by Jade Mere
At one point, Gale said something about the castle. Tahki’s ears perked up. He inquired about what castle they’d be staying at—he knew all the castles and palaces and cathedrals of Vatolokít and could reproduce most of the exteriors from memory—but Gale didn’t say and told him not to ask questions. She said she’d tell him more once they arrived and the carriage driver had gone.
They rode in silence for another two hours, which gave him lots of time to imagine what the project could be. Maybe at some point he’d meet the queen. He still hadn’t decided if he feared or yearned for a face-to-face encounter with the most powerful ruler in the world.
Tahki rubbed his wrist, wiggled his shoulders from side to side, rolled his head until the bones in his neck cracked a little.
“Stop fidgeting,” Rye mumbled. It was the first thing he’d said since the fair. He hadn’t even said hello when he saw him in the carriage, or apologized for his behavior, or explained what being a superior meant on a project like this. Tahki also noticed Gale had introduced him only as Rye, no last name. Then again, she hadn’t told Rye the fake last name Tahki had entered the competition under. Maybe last names weren’t as important here as they were back home. In Dhaulen’aii, your last name held your status, your heritage. It told everyone everything they needed to know about you. But there was no sense in worrying about it, because for the first time in his life, he actually had someone he could talk to about architecture.
“What did you think about the results?” Tahki said.
Rye opened one eye. “What?”
“At the fair. What did you think of the winners?”
Rye gave a stiff shrug. “I trust Gale’s judgment.”
“But did you take a good look at first place? The girl wasn’t exactly top of her game. I mean, all she did was take an existing cathedral and add a few hallways and balconies.”
“Huhn,” Rye mumbled and shut his eye.
Tahki didn’t want to let the conversation die. “I think Gale gave her first out of pity.”
“Pity?”
“She was from the slums. It’s not her fault she was born in a lower class, but those kinds of people just don’t receive a proper education. You don’t hear about any famous architects ever growing up in the lower cities.” Tahki remembered the way the redhead had laughed at him. “Those kinds of people don’t ever make it far in life.”
Rye opened both eyes and stared at him. “You’re a moron.”
Tahki blinked. “What?”
“Gale,” Rye said. “Switch places with me.”
Gale peeked at him from under a wrinkled eyelid and then stuck her head out the window and told the carriage driver to stop. They stretched their legs and swapped places.
“What did I do?” Tahki asked Gale when they started on their way again.
Gale smirked. “Guess where Rye grew up.”
“Where he grew up?” Tahki glanced at Rye. He had his eyes shut again, his head resting against the window. “The lower cities.”
Gale nodded. “Maybe next time, tuck that entitled attitude away when you’re trying to make friends.”
He hadn’t meant to offend anyone and knew he should apologize. But every time the words edged to the tip of his tongue, he pushed them back. They sounded needy and desperate in his mind, but mostly, they sounded insincere.
Instead of making peace, Tahki pressed his forehead against the glass window and watched the hills speed by.
THE EMERALD hills turned into golden wheat fields, and the fields turned into mountains. The mountains shrank, the ground leveled, and pale boulders the size of houses appeared beside the dark dirt road. Tahki didn’t remember when the fog moved in, but soon after, he could see nothing but a bleak white mist out his window. The fog made the world seem smaller, more condensed. Like nothing lay beyond. Like no seasons touched this place. Not sun or snow, just an endless fog.
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 Swikovand, this castle looked slender. More vertical than horizontal, like if you sat at the highest point of the highest spire, you could touch the moon.
The light in the sky faded, and as it grew dim, Tahki saw the faintest bit of red sun reflect through the low clouds and bounce off the walls. He’d never seen a castle shine before. It frustrated him that he couldn’t identify the material. The black spires looked thin and sharp enough to prick open the sky. He counted seven spires in total. The castle, perched on a cliff’s edge, looked as though it had been built over a waterfall. He hoped it hadn’t.
Something about the stark silhouette held him. His eyes couldn’t break away. Suddenly, he felt his body jerk back, and he saw Rye holding on to his arm so tight it pinched his skin.
“Let go,” Tahki said.
Rye appeared annoyed. “Watch where you’re going.”
Tahki pinched his brow and then glanced to his left. His toes almost touched the edge of the cliff. Another step and he would have gone over. He stumbled backward into Rye. Rye steadied him and then pushed him away.
“You won’t last long here if you’re daydreaming all the time,” Rye said.
Tahki should have said thanks, but Rye would probably roll his eyes and call him a moron again.
He steered away from the cliff and made sure to focus on where his feet landed.
GALE MADE to part ways with them before they reached the castle.
“You don’t live in the castle?” Tahki asked.
“No, I don’t live in the castle.”
“Why not?”
She jabbed one bony finger into his chest. “Explaining myself to you is not something I need to do.”
Before she shuffled away, Rye snatched her sleeve. “Are you sure about this?” he asked her.
“You have to trust me,” she said.
Rye let her go. “If you say so.” And then she was gone.
Tahki followed as Rye led the way. “Is she going to be all right?”
“Gale is the last person in Vatolokít you need to worry about.”
“But where will she go?”
“She lives below the cliff in a small home she built herself,” Rye said. “She says the castle gets too drafty. And she needs her own space.”
“What did she mean when she said, ‘You have to trust me’?”
“We’d get there faster if you didn’t ask so many questions.” Then after a moment, he said, “She and I had a disagreement.”
