The carriage wheels gave one last rumble before slowing to a heavy halt; inside the leather seats, the two of us prepared to rise. Since leaving the cemetery with Rebecca, we had exchanged little more than a brief, pleasant conversation.
Beyond the glass windows, the sun of Veytharis shone bright, but the high walls of the palace softened its brilliance, falling over us like a veil.
Rebecca straightened at the edge of her seat, smoothed the shawl in her hands one last time, and looked at me. In her eyes gleamed the cold light of both triumph and trial.
The brass latch clinked as the door opened. Before us rose the palace of Duke Demetrius: second only to the imperial residence in the capital, its stones burned golden by the sun, its domes inlaid with deep blue tiles.
The carved facades magnified human faces, mythological beasts, and heraldic motifs to absurd scale; each time the sunlight touched the engravings, it was as though a new history was being written.
