The city rose slowly on the horizon, like rocks on the low tide. At first, I thought it was yet another mirage— some trick of the eye conjured in the pressing heat of the ship. But with each jerk of the wind and waves, the capital loomed larger, more clear. After weeks aboard The Gloriana, the sheer relief of finally having Misan within view might have quelled the anxiety building in my chest had the sight not been so unlike my home.
Surrounding the city, walls stretched on for what felt like miles. Slabs of pale stone stacked impossibly high, nearly shielding all of the city from outside eyes. No. Not a shield, a cage. Above it, only the tallest of towers stretched, peeking through the embrasures carved into the stone. Domed peaks gilded in gold and silver, each one unique and topped with an ornate spire, gleamed in the sun. Like stars had dropped from the sky to crown the city itself.
It was probably beautiful up close, but from a distance it left me enchanted.
I rested my forearms against the rounded wood railing, leaning further over the side than propriety would have approved had we not been at sea for weeks and all grown too sun-weary for strict decorum. Every time I tore my eyes from the city, it seemed to have crept impossibly closer by the time I looked back. I had resigned myself to watching the city as we drew nearer, hoping I could will the final stretch of sea to last forever. The salt-smoothed surface dug into my elbows as I rolled my weight on them. The pain helped to overwhelm the pit in my stomach, I had learned a day into the journey. But the closer we drifted the busier the deck became around me, until it became impossible to pretend we were anything but moments from the harbour. Sailors wove between the few merchants that had booked passage on the ship with the practiced ease of Torrell navymen. Ropes tightened. Sails shifted. And somewhere high above the rigging a sailor called down orders I had long chosen to let fade into the ambience.
As we neared, the ocean fought and writhed against the narrowing to a river. A wide, snaking thing that thrashed wildly, as though the land on either side had been unable to rip the spirit of the ocean from it. A hundred colours bled across the water along the city walls as sails snapped violently in the wind; the deep crimson of Misan, the rich wisteria of Ewoviel, even the pale blue of Torrell stamped with the winged horse of House Valorea. Between them, merchant ships, some from the smaller kingdoms and others who claimed no kingdom at all rocked violently against each other, their sails carrying every colour and embellishment imaginable. Smaller fishing boats weaved confidently in and out of the harbour as though the sheer scale of it all had long since stopped impressing those who called this place home. The port stretched impossibly far along the riverbank, packed so tightly with arriving vessels that there scarcely seemed room left for water itself. Even from this distance the harbour seemed alive with movement, so tightly crowded with bodies and goods and colour that I struggled to tell where the city ended and the river began.
The ship lurched violently as the current seized us but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
For as impressive as the port was, it was not what kept drawing my eye. High above it stretched the towers of legend, five gleaming obelisks carved from pale stone. Built by King Burhan the Enlightened when he founded the city centuries ago, to give thanks to the Gods who guided him to this sacred place. I recognised them long before I could make out the effigies I knew crowned each peak.
To the East, Kheione, Goddess of Glory, her arms reaching upwards, her goblet catching in the sun, milking it of its light. Beside her, the hunched form of Osdis, God of Misfortune, who paid for his wife’s ambition and was forever cast in her shadow.
To the West, Exas and Egen, Twin Gods of Life and Death, always seen in the midst of a chase. And at the centre, rising higher than the rest, Chiher, the Black Wolf of Ithys, Goddess of Justice— the warrior mount who betrayed his mistress, corrupted by fanaticism.
It was only when the familiar groan of wood gave way to shouted commands and hurried footsteps that I realised The Gloriana had already reached the harbour. Ropes flew overhead. The ship shuttered as it was fastened to the dock. Before I had time to fully gather my skirts, hands were at my sides ushering me towards the gangplank. I twisted once to look across the deck — the weathered timber, the towering masts, the cream sails bearing the winged horse of my house crest — but another gentle tug at my elbow pulled me onwards. The transition felt alarmingly quick; one moment still suspended upon open water, the next being hurried toward the waiting carriage that stood ready to take me deeper into the city itself.
