Where the Breath met the shoreline of the continents was called the Rim. To sail beyond the Rim meant leaving land behind and venturing into the mists of the Breath.
The view out the carriage window was spectacular and, as always, caused Stephano’s heart to contract with both pain and pleasure. When he had been a Dragon Knight, riding the thermals of the Breath, flying among the tendrillike mists, he would always take a moment to view the continent from this angle: the jagged edges of distant mountains, the green of hills, the smoky haze rising from the multitude of chimneys, the airships of all sizes and types sailing in and out of the bustling port of Evreux, the capital city of Rosia and one of the largest and busiest ports in the world.
He and his dragon mount, Lady Cam, would always share this moment. He would laughingly point out his family’s former small estate, tucked somewhere in those green hills, and she would, with more gravity, mention her family’s estate in the Montagnes Imperiale, the mountain range which the dragons called home. The two would ride the mists, knowing themselves-in the dragon’s grace and beauty and Stephano’s skills as a rider-superior to those who were forced to rely on wood and magic and silk balloons to sail the Breath.
Lady Cam was dead now. She had died in battle eight years ago, struck down by friendly cannon fire from a ship of their own fleet. She had died and so had the Dragon Brigade. And so had Stephano, in a way.
Stephano looked at the clouds and took note of the wind speed and the direction the wind was blowing, and then endeavored to make Rodrigo understand that the carriage driver knew what he was doing. Given the conditions, he was taking the best route to the palace.
“Otherwise, the ride would be bumpy. We would be blown all over the sky, and you would be air sick and complain about that,” said Stephano.
Rodrigo gave way with such good grace that Stephano suspected his friend had started this row simply to shake Stephano out of his gloomy mood. By that time, they were once more over land and the palace was in view.
The Sunset Palace was a breathtaking sight, whether seen by day, suspended in the air above the lake, mirrored in the waters below, or at night, when its lighted windows, shining in the darkness, rivaled the stars. The palace was, as its name implied, most beautiful in the twilight, when magical constructs set in the walls reflected the colors of the sky, causing the walls to change color from pink to orange, purple, and blue.
Simple in design, the palace was a square with a tower at each of the four corners. The entrance consisted of another, smaller square constructed inside the first, with a smaller tower at each of those four corners. The palace’s beauty lay in the graceful magnificence of the towers and the fanciful construction of the one hundred chimneys, each of which was of a different design, so that the palace, from a distance, resembled the skyline of a city.
The Sunset Palace was the largest floating structure in the known world. The construction of the palace had started during the reign of King Alaric’s grandfather. He had died while the building was still on the ground. Alaric’s father, the late king, had brought crafters from all over to place the magical constructs that had at last lifted the palace up to the heavens, elevating the King of Rosia to a somewhat equal footing with God.
Stephano noted that several of those fancy new warships drifted in the air near the palace, keeping constant vigil. The ships used the liquid form of the Breath, known as the Blood of God, to stay afloat. The liquid was stored in lift tanks in the hull near the base of the wings and ballast tanks on the mast, which meant the ships had no balloons, only sails. Faster and lighter, these were the ships that had replaced the Dragon Brigade. The navy stood guard because the palace had minimal defenses. Though the towers and walls were strengthened by magical constructs, they were mainly for decoration. Most of the magic went into keeping the palace up in the air. The warships and the palace guards, mounted on wyverns, patrolled the perimeter, turning away those who did not have business with the royal court.
A series of buoys, marked with different colored flags, floated in the sky, forming lanes through which carriages were funneled. The large and splendid carriages of the nobility, sometimes drawn by as many as four wyverns, entered one lane. Delivery vehicles entered another. Hired hacks traveled yet another. Stephano’s carriage took its place in line with those.
When they reached the arrival point, a palace guard looked inside the carriage and, recognizing Rodrigo, exchanged a few pleasantries and waved them on. The carriage flew to the entrance and dropped down onto the open-air paved courtyard. The wyvern rested, tucking its head beneath its wing. The driver dismounted and lowered the steps. Rodrigo and Stephano descended. Rodrigo paid the driver, who touched his hand to his hat and, prodding the wyvern into flight, sailed off.
A line of footmen stood waiting at the entrance to greet visitors and escort them into the palace, taking them where they were supposed to go, prohibiting them (politely) from going where they weren’t wanted, and generally keeping people from getting lost. The palace had over four hundred rooms and a confusing number of hallways and staircases and corridors, and even Rodrigo, who visited the palace two or three days a week, found the footmen helpful.
Stephano mentioned the name of the Countess de Marjolaine and showed the footman her letter with her seal. The footman nodded and started out.
“I’ll come with you,” said Rodrigo.
“To make sure I go through with this?” Stephano growled.
“Yes. And I have nothing better to do until the royal levee, which is later this morning,” said Rodrigo.
The halls of the palace were wide and spacious with wood-beam ceilings and parquet floors. Paintings, colorful tapestries, and deer with immense racks of antlers adorned the walls. Suits of armor from bygone days stood in niches in the walls.
“Hollow knights with no heads,” remarked Stephano. “How fitting.”
“Do keep your voice down,” said Rodrigo.
Three young ladies of the court, dressed in colorful satin gowns, with the hems pinned up to reveal their decorated petticoats; long, pointed bodices and dropped shoulders entered the gallery from one of the staircases. At the sight of Rodrigo and Stephano, the young women raised their fans and drew together, laughing and whispering to each other.
Rodrigo “made a leg” as the saying went, placing one foot before the other and giving a graceful bow. The young women curtsied. Rodrigo offered to introduce them to his friend, “Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen.” The young women curtsied again, clearly in admiration of the handsome captain. Stephano removed his hat and gave a stiff bow and then stood fuming with impatience while Rodrigo exchanged flirtatious banter.
“I have an appointment,” said Stephano abruptly, interrupting one of the women. “If you will excuse me-”
He bowed again, turned on his heel and walked off. Behind him, he could hear Rodrigo apologizing and the low voices of the women talking behind their fluttering fans.
“That was the wife of the Count of Galiar you just insulted,” said Rodrigo, catching up with his friend. “I smoothed things over. Told her you were perishing of a broken heart. I fancy from the way she looked at you that she would like to help you mend it.”
“She seems much more your type,” said Stephano.
“I was in love with her once,” said Rodrigo in the sorrowful tones he always used when speaking of his past amours. “I was on the verge of proposing, but then she married the count.”
Rodrigo was always falling in love and always on the verge of marrying, but the women with whom he was always falling in love always ended up marrying counts or barons or dukes or earls-anyone besides Rodrigo. He maintained that he was unlucky at love. Stephano wondered, not for the first time, if his friend was unlucky or remarkably adroit.
The Countess de Marjolaine had a suite of rooms in one wing of the palace. Although she was no longer the king’s mistress, the countess remained King Alaric’s most trusted adviser and confidante. She wielded great power and was respected and flattered, hated and feared.
The countess’ suite was furnished with exquisite taste and every luxury, all paid for by herself. She was one of the wealthiest landowners in the kingdom and made it a point of pride to never accept money from His Majesty or anyone else. Stephano and Rodrigo were admitted to the countess’ antechamber by a footman wearing a royal blue velvet coat, lace, satin, and silk stockings. Petitioners and favor-seekers sat on curved divans and chairs, decorated with the countess’ bumblebee, waiting their turn to be ushered into her presence. Two noblemen, whom Stephano did not recognize, lounged in a corner, exchanging idle gossip. They stopped their talk long enough to
