In spite of the bruises lining the insides of my thighs, I pick up my pace, impatient to climb on my horse and have him do the walking. I prefer bruises to blisters. Although Giana’s boots are comfortable, the kilometers I’ve walked to and from the ravine have irritated my already raw skin. If Phoebus was disgusted with the state of my feet before, he’d be utterly horrified now.
If only we could find a stream, one not lodged at the bottom of a ravine. What I wouldn’t give for a long soak. Plus, my canteen is running on empty after my brisk promenade.
“Any chance we’ll come across a brook or river on our way to Tarespagia?”
Yes.
A single word has never made me happier. “Is it far?”
When I catch sight of Furia’s peaked ears, a sigh escapes me. I kneel and am about to toss my armload of grass into the trench when horror stills my arms. “This isn’t toxic, right?”
No.
Relieved, I throw my offering onto the dewy stones at his hooves, then maneuver my sore body back into the saddle.
As Furia makes quick work of his meal, Morrgot says,We should reach Tarespagia in the morning.
Morning can’t come soon enough, and yet, when first light creeps onto the horizon and pries my clasped lids open, I’m wholly unprepared for the sight before me.
Forty-Nine
As far as the eye can see, the ochre summits have been carved into dwellings so vast, they resemble islands suspended in the sky. The illusion is strengthened by the thready clouds that drape around the rows of soaring pillars that support each abode like table legs.
I blink.
The bone-smooth columns and three-story dwellings remain.
I rub my eyes because surely,surelyI’m hallucinating. Although devoid of luxury, these man-whittled peaks can’t possibly be real. If they were, I’d have heard about them.
When my lashes sweep upward again, there they stand, dark against the rising sun, solid amongst the brightening blue.
I lap up each detail, jaw so wide I may just end up choking on clouds if I don’t choke on my shock first.
Unlike typical Lucin homes, these don’t shine, save for the small windowpanes dulled by so much dust that they blend into the stone façade. There are no copper shingles, no gilt detailing, no inset cut stones, and yet I am blinded by this architectural wonder’s understated magnificence.
If only Phoebus and Sybille were at my side. If only I could’ve shared this discovery with them.
“What is this place?” I find myself whispering.
Morrgot’s answer ripples inside my mind, deep and quiet, like a brick tossed into placid water.Rahnach bi’adh.
I roll the foreign words over my tongue. “And what does Rawnock Byaw mean?”
The Sky Kingdom.
My jaw snaps shut with an audible click.Kingdom?“Which Regio monarch built it? And why have I never heard of it?”
It was built long before Costa Regio’s reign.
My gaze runs over every ancient curve and sharp edge, slides down the smooth shine of the pillars. It must’ve belonged to one of the early ruling dynasties, men who considered themselves kings even though they acted like savages.
The wind blows harder the farther we climb, its howl so fierce, it scatters goosebumps up and down my limbs. “Is it still inhabited?”
No.
That explains the buildup of grime and the barren feel of this city. It also explains the absence of stairs or ladders, or whatever else was used to access the city. Unless stairs are hidden inside the pillars? As Furia’s hooves click up the trench, I study the columns, on the lookout for a hidden doorway, but no telltale groove jumps out at me.
And then I get sidetracked because the sun rises right in between the columns, a blinding sphere of orange, red, and gold. I’m familiar with beauty and with the sun, and yet the sight is so glorious that my jaw grows yet again slack.