So much hit me all at once. The sour smell of fish. The overlapping voices of merchants. The portsmen that interrupted our path with large shipments in tow. And then the chains. Their sharp clang rang above every other sound. Men and women hauled crates twice their size, iron biting into their wrists and necks with every step. Children no older than eight strained alongside them, the skin beneath their manacles split raw.
I stopped walking. No one spoke to me, but a more insistent push on my back urged me forward and into the carriage ahead.
Slavery had been forbidden throughout the continent for centuries, every child knew that. But in Misan, the ports remained exempt. A compromise, my tutor had called it, to ensure trade with the other territories continues smoothly. Bile rose in my throat as the carriage lurched forward. I forced myself to look away before I could see who reached for my trunks.
As if by instinct, my gaze drifted upwards once more, drawn helplessly back toward the towering figures above. I had been taught that the people of Misan favoured the harsher Gods, those rarely spoken of outside their temples back home. Now they loomed high above, and their stares burned like molten iron on my skin. For one fleeting and deeply uncomfortable moment, I wondered whether the Gods knew insult. Whether somewhere in their endless consciousness, their anger burned me for the rejection my homeland had long shown them.
My thoughts fractured instantly as the sunlight vanished around me. The towering city gates swallowed the sky whole as we passed under the great stone archway in the East. For the briefest moment, the shade offered relief from the sun beating relentlessly onto the carriage and cool air kissed my burning skin, yet somehow I found no comfort in it. For I knew, deep in my bones, it was some invisible threshold I could no longer uncross.
Tread carefully, sweet child. In Misan, each breath belongs to the Crown. The Matron’s words echoed in my ears. I was now at the King’s justice, both in life and death.
Inside the city walls, buildings climbed over one another in impossible layers, some washed in colours so vivid they hardly looked real. Burnt terracotta melted into deep violet, then yellows and pinks in an array of shades, like explosions of colour against the otherwise pale sandstone buildings. From what I could see, the city seemed to spread and diverge in a chaotic web of streets and alleys unlike anything we had at home, like a million tiny cracks had bloomed within the mass of buildings. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t seem to follow where a single one ended before another swallowed it whole. But the main street was different, I realised, as we continued further into the centre of the city.
The road stretched so wide that four carriages could comfortably travel abreast. Separated in the middle by a pool of turquoise water, it stretched from somewhere far ahead all the way to where I knew the King’s Gate stood at the southernmost edge of the city. The pool was framed by low stone walls, every inch covered in intricate mosaics telling the story of King Burhan’s pilgrimage to reach the city. As the carriage began its slow climb, sunlight caught the water, casting ribbons of white across the carriage ceiling. Below the surface, the tiled floor disappeared beneath coins of gold and silver. Wishes, I realised. Thousands of them. Forgotten just as quickly as they had been made.
Above, flat rooftops stretched from building to building. Lush divans and piles of embroidered cushions lay beneath brightly coloured canopies, laughter and conversation drifting down through curtains of ivy that scaled the pale stone. The city seemed to have no beginning or end. One staircase disappeared behind a painted archway only for another to appear two floors above it. Balconies overlooked courtyards which overlooked terraces, until the city reminded me of linen held against the sun; seamless from afar, but each individual fibre made visible up close.
The streets gradually widened the further we climbed. The chatter above us faded, the merchants disappeared behind, and the buildings fell away until only one remained. The pit in my stomach returned ten-fold at the sight of what now stood before me. The palace matched the city in beauty, but lacked any of the warmth that had managed to distract me. The same pale sandstone rose towards the sky, the same gilded domes caught the sun, yet there was no paint on the towers like the buildings in the city, and these domes hardly resembled stars but sharp blades aimed at the Gods.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop, a line of attendants had already formed upon the palace steps, motionless enough that they might have been carved into the stone itself. The instant the wheels fell silent, a footman scurried to open the carriage door before another offered a gloved hand to help me descend. I took one slow breath before placing my hand in his. There would be no more time to prepare.
