towering so high. There were more shops and storefronts than I’d ever have guessed possible or necessary, rows and rows of them, selling not fruits or vegetables or clothing butthings.Tiny, sparkling things whose purposes I couldn’t determine as we raced past the glittering windows.
Everything here glittered, and my head ached at the sheer amount of detail I was suddenly aware of: the scent of unfamiliar spices and smoked meats, the babble of languages I did not speak, dresses made up in shades I’d never imagined, cut in fashions that seemed over-the-top and ridiculous in their extremity, and a tang coatingmy tongue with the acrid sourness of too many bodies in too small a space.
Why anyone would regard this swath of overcrowded land as the epitome of civilization was beyond me.
Even the royal family seemed to want to be away from it. Though Châtellerault was the monarch’s seat, the palace itself was not in the city proper. The grounds were set apart, hugging the northern border like a snug comma. A snug comma separated by a vast wall and a moat.
Black swans swam in lazy circles as we rode across the drawbridge spanning its dark waters. The horses’ hooves clattered loudly over the lowered wooden planks, setting my nerves ajangle. The wall was at least three yards thick, and heavily guarded. Several dozen men jumped to attention, saluting the captain as we came through.
Only once we were past the gates did I realize how late in the day it had gotten. Twilight had fallen heavily, darkening the sky to the shade of bruised lilacs. There were too many clouds to see the stars, and I could feel the charge of an approaching storm.
The palace rose before us, wide and hulking. The main building was four stories high with wings spreading out on either side, like a bat unfurling to take flight. Built of dark gray stone with steeply pitched black gabled rooftops, the palace nearly blended into the evening mist. Tall oil lamps dotted the perimeter, creating halos of light as amber as gold bars.
We did not enter the palace from the front. Marc-André nudged the horse down a side road, taking us past stables and other outbuildings. I caught sight of fantastically landscaped gardens and a soaring greenhouse. My head spun at the opulence and luxury. Even in the moody gloom, everythingshimmered.There was nothing left undecorated, dripping with detail and ostentatious adornments.Statues of black marble were scattered across the grounds, like toys left behind by giant children. Intricate clusters of gilded roses spiraled down the post of each streetlamp we passed. Even the gravel we trotted upon seemed to be made of glittering quartz chips.
The air hung heavy, and I felt as if everything I saw was secretly sneering, proud and puffed with its own self-worth. It dredged up memories from my childhood: of the royal family’s visit to Rouxbouillet; of the press of people in the streets aching to be near them—to be near such wealth; of the prince as he threw a handful of coins at me.
I wondered if Leopold remembered the little freckled girl he’d insulted, or if I’d made even the barest of impressions upon him atall.
We came to a stop at an entry along the back of one of the wings. A tall portico jutted out like a set of bared teeth. Though this entrance was clearly meant for servants and tradesmen, it was no less grand than any other door we’d passed.
Two footmen hurried down the black marble steps. They were dressed in matching suits of onyx with gold tassels, and they nodded curtly to Marc-André before one helped me from the horse. The other guards dismounted and began unloading my collection of bags and trunks. I’d packed three trunks near to bursting with my medicines and one bag with personal items, clothing and my toilette. I couldn’t begin to guess how long the king’s treatment would take, and I hadn’t wanted to be caught without something I mightneed.
“I can help with those,” I offered, but they waved my assistance aside.
“Follow us please, miss,” one of the footmen said.
I offered a miserable smile of thanks to Marc-André but he’dalready turned, issuing orders to a stable boy who’d hurried over to help with the horses.
“Cosmos, come,” I called, and my pup jumped from the wagon, stretching with obvious pleasure as he sniffed at his new surroundings. I nearly smiled as I watched the footmen give him a wide berth. At least now I wasn’t the only one filled with apprehension.
I hurried up the stone steps, then paused on the threshold, studying the golden coat of arms inlaid in the stone. The Marnaigne bull stared up at me with glowering eyes, and the weight of what I was about to do—meet the king, treat the king, save the king—descended over me like a stifling blanket.
I didn’t want to be here, not truly.
I wanted to be back in my little cottage, readjusting to my life in Alletois.
If I was honest with myself, I wanted to be back in the Between, sitting beside the fireplace with Merrick and a book, whiling away the too-many years I knew I had.
But I wasn’t.
I was here.
So here I’d be.
With Cosmos at my side, I took my first step into the palace.
“Good gods!” a voice exclaimed. “What is thatthing?”
I glanced to Cosmos, who nearly blended into the black marble of the floor, making him look like a massive shadowy hellhound in a sea of darkness.
Just past the entry stood a man, tall and gaunt. His dark wool suit was impeccably tailored, accentuating his height. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the waxed ends of his silver mustache exuded a militant fastidiousness. He peered down at Cosmos, a delicate sneer marring the thin end of his nose.
