When they joined the main road they found it lined with curious onlookers and were forced to walk along the centre, which sent a chill through Rielle as unpleasant memories returned of her expulsion from Fyre. They’re not hostile, she told herself as she found herself looking for rotting fruit and vegetables in their hands. But of course, all vegetables, rotten and wholesome, had been discarded or eaten some time ago.
Rielle had visited the palace four times in the last year, but never before then. She’d accompanied Grasch as he had delivered tapestries to the king and other powerful Schpetans. He always brought some of the weavers who had worked on the piece with them, instructing them in the protocols governing how makers should deal with their rich customers.
A courtyard opened before the elaborately carved fa?ade of the building. It was the largest space within the castle walls, and today it was crowded. Soldiers and townsfolk were staring intently at a cart standing before the palace doors–or rather, at a group of men standing next to it. Some were shouting angrily, waving their arms as if to sweep the men away from the palace. Looking closer, Rielle noticed empty scabbards, and gashes in their coats where badges of rank might have once been stitched. The men were from the Usurper’s army.
What are they doing here?
A priest stood before the palace door, arms spread in a gesture of command and pacification. He and the soldiers were enough of a distraction to the crowd of onlookers that only when Rielle and Sa-Mica had drawn close to the group did someone notice them. A shout went up from the crowd, and faces turned towards the strange priest in the blue robes. The clamour immediately dropped to a hushed murmur. Looking around to see what had effected the change, the soldiers stared at Sa-Mica, at first in wonder, then recognition.
“We only wish to serve the Angel,” one of the enemy soldiers declared loudly, taking advantage of the sudden quiet.
The priest at the palace door nodded. “As do we all. I have spoken to the Angel. He thanks you for your gift and bids you distribute your offering among the people of Doum. I will stay to maintain order.”
The soldiers bowed and turned back to the cart. As Sa-Mica and Rielle passed they began to uncover it. Rielle glimpsed sacks of grain, barrels of wine and oil, and even boxes of fruit. All most likely plundered from the land around Doum anyway. The last she saw of the scene was the crowd, quick to forgive, hurrying forward and the priest striding to meet them.
They entered a long corridor, empty but for guards standing at regular intervals.
“The man you brought to the city,” Rielle said, looking at Sa-Mica. “Was that the Usurper?”
Sa-Mica nodded.
“And the Usurper’s army?”
“Gone. Except those brave souls back there who sought to follow Valhan.” He sighed. “It happened everywhere we travelled. Valhan was always ordering them to return to their homes and lives. If he had not, I suspect we’d have arrived with an army of our own.”
“Would that have been a bad thing?”
He looked at her and grimaced. “An army needs feeding and organising. It attracts those who would profit from and exploit it.”
“And it’s not like he needs protecting,” she added. So what had brought him here? Surely his sole reason was not to find her.
I’ll find out soon enough. Unless he keeps me as mystified as he has kept Sa-Mica. As they neared the end of the corridor her stomach fluttered. She was more nervous than the first time she had met him, but she’d had no idea then who and what she was about to encounter. Was it like this for Sa-Mica every time he was in the Angel’s presence, or had he grown used to it?
As they stepped out of the corridor, though an archway into a room many times the size of all the weavers’ quarters combined, a guard by the entrance struck a bell. The room was full of people: men and women, old and young, unified by the richness of their clothing. All faces turned towards the newcomers, eyes alight with curiosity. The sound of their voices dimmed and was joined by the soft patter of delicate shoes on polished wood as they stepped aside, creating a pathway to the king’s dais. Rielle’s heart pounded. She drew in a deep breath.
But the dais was empty. Instead the king stood at the edge of the crowd. He walked down the aisle his subjects had created, arms open, and smiling.
“Welcome, welcome!” he said, beckoning them forward so they met him partway. “So this is the young woman the Angel seeks?” Rielle began the elaborate duck and bow the locals made to royalty, but he gathered up her hands and prevented her. “Rielle Lazuli, I offer a belated welcome to my country. Why did you not come to me when you arrived? I am honoured to meet any friend of the Angels.”
She managed a smile. “Thank you, your majesty. Would you have believed me, if I had told you?”
He chuckled. “Most likely not, it is true. It is too incredible a story. Yet I am glad you chose my land to settle in. And now we all are part of your tale, rescued from certain defeat by the one who seeks you.”
Rielle could not help glancing around the room.