Jo allowed herself be distracted by the swiftly growing scenery. The more she thought of divinity, the more she thought of Snow. And that was a dangerous path to let her mind go down. Despite herself, her hands balled into fists.
Hang on. Just hang on, her heart pleaded into the universe, as though he could somehow hear her. He’d sacrificed enough. Now it was her turn.
The brilliantly blue sea was cut off by a strip of white, and the beaches turned into emerald foliage or jewel-bespeckled towns. The waters became crowded as they neared closer and closer to the island. Fishermen stopped their work to watch the Imperial vessel speed by. They stared in fascination and . . . worry. Jo wondered just how much word of her had gotten to the rest of Luana, or perhaps more importantly, what words were said when it had.
Their ship sailed right under the massive bridge she’d seen from the distance. Jo twisted, looking up till her neck hurt and then some as they passed beneath. It was truly a marvel to behold and she wondered if Samson saw the same thing she did: utter perfection in craftsmanship. The only thing that was going to bring the bridge down was if she attacked it with the brute force of her magic. It was as if the very land had been coerced into shaping itself into the foundation for the bridge and the giant castle on the other side.
Past the bridge, they began to slow, pulling into a sheltered inlet of docks. The four of them gathered at the end of the gangway before a group of elvish guards in suits of armor that nearly covered them from head to toe. The man whom Jo presumed to be the leader was the only one to speak.
“If you’ll follow me this way.”
They wound up stairways on stairways, working their way up from the sea to the towering bridge. They were about halfway when Wayne stopped on one of the terraces, hands on his knees.
“Just go on ahead, I’ll catch up,” he panted, breathless.
“We can’t leave you behind,” the leader elf said, matter-of-fact. “We can wait for you to catch your breath.”
“Or leave me where I fall,” Wayne muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Wayne straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I could carry you,” Jo offered. After the physical feats she’d accomplished on the Sapphire Bridge, Jo didn’t think Wayne on her back would slow her down one bit.
“I’m not that out of shape, dollface. Wouldn’t want to crush you.” He motioned toward the next set of stairs. “Carry on, then.”
They had to stop two more times, but Jo’s offer to carry Wayne seemed to keep pushing him all the way to the top. Even Samson and Takako had requested a small break each, though Takako’s training as a soldier seemed to give her the greatest stamina, after Jo and their Elvish guides in ranked order. Jo couldn’t help feeling oddly proud on the woman’s behalf. It was late in the afternoon by the time they crossed the last stair. Wayne was the first one to mutter “Oh thank god” the second both of his feet were at the top.
This high up, the wind blew unimpeded, almost violently tossing Jo’s hair. She raised a hand, pulling it back from where it whipped her face to get a better look at the city compacted into a basin of sheer cliffs. From the sea, it looked as if the bridge to the Luanian castle ended at a forested ridge. But the trees and ridgetop concealed a whole city within—a city of shallow pools, domed gazebos, hanging gardens, and all the lushness of a high society that had thrived uninterrupted for thousands of years.
Seeing High Luana, remembering Eslar’s room, knowing what Samson had told her, all came together in an odd form of guilt. He finally had what he wanted—what he’d witnessed being blotted out from existence—his home. And now they were going to demand he remove himself from it and risk his life.
No.
Jo turned, looking up at the giant spire that loomed over it all, as though it were a watchtower for the whole world. They were coming to demand he remove himself from this home and risk his lifeforit, to protect it. She was no more pleased than he was about the situation, but that didn’t give any of them the ability to ignore it, either.
“Think the elves are compensating for anything?” Wayne leaned in and whispered, motioning upward at the spire.
“You’re going to get us in trouble,” Jo hissed back.
“More trouble than a demigod bent on destroying the world and the thing you did to their bridge?” he said, deadpan.
Jo looked forward, determined to ignore any further remarks, and focused instead on the two giant silver doors that swung open soundlessly. Samson looked at them in awe as they passed through. The hallway was wide enough for everyone to walk side-by-side if they wanted and still have enough room. The roof was taller than any she’d ever seen before, tall enough that it was cast in shadow, tiny floating motes of light the only thing guiding their way forward. Especially once the doors closed behind them and plunged the hall into darkness. The lights descended one by one, falling to the floor, outlining the path for them to continue on. It was as beautiful as it was pointless, since there was only one way to go.
The hall dumped them into an even larger room. The floor was inlaid with silver, and made of stone fitted so perfectly that it was impossible to see the grooves with the naked eye. Thousands upon thousands of lines of elvish script traversed from one wall to the next, though Jo could only pick out a few words and one or two simple sentences with her elvish study so far.
Six columns, fat and reminiscent of the strange-looking trees she’d seen on their arrival along the beach, supported a vaulted roof. At the end of them, seated on simple thrones made of silver, was an Elvish man wearing an ornate headdress of silver. Next to him was a woman, and two younger looking boys sat on either side of them.
Their group was marched right up to the throne, stopping only when their leader dropped into a low bow. Jo didn’t know what elvish custom dictated, but a little bit of decorum couldn’t hurt, she decided. So she gave a small bow of her head, rising when the elf did. He spoke in the lifting tones of the elvish language and the king gave a nod.
Closer, Jo got her first good look at the elvish royal family; it wasn’t what she had expected. These were ancient creatures, bent on the survival of their species and cultivation of their history before all other things. But they looked almost . . . modest.
Nothing like the storybook elves from Jo’s history, the king had short, almost messy hair that was black as coal. His ruddy skin, clearly inherited by his sons, almost matched Samson’s. He wore a simple silver tunic, cinched low with a wide sapphire belt. It complemented the blouse the queen wore with silver trousers. Jo hadn’t been expecting trousers; she was used to cultures modeled on ancient times harboring an unnecessary obsession with gender roles and expectations. But perhaps the gender roles and norms Jo knew, and the ones here, were different.
“Which of you is the one they call Josephina?” The king spoke nearly without any accent at all, his English practically flawless.
“That’d be me.” Jo took a step forward.
