Page 63 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“I’ll make do.” Tiernan’s yellow eyes glinted dangerously under his hood.
“The Nightmare stays,” Ferrin said. “She’ll be useful if thingsdogo sideways. Now stay close, and for the love of the Three Magicians, behave.”
He strode around the corner, and Tiernan shot me a dirty look as he followed.
My irritation with Tiernan dissipated as we turned. The street was wider here, offering a clear view of the mansion that sat on the hill at the center of the city. The monument looked more like a steam plant than a mansion, and it towered over the surrounding buildings. Pipes and plumes broke up copper walls that reflected the dusky blue glow of cascading Skal. The arching windows of the mansion glowed a burnt red, and the moat that segregated the building from the rest of the city mirrored the color. Steam hissed from pipes and vents, giving the illusion that the Grand Baron’s mansion was alive.
“Where’d they get all that Skal?” I hissed, watching the liquid pour from the sides of the edifice.
“There are seven known major Skalsprings across Skalterra,” Ferrin explained without looking back. “Each one is owned and protected by one of the Seven Provinces. The locations of six of those springs are kept secret by those who protect them. Only the Grand Barony was bold enough to set their capital building right on top of theirs.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because no one is dumb enough to steal from the Grand Barony,” Tiernan grunted. “Except you, apparently.”
The stolen Skal churned in my stomach as the mansion loomed overhead, and Ferrin stopped at the edge of the moat. Across the water, a guard in a window nodded, and steam hissed as metal creaked. The mansion wall directly ahead unlatched from the side of the building. Gears cranked, chains clanged, and Skal whistled as the drawbridge lowered to greet us.
The cobblestone underfoot quaked with the weight of the bridge slamming against the road. Ferrin strode forward, and Tiernan rushed to be the first to follow him, still holding Fana at his side. Their footsteps echoed against the metal walkway.
“Come on, Quillguard.” Orla winked at me as she used my new alias. “This makes us pretend cousins, doesn’t it?”
“Only if you don’t announce it to the entire Barony, my niece,” Ferrin murmured under his breath before flashing an assured grin at the blank-faced guards who watched us from the overhead walkway.
“Nightmares?” I gave a half-skip to catch up to Ferrin.
“Probably. The Baron’s known to employ a mix.” He put a reassuring hand between my shoulders and guided me into the entry hall of the Baron’s mansion. “And there will be plenty more.”
Skal cascaded down the walls on either side of us, sounding more like falling sand than water. The slippery hiss echoed through the high-ceilinged chamber, and gears groaned as the drawbridge returned into its raised position. It grated into place, leaving us in the dim blue light of the falling Skal. The only way was forward, up steep steps of stone that led to open doors.
“Quillguard,” I practiced in a whisper. “And I’m from the Second Sentinel.”
“Good work,” Ferrin said, “but most people don’t go around mumbling their titles and hometowns under their breath.”
“Most people aren’t constructs of dirt and magic.” Even if there had been guards in the hall, they would have struggled to hear me over the echo of the waterfalling Skal.
“Everybody ready?” Ferrin stopped at the top step, and Orla and Tiernan snapped into position on either side of Fana. “Guard our backs, Wren.”
I fell back past the others. Fana’s brown eyes were wide under her hood, and I gave her a reassuring smile. Ferrin surveyed us over his shoulder, gulped, and led the way into the grand chamber.
A single waterfall of Skal rushed down the far wall like a curtain before slipping down the steps of a raised dais in streams and collecting in glowing basins that lined the throne room.
And “throne room” was the best descriptor I could come up with. At the top of the dais, in front of the waterfall, a woman sat in a massive chair made of elaborately twisted metal. Leather trousers hugged every curve of her legs and hips, which were made to look even curvier by the black corset that cinched her waist. She shook back the wide sleeves of her white blouse so she could better pin back her long ringlets of bright red hair.
Her efforts did little to hold the curls, and most of them sprung back into place around the goggles atop her head, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stood up from the throne to survey us through the monocle that sat wedged between her brow and cheek.
“I was getting nervous for your friend, Ferrin.” Her voice rang out despite the hissing of the falling Skal behind her. “I thought maybe you’d thought better of your efforts here and turned tail.”
“I’d never do you the disservice of leaving Galahad in your care.” Ferrin may have had his back to me, but I could tell by his tone that he was flashing the woman a grin.
I’d been too busy staring at the woman and her throne room to notice Galahad seated on the bottom step of the dais. A mammoth of a man stood over him, keeping him seated with a large hand planted firmly on top of Galahad’s head. The man’s muscles strained against leather armor, and dark tattoos stood out down one arm. He ruffled Galahad’s silver hair when he caught me staring, and Galahad scowled.
The woman signaled for Ferrin to step aside, and he obeyed with the slightest hint of a hesitation. Fana hunched her shoulders under the woman’s ice-blue stare.
“Fana, the Divine Sovereign Fireld,” Ferrin said, “meet Tamora Alarbus, Baron of the Grand Barony.”
“And she’s the last one?” Tamora’s lips pulled into a half-smile, and she adjusted her monocle. The high heels of her black leather boots clicked against each slate step of the dais as she descended. Up close, I could see the smattering of freckles that splashed across her flawless porcelain skin.
“The last Sovereign,” Ferrin confirmed.
