I have to crane my neck to take in the royal palace. It clings to the mountain’s peak, made from a pale, almost white stone that gleams in the sun.
The walls wrapping around the palace are tall, carved with windows and balconies in various places to provide a view of the city below. Most spectacular of all is the crystalline dome crowning the structure, reflecting light like an ever-burning star.
I swoon at the sight of it. The royal palace has long been known as one of Astraloria’s greatest architectural marvels, attracting admirers from every corner of the neighbouring principalities, Solara and Wrisha.
When we were younger, Elara and I fantasized about one day being able to see it in person. We’d dress up in our mum’s old dresses and pretend we were attending a lavish banquet at the palace, peering down from its balconies at the city below.
I can’t believe that, this time tomorrow, I’ll be walking through its doors. It’s a dream come true, and yet … Elara is not here.
Our watercraft slows. I realize we’ve arrived at the watercraft port in the centre of the city. It opens into a vast pool of water, dotted with docks and jetties that fan out like spokes from a wheel. The din of voices echoes beneath the grand stone structure arching overhead, people boarding and disembarking from various types of watercraft.
We drift towards an available jetty, where a watercraft coach seems to have just offloaded a group of people. They’re commuting workers, by the looks of their faded clothes and worn shoes. Untrained elementals like me, who can’t afford to live in the city.
Water laps gently at the wooden piers as the helmsman eases us into position. I thank him with a nod and step off on to the jetty, caught in a moment of marvel.
Beyond the arching structure of the port, tall buildings rise gracefully around us, reaching three, four, some even five storeys into the sky. They all have balconies spilling over with flowering plants and vines that cascade towards the streets below.
It’s beautiful and painful. A picture-perfect scene of arched windows and terracotta roofs – certainly a welcome change from the ivy-clad stone structures of Stellargrove. Elara would’ve loved this, and it hurts knowing I’ll never be able to share it with her.
Unless we win the tournament.
I turn to the helmsman. “What now? Where are we supposed to be staying?”
He shrugs and tugs at his collar. “W-wish I could tellyou, but this is where the other pair asked to be dropped off. Maybe they had a room booked somewhere?”
“You didn’t think to ask them where?” Taron asks, swinging his bag over his shoulder and chucking mine at my chest. I catch it with athud.
“My apologies. The pair barely acknowledged my existence.” The helmsman looks nervous. He pulls a lever, and the watercraft’s canopy reassembles. “Best of luck, I suppose.”
Taron and I stand in silence as the watercraft glides away.
“We’ve got nowhere to stay?” I ask.
“I guess not,” he says.
“Any money?”
He shakes his head.
“Great.”
I survey our surroundings beyond the port, from the pretty pastel houses to the marketplace we just passed. About halfway between the two, opposite a fishmonger’s stall, I spot a sign swinging outside a run-down building – the Lucky Fish Tavern & Inn.
The letters on the sign outside are faded, but the words on the one stuck to the window are legible.Help wanted.
“Can you cook?”
Taron shakes his head no.
“Balance plates?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“OK, well, then this ought to be interesting. Come on,” I say, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him along.
“Hold on – what are we doing?”
“We’re getting jobs,” I say as I steer him towards the Lucky Fish. “We’re not sleeping on the streets tonight.”
