Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
And why shouldn’t he be?
This morning, he was a fleeing king without a kingdom.
Now one waits for him to claim it.
“What are those?” Elisaf points to the winged creatures as we ride beneath them.
“The nymphs, based on one depiction the seers have seen.”
“One depiction?” His eyes narrow. “And what would the other depictions look like?”
Gesine studies the pointed ears and spiked shoulders. “Not quite as friendly.”
“She calls this friendly,” Jarek mutters, urging his horse up the path.
“It’s as if they built it yesterday.” Zander smooths a fingertip across a bust to test for dust. It comes back clean.
Our footsteps echo as we stroll through the castle’s great hall, past a grand water fountain with another pair of the winged creatures at its center, through elegant room after elegant room, their ceilings painted in murals that will surely tell of Ulysede’s history, when we have time to study them.
“I believe that is a library.” Elisaf points to a room with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books.
“The knowledge that must wait within those walls.” Gesine’s path veers toward it.
“You may spend the balance of your days buried in books if you so choose, after we find the throne room.” Zander eyes the caster. He didn’t trust her wholly before, but he trusts her even less now.
“Of course, Your Highness.” She swerves to rejoin us.
The throne room isn’t so much a room, we discover, pushing through a set of grand doors to find ourselves outside. Trees with weeping branches and gnarly roots shelter the area, and vines bursting with tiny rose blossoms crawl across the castle’s exterior, their floral perfume heady in the air. It’s wild and unkempt and screams of age—so contrary to the rest of Ulysede.
And in the center is a pavilion of black stone. Thorny rose vines and ivy cling to the four carved pillars, each representing a fate. Beyond, the throne sits.
“I will check the perimeter.” Jarek stalks toward dark corners, blades in hands, searching for threats.
“Your Highness.” Elisaf nods upward.
We all follow his direction to see the two moons hanging in the sky. Both are crescents, though the lower, brighter one is approaching full.
“How are we seeing the blood moon when it is not Hudem?” Zander asks what is surely on everyone’s mind.
Gesine shrugs, unable to offer a suggestion as she moves for the sanctum.
“This reminds me of the nymphaeum.” There is no wall at the back closing off the area, but the statues of the fates are nearly identical in size and design, and a simple stone block sits in the center. Above is a similar circular opening in the pavilion’s roof. I’ll bet the full blood moon’s light shines down over this altar like the one in Cirilea.
“Does that altar have engravings on it like this?” Gesine drags her finger along the stone’s surface.
Zander shakes his head. “That altar is smooth.”
I slide my finger over a letter. No childish laughter responds. “This isn’t like the writing on the nymphaeum door.” Or the wall outside.
Gesine cocks her head to study it closer. “I have seen this alphabet before, in the tome we discovered in Shadowhelm.”
“Can you read it?” Zander asks.
“It will require effort, as I am not as proficient as some of Mordain’s scribe sisters, but I might be capable. Give me a moment to try.”
I wander to the dais while Gesine tries to decipher the script. There’s only one throne, assembled from polished metals and stark-white branches and vines, its back soaring at least ten feet high. More of the same language scrawls along its jagged top rail.
“Odd to have it located here, is it not?” Zander has followed me over and now peers around us. “There is nowhere convenient for a gathering.”
“This is all odd, if you ask me.”
On the forest-green velvet seat is a crown that looks more like a weapon, its bony silver spikes like a skeletal hand.
And it’s waiting.
“Care to claim your throne, Your Highness?” I gesture dramatically.
Zander smirks as he closes in, collecting the crown, studying it. His amusement fades, replaced by a somber expression. “I already have a throne, whether or not Atticus agrees. But this city beyond reach for millennia has opened on a whim for you, Romeria. It is as if it was expecting you all this time.”
“It has been.” Gesine’s nervous excitement radiates off her as she climbs the steps from the sanctum. “Nymph power forged Ulysede tens of thousands of years ago, a place of refuge within this world. When they saw they had earned the fates’ wrath, the nymphs froze and sealed this city, only to open again when the queen for all arrives.”
My heart races. “‘The queen for all’? It says that?”
“It does. Do you understand what this means?” Gesine rushes her words. “The prophecy is real, and you are at its heart.”
“Which prophecy?” She has described so many.