Page 44 of A War Apart

“It sounds amazing.”

She winked. “Once Lady Heli is settled in, I’ll give you a tour.”

The retinue passed through the gates, and the city rose up before us, narrow streets bustling with people. Vendors hawked their wares, brightly colored Drakra-woven tapestries or fragrant fish pirozhki.

Rather than going down that road, we turned sharply left, onto a wide but comparatively empty road that followed the path of the city wall.

“Where are we going?” I asked Izolda, turning to look back at the busy streets.

“The roads are too narrow for us to get through that way. Big enough to ride if you have to, but only single file. This is the only road to the palace that fits wagons. Guess what they call it?” She grinned.“Telezhnaya Doroga.Wagon Road. Original, right?”

I laughed. “But how does everyone get around? I mean, how do they move things to market and such?”

“Hand carts, mostly. The nobles all ride sedan chairs, if you can believe it.” She rolled her eyes. “Thankfully, the baroness doesn’t usually leave the palace while we’re at court. Sedans are such a pain.”

We rounded a corner, and I gasped. The palace ahead of us dwarfed the city below it. The onion-shaped domes of the towers were striped in brilliant blue and red, topped with gold points that glinted in the sun. Two domes reached above the rest, opposite each other and fully gilded. They looked like something from the stories my father used to tell me, like at any moment a bird made of fire might swoop down and perch on top of one of those golden domes, or a sorcerer might come to a window and call down thunder from the sky, turning the brilliant day into darkest night.

“What did I tell you?” Izolda said.

“Prophet’s Balls!” I looked at her smug, bloodless face, my eyes wide. “I see what you mean.”

A second wall separated the palace from the rest of the city. We rode through the gate into an opulent courtyard of white marble. In the center stood a statue of the Prophet, staff raised high in blessing over Tsar Fima, the founder of the country and ancestor of Miroslav and Borislav. Blood poured from the staff onto the legendary tsar, forming a pool around the feet of the statues. I recoiled.

“It’s not real blood,” Izolda said, low enough that only I could hear. “Just an enchantment that Miroslav did to the water. Gross, huh?”

Before I could respond, she climbed off her horse to attend to the baroness, who was descending from her carriage. I looked back at the fountain, my skin crawling. Real blood or not, it was disgusting. So much for first impressions.

“Sofia!” The baroness’s voice drew my attention from the gruesome image. I hurried to her. “The new seamstress,” Lady Heli said to a nearby servant, waving a hand at me.

“If you’ll follow me, miss, I’ll show you to your quarters. Your luggage will be brought later.” The man turned on his heel and walked off.

I grabbed my saddle pack and rushed after him. He didn’t wait to see if I followed, and I didn’t have time to take in the sights as we made our way through the palace grounds. I had a vague impression of colorful buildings, a large glass structure that might have been a greenhouse, and a lush green courtyard before we reached the much humbler building that housed the trade workers, those who worked in the palace but weren’t assigned to any particular noble. He led me into the building and down a dimly lit hall, stopping at the end.

“This will be your room, miss. If you need anything, the trade steward’s quarters are down the hall and to your left.” He gave a curt bow and left me alone.

The room I’d been assigned was comfortably large. Long tables lined the walls, and a wide window let in plenty of natural light. All that light would be good for work, I noted, but it would come with the consequence of making a frigid workspace through the winter. The room was already cold, thought not unbearably so, but the weather was far from its coldest of the season, and winter was still a couple weeks away. I glanced at the small fireplace. I would have to see what the daily firewood allowance was. Likely not enough to heat the room all day.

The fireplace was unlit, and I could see through it to another room. I went through the door and found a small bedroom with no windows. It was sparsely furnished, with a simple bed and a desk, but there were posts to hang curtains around the bed. This room, at least, would be warmer than the other.

“Fia? You here?” Izolda’s voice came from the workroom.

“In here.”

She poked her head in and whistled. “Nice rooms.”

“You’re done early.” I cocked my head. “The baroness didn’t need you?”

“Nah. She wanted to rest, and since no one’s brought up our luggage yet, there wasn’t anything for me to do. Care for a tour?”

“Sure.” I tossed my pack on the bed and followed Izolda out of the room.

She waved a hand around as we walked out of the building. “These are the gardens.”

“How are they still so green?” It was too late in the year for the amount of fresh growth I saw as we passed.

“If you think they’re green now, you ought to see them in the summer. As to how, it’s all done by Blood Bastards. Miroslav has a whole team of them dedicated just to the upkeep of the grounds. His uncle, Tsar Vyacheslav’s illegitimate half-brother, leads them up. They make potions to extend the growing season in the gardens, prevent the stones around the palace fromweathering—they even invented a new type of golden paint, one that glints even when the sun isn’t out. That’s what’s covering the towers.” She jerked her chin toward the gilded towers above us. “But this is nothing. What I really want to show you is the throne room.”

We entered the main palace through a side door and turned down a bright hallway. Windows lined one wall, giving a view of the courtyard I’d seen when we first arrived. I caught a glimpse of the bloody fountain and shuddered, turning away from the windows. The other walls were covered with rich tapestries, depicting religious and secular scenes.

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