The Fragile Tower - Book 1 of the No.1 magical fantasy series

The Fragile Tower Chapter 17 - The Dreaming

Grace didn't want to admit that it was beautiful, but it was. Overriding her fear was a dumb wonder at the vast, glittering structure. The white shapes, some of them seeming more like clouds than solid structures, were pierced here and there by spires, and around them all she could see the haze of spell-working, constant, pulsing, but also shifting and unmistakeably living.

There were different colours in it all, and she imagined for a moment that each represented a different boy. She wondered, achingly, which one was Benjamin's and what it was the Queen was forcing him to do.

For a moment, a fiery red spark flashed out at the very point, and she decided that it must be Benjamin's colour. The thought made her smile, though it was a sad smile. How could she face it if she stayed captive, and had to see him in a maddening trance?

She reached out for Afi's arm, but he slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around hers.

"It'll be ok," he murmured. Grace saw the guard who was supporting her weight glance over at him, but his face was young and full of the memory of horror. She could see that he wanted to believe what Afi was saying, and wasn't suspecting him of anything.

What has happened? She thought. She had expected to find the palace a hostile, intimidating place with guards who would defend the Queen to the hilt. Instead, it seemed to be shot through with uncertainty and fear, and under systematic attack. She felt a sympathy with these men that she would never have anticipated.

Their three-man escort led them up a flight of shining white steps, going slowly enough for her to keep up with the help of the young guard, and through the largest pair of double doors Grace had ever seen.

It must cost a fortune to heat, she thought to herself, though the thought didn't do a great deal to make her feel better.

There were another dozen men within the vast entrance hall, lined up six to each side. They stood unmoving, but with long shimmering blades drawn and resting on the ground, a strange echo of the guards at Buckingham Palace her Aunt Frances had sent her a postcard of. Stranger still was the line of bronze-coloured statues behind them, each in an identical pose though with full traditional armour. She wondered if they were intentionally a note of mockery, or if humour worked a little differently here.

There were two huge staircases rising on each side of the wall, but their escort walked them straight past the rows of guards and towards a gently glimmering cylinder of light against the back wall.

"Is this an elevator?" Grace asked Afi quietly, as the guards ushered them to stand within its glimmering space.

"It's an Intention Wind," Afi told her. Before she could ask what on earth that meant, the guard behind them had stepped in and they were suddenly moving upwards, as quickly and fluidly as they had inside the Travelling Wind.

To Grace's shame, she found herself clutching Afi's hand and the guard's shoulder tightly as they veered in one direction and then another, entering passages between rooms and flickering in and out of each. She had glimpses of vast spaces and small ones; of indoor gardens and rooms that seemed to be full of light; of echoing emptiness and crowds of people; of simple, basic rooms and some crammed full of opulent furniture and ornaments, and one which looked like a strange armoury.

After the first minute, she shut her eyes and tried to pretend it was a roller-coaster. She felt herself slowing shortly afterwards, and her feet touched down gently on something solid.

She blinked, and looked up and down a surprisingly ordinary corridor.

"Here," the leading guard said, and opened a door to their left.