Chapter 22- Miraclus

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Miraclus is even more of a horror than Catabrar. It has no walls like the capital city, but it is darker, narrower and surrounded by barren rocky landscape. The people are as grey and uninviting as the stones the city is made of. Even the nobles that we pass wear only pale blues and muted silvers. The city, you can tell, is much older than Catabrar. The