The wooden wheels popped over small rocks in the road as the carriage tipped down a hill. Tahki planted his feet firm on the floor to keep himself from falling forward.
Rye and Gale spoke about fishing, a subject Tahki knew nothing about. Not that he’d try to join if he did. Rye hadn’t looked at him since he woke up thirty minutes ago. Gale said something about a boat she’d found for sale, and this made Rye smile. Tahki thought a smile wouldn’t fit Rye’s face, but he looked even more attractive when he smiled.
Tahki wished he knew what to say to make things right. These people worked for Queen Genevi. He wanted them to like him, to accept him. He didn’t want Rye to think he was a snob, but maybe he was. Back home, had he mentioned the slum girl to the empress’s daughter or to the son of a visiting duke, they would have laughed and agreed with him. But now he felt foolish and petty. Outside of what he’d read in the papers and gossip from merchants, he really knew nothing about the lower cities of Vatolokít.
The carriage leveled out and slowed.
Gale sat forward in her seat. “Finally. Any longer and my bladder would have popped like a gutted fish.”
Tahki cringed and peered out the window. The fog had turned into a low layer of clouds. He couldn’t see any town on the horizon. Unlike the capital city, which had burst with energy and life, this place looked desolate. Tufts of brown grass grew in pale dirt. They hadn’t passed a single town or farm or stray house for miles. Cliffs towered on one side, and on the other, nothing but a flat horizon. If he died out here, would anyone know? The overwhelming sense of isolation drew a shudder from him.
The carriage stopped. Tahki heard rushing water—a river, maybe. Rye swung the door open and jumped down. Gale followed, and then Tahki. His feet sunk a little into the ground. What he thought was pale dirt turned out to be sand. Not like the red sands back home but wet white beach sand. He peered toward the horizon. They stood below bleached cliffs. The sand field stretched as far as Tahki could see until it dissolved into the gray sky. Rain hovered on the horizon, but none fell.
Someone threw his bag at his feet. He turned and saw Rye striding away. The carriage driver shut the doors and drove off, leaving them stranded.
“Let’s go,” Rye said.
Tahki scooped up his bag. “Go where? There’s nothing here.”
Rye didn’t answer. He walked toward the cliffs.
“Security measure,” Gale told him. “We can’t have the carriage driver knowing our location. From here, we hike.”
“How far is it?” Tahki said.
“Five miles.”
Gale said five miles like it was nothing more than a light morning walk. Tahki’s legs nearly collapsed at the thought. He hadn’t gotten good sleep in weeks or eaten a proper meal. He must have looked dismayed because Gale said, “You’ll survive.”
Gale led the way up a winding path, and when they reached the top of the cliff, they headed east. Tahki panted and tried to catch his breath, but a few minutes after reaching the top, he started to fall behind. Gale and Rye grew smaller on the horizon. Tahki tried to jog to catch up, but his legs refused. He was too tired. All his limbs begged him to rest, to lie down on the doughy ground, cover himself in a blanket of cool sand, and sleep.
Then he heard Rye’s voice and saw they had stopped. When he caught up, Rye was hunched in the dirt, fiddling with his bag.
“What’s the holdup?” Gale said to Rye as Tahki approached.
“Nothing,” Rye said. “I thought I left my compass in the carriage. But I found it here.” He threw his bag over his shoulder. Gale gave him a strange look. Rye’s compass was hanging on the side of his bag. The clunky silver disk was the size of a large man’s fist. Tahki could see it a mile away. He wondered if Rye had stopped intentionally to allow him to catch up.
He brushed the thought away. Rye clearly didn’t like him. They’d probably gossiped about him after he’d fallen behind, or made fun of him. Someone his age unable to keep up with a seventy-year-old? What a laugh.
When they set off again, he noticed Rye had lost a little of his rigid exterior. He slouched, which slowed the pace, and Tahki was able to stay in step with them this time.
TAHKI HAD seen castles before. Swikovand was full of them. They were as common a sight as temples were in Dhaulen’aii. He knew what to expect from a castle: massive gray stone structures with drawbridges, towers, and moats. Some had chapels and stockades, pinnacles and keeps. Most countries didn’t build castles anymore because they just weren’t practical.
He’d drawn at least a hundred castle designs out of books and from imagination, for learning purposes. They weren’t his favorite to draw, but they were easy, predictable, malleable. Nothing about a castle ever surprised him.
So it was a great shock to him when he first saw the black spires crest the horizon, and he realized he couldn’t identify them. None of his books contained anything similar. Even from a distance, there was something about the black exterior that struck him as odd.
Not odd. Foreboding.
The sky and sand and pale rocks were so white the castle felt like a dark stain on the land. Looking at it made his skin itch, though no amount of scratching seemed to satisfy the urge. Tahki felt ridiculous for thinking it. It was just another castle. He’d never disliked a castle before. After he’d rested and eaten and washed, he’d feel better about it. The interior probably wasn’t as dreary.
It was another twenty minutes before they came close enough for him to get a good look. Unlike the clunky rock castles of