“Princess.”
A man had stepped forward from the line of attendants, offering me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He appeared about twice my age, broad shouldered but otherwise lean, with golden hair that ended in curls at his ears. His attire marked him apart from the others, dressed in a tunic he had tucked into long blue trousers with a deep blue jacket embroidered with silver thread and beads that caught in the sun, scattering restless flecks of light onto the palace steps.
“Sebastian de Vere, Your Highness.” He bowed. “Your father’s envoy, entrusted with overseeing your arrival.”
I opened my mouth to greet him, but his eyes spoke of urgency his lips did not. Without another word, I crossed the remaining distance between us and slid my arm through the one he extended for me.
I had expected my walk through the castle to be a quiet one, led by guards through empty hallways, so I was grateful for the company. The lack of greeting at the port had already told me not to expect a grand welcome, that the King desired my arrival to be a silent one. That I was something shameful to hide away. I knew they wouldn’t be pleased with my arrival, that the revelation that I wasn’t the long awaited Godsinger they thought me to be had shocked not only my court, but theirs as well. However, I hadn’t expected thi—
“Forgive me for not meeting you in port, Princess.” Sebastian’s words cut through my thoughts like cold steel and I curse myself for letting my thoughts so clearly show on my face. “There has been much to do at the castle to prepare for your arrival.”
He spoke quietly, barely above a breath. It had me immediately aware of how many ears he knew could be listening.
“Are they angry?” I felt foolish asking. Like a child about to be punished. But the words slipped out before I could stop them and then they just hung in the air between us. One step. Two.
“Yes.” He said finally, eyes still aimed straight ahead as he navigated the halls.
The palace blurred around me. Hallways bled into chambers, chambers into hallways. Pale walls. Amber floors polished until they reflected the light like still water. Some rooms opened onto sweeping balconies whilst others enclosed us entirely, yet I struggled to remember any of them a heartbeat after we had passed.
“We have minutes.” Sebastian spoke again, seeming to think he had given enough time for the information to sink in.
“What do you me—”
“They’re furious, Princess. I’ve tried all I can but—”
An older man rounded a corner just ahead. Just as Sebastian had stopped speaking. He watched us pass. Assessing me, I realised. He didn’t bow.
As we rounded that same corner, I turned to see where the man was heading but a sharp tug at my arm made me still.
“Don’t.”
“Why?” I whispered, eyes snapping back to look at the man at my side rather than the one behind me, whose eyes I felt linger against my neck like a brand.
“They want you scared. Flustered.” He looked at me then, cold blue eyes that desperately tried for me to see all the pieces on the board in the few minutes we had alone. “So you’ll reveal some weakness. Don’t let them see it.”
“The King?” I hissed, hands starting to shake. “Are they testing me, to what— to see if they can send me back home?”
We rounded another corner and began climbing a sweeping marble staircase. Each step bled into the other like water cascading down a mountain side. They seemed to continue on forever. Every fifty steps or so it opened onto a landing with a hallway on either side, but each one we ignored. Instead we climbed. And climbed.
“No. To see if they can kill you.”
Sebastian’s words struck like an arrow in my chest. My body weighed heavily and I stumbled as we moved. Sebastian steadied me and led us onward as we reached the top. He continued talking as we walked down the hall towards a large set of carved wooden doors, each one depicting a three headed serpent which seemed to move as we neared.
I didn’t hear a single word he said. The room tilted. The carved serpents seemed to move beneath my gaze, their eyes following me as though they sensed weakness. I wanted my mother. My father. Home. Instead, I stood outside the throne room wondering if this was where I was meant to die. And they saw right through me.
Sebastian let go of my arm, and I felt my world fall out from underneath me. Rough hands steadied me as he moved to assess my hair, my dress, my face.
“The King may hate that you’re here, but it’s the Queen you should watch out for.” He brushed a tear from my cheek, a final excuse to lean close enough that only I could hear. “Remember your training.”
And with a wave of his hand, the large wooden doors swept open.