“Over what?”
“You.”
Tahki let out an indignant huff. “Gods, what did I do?”
Rye turned toward him. He gave him the same kind of pointed look as before, and Tahki wondered if he’d said something wrong.
“She thought you’d be good for this job.” Rye faced the path ahead. “I didn’t.”
At that, Tahki realized nothing he could say or do would get Rye to like him, so there was no point in trying.
When they reached the castle, he noticed a river flowing beside and beneath it. If he knew his geography right, that river was called the Misty River. It ran all the way from the Calaridian Sea to the other side of the continent, and it looked like the castle had been built overtop of it. Water fell over the edge of the cliff. A waterwheel had been built beside the castle over the river. Why anyone would want their home on top of a river, on top of a waterfall, was beyond him.
He took a deep breath and tried not to let his anxiety show. Rye already seemed to think so little of him. He didn’t need to know how terrified Tahki was of drowning.
The entryway arched fifteen feet above his head. Two solid doors made of dark wood rose before him. The light had nearly gone now, and no candles burned inside. Outside, someone had crumpled lightning roots into a ball and stuck them in a lantern. They flickered blue and sputtered as a breeze rattled the lantern.
Motion inside caught Tahki’s eye. He craned his head so far back the skin on his neck pinched. Something moved behind one of the high windows. Tahki squinted, and that’s when he saw her. The palest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The people of Vatolokít were fair-skinned, but he still hadn’t seen anyone who compared to her. She looked drained of blood, her face gaunt. Though he couldn’t see her eyes, he swore she looked directly at him.
He shuddered as Rye yanked the door opened. They stepped inside. He could smell a fire burning somewhere, but cool drafts slid along the white marble floor, keeping the inside chilly. Rye stretched his arms, the first attempt at relaxation Tahki’d seen.
Stepping inside the castle felt like stepping inside the belly of a whale. Though spacious, the walls somehow seemed to press in around him, the high windows watching through half-lidded eyes, as though the castle might try to digest him if he stood in one place too long. A sharp scent hit his nose, like someone had burned coffee. The air, too, tasted thick, like it had sat too long undisturbed.
He shook the feelings away and slid his hand along one glassy wall, his fingers massaging the hard surface.
“Obsidian?” Tahki said. “That’s a strange choice.” The volcanic glasslike stone was used in many northern countries for jewelry and statues, but never for buildings.
“It’s mixed with other minerals,” Rye said.
“You can’t mix obsidian. It’s too fragile.”
Rye raised an eyebrow. “You know best.”
Tahki felt like rolling his eyes. Instead, he studied the room they’d entered. He couldn’t see the ceiling but imagined it came to a point where the spires rose. Black columns held up the second floor. A row of doors stood to the left. In the center, a wide staircase led to the next floor. The walls were black, the floors white. Not so much as a colored vase to brighten the entryway.
Tahki looked up and noticed a circular room hung on the third floor, over the center of the castle. An odd design choice, but not as odd as the lack of castle paraphernalia. Tahki didn’t see a single painting on the walls. There were no rugs or chairs or tables. No draperies over the windows, no flowers to liven the place. There was nothing to show that anyone lived here, and again, a feeling of isolation seized him. He felt out of place, not welcomed.
A list of questions ran through Tahki’s mind, but before he could ask them, he heard footsteps tapping on the stairs.
“You’re late,” said a young man. “I was beginning to think you’d finally had enough of me and ran away to the capital.”
Tahki watched the man glide toward them. His movements were precise, like he planned every step before he took it. He looked about the same age as Rye. His golden hair hung in wispy locks, parted to th
e left side, a close cut on the back and sides. He wore white and royal blue clothing trimmed in gold and strode over to them with fluid motions. He studied Tahki the same way a horse breeder might assess the worth of a broodmare, and suddenly Tahki realized how shabby he must look in comparison to this well-dressed and, if he was being honest with himself, alarmingly handsome stranger.
When the young man approached, he swung his right arm over Rye’s neck and drew him in for a hug. Tahki thought Rye would resist. The intimate greeting seemed in such contrast with his stoic demeanor. But to Tahki’s surprise, Rye embraced him.
“This is Dyraien,” Rye said when they broke apart. “Dyraien, this is Gale’s solution, Tahki.”
Tahki had never been introduced as a solution. The way Rye said it, though, made him sound less like a solution and more like a problem.
“Nice to meet you,” Tahki said. He extended a hand, because it was the formal Vatolok greeting.
Rye cleared his throat. “I mean, this is Prince Dyraien Királye.”
Tahki retracted his hand. Prince Dyraien. He should have recognized the name, and suddenly forgot how to show respect to a Vatolok prince. Should he bow? Touch foreheads? Offer him some kind of gift?
Dyraien gave him a gorgeous, princely smile. Tahki wanted to smile back, but he didn’t trust himself. He was too tired. A smile might come off like a scowl, and he’d probably already insulted him.
“I’m sorry, Your… Highness. I didn’t recognize you,” Tahki said. When princes and princesses would visit the palace, he’d always stood as their equal, thanks to his father’s reputation. He never had to worry about being disrespectful. Now he would have to tread with caution.
“Don’t let Rye fool you,” Dyraien said. “He’s only jealous he won’t get all my attention now.”
Rye clicked his tongue and shook his head.