Page 113 of The Shadowed Oracle
With the ten-foot-tall door still open, a gust of air hit Ingrid, carrying strong, rich floral perfume, fruity spirits, smoky fire and herb-seasoned meats. She salivated at the food and winced at the harsh perfume simultaneously. Then, standing tall on her toes, she caught a glimpse of the lounging crowd scattered on either side of the central aisle leading to the monarchal chair.
Where Maradenn’s royal meeting quarters had been like a cathedral, with its vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows, waving banners and quiet decorum, Enitha’s court was more like a grandiose outdoor festival. Parties of ten or more sat on low circular sofas dressed in flowy whites and beiges to accommodate the slightly warmer weather blowing in from the open stone structure surrounding them. Only the armored guards looked to be sober.
The door closed before Ingrid could see more, but not five minutes later, Gerhardt pushed it back open with a grunt and escorted the family out with more hurried gestures of his hands.The child was still in tears, the mother silent, and the father had a look of shock on his now pale face.
“May the Mother hold you in this trying time,” Gerhardt sneered. “Bless you!” His kindness quickly faded as the three distraught subjects faded out of his view.
“What an ignoble trio,” he said, pointedly turning to the world-walkers. “They come to ask for special treatment, yet never bring any gifts to lighten the burden of her majesty.” He pointed to the chest of jewels and trinkets Raidinn was pushing on a four-wheeled cart. “Don’t misunderstand. You’ll certainly catch her attention with those. But it hardly has to be a treasure. Anything at all. A sample from their crop. Anything!”
All of Dean, Ingrid and Raidinn stumbled with a response, so Tyla cut in with another inspired performance. “Rabble tend to be untutored in such things. They expect us to take pity, I’m sure.”
The lord of treasury lit up at that. “Yes, yes, that does fit the pattern.” He fiddled with his pin, thinking. “Grisly business I’ve found myself in. How I was unlucky enough to be assigned to reception on public court days, only the Mother knows.”
One of the guards bristled behind, the steel of his armor clanging.
“Not all bad, though,” Gerhardt caught himself. “It is a reprieve taking visitors such as yourselves. Oh! The tales I hear from merchants! Of their travels. I would love to see the East someday, the shores of Seerside! And I’ve heard the shops in Airdenn are all made of glass! What a picture that must be!”
Dean cleared his throat, preparing to test out his put-on accent. “I’m sure you have some tales yourself?” He looked to the raucous noise coming from behind the door, smiling suggestively. “I’m told this court is never wanting for entertainment.”
“Exaggeration, I’m sure. We’re like any kingdom. Work greatly outweighs leisure.” Gerhardt’s eyebrows shot up in a curious V-shape. “Speaking of, let us delay no longer. The quicker we agree on price, the quicker we can get to those tales from...” He turned, resting his hand on the door but not moving to open it. “Forgive me, where was it you’re from again?”
Ingrid couldn’t help but stiffen.
“All over, really. My sister and I—” Dean gestured to Ingrid, following Callinora’s plan. Due to Enitha’s unrivalled jealousy, she thought it best to play two sets of siblings. “We are from Danneslaw, originally. But now we reside in the north of Pardos.”
“Pardos, you say? Well, that explains the accent escaping me, then. How fascinating. We rarely host anyone hailing from further than Banebrook.” He put a finger to his lips. “As you might’ve guessed by my rather unprofessional excitement.”
“Nonsense,” Tyla said with a click of her tongue. “You’ve given us such a lovely welcome.”
The lord of treasury clapped his hands together. His eyes brightened as he beheld Tyla, whom he seemed to shower with curious glances since her agreeable comment about the low-born. “You’re too kind,” he said with a slight bow to her. “And may I ask, are you also Pardosians?"
“Yes,” Tyla confirmed, lightly tapping her host’s forearm before gesturing to Raidinn. “Both of us. Born and bred.”
“Ahh! Your betrothed?” Gerhardt’s eyes searched her, not so much as peeking at Raidinn.
“Brother,” the twins grunted simultaneously.
Gerhardt delighted in this, licking his lips in an unsightly way that must’ve been a tic of his. “How picturesque. Family business takes on new meaning with you four, I see. Lovely! Her majesty will certainly enjoy your… company.” There was a salaciousness in his smirk that boded well for the mission, and Callinora’s intelas a whole, but Ingrid couldn’t help but feel another twinge of unease.
With a lean, Gerhardt swung the door open, extending a welcoming arm and bowing again as the foursome shuffled in past the guards and made the long walk down the center aisle, passing the crowd that now seemed twice the size as when Ingrid had first glimpsed it.
Servants were scantily clad in nothing but silver loincloths and bejeweled masks, holding serving dishes full of wine and fresh produce. High members of the court pawed at them, as well as each other, while other lords and ladies were too far gone from drink (or something else) to sit upright.
The noise of it hummed endlessly. Chatter layered on top of growls of delight and demands for more drink. Ingrid gawked and caught herself in time to avoid the six eyes of a trio locked in the throes of passion. A few expletive remarks were even hurled at them as they approached the throne, commenting on both the females’ and the males’ appearance.
Then, clear and controlling, a distant shout silenced everything.
“Come, come! Welcome!” the voice continued bellowing.
It was a husky cadence, yet feminine in its melody. The owner of the voice was still too far away to make out, so the four “merchants” walked on, inching closer to the two ivory pillars encasing the steps to the dais.
Four seats were neighboring the massive stone throne at the center, all of them full. Sitting in an intimidating row were three men, all very youthful in appearance, and one woman, older but no less vibrant. Below them were more masked servants splayed about, zigzagging up the staircase.
And in the middle of it all, sat Enitha, usurper Queen of the Isles, Magus conqueror, and subject of the newly crowned High King of Ealis.
She wore a white flounced gown that extended well past the floor, trickling like flowing water down the high seat she sat atop. Her neck was completely wrapped in sapphires and silver, and she wore one large, blindingly bright diamond ring on her pinky.
She wasn’t the hardened dictator Ingrid had pictured. Nor was she an embittered woman with fire and malice in her eyes. She was plain, unremarkable, and incredibly young. Ingrid had read many accounts of Viator aging in various ways—some frozen in their early twenties for hundreds of years, while others aging more like humans until they reached a healthy and radiant forty-five. But Enitha, she appeared to be no older than eighteen: too-smooth complexion, lustrous golden hair, and long lashes fanning over intense lime green eyes.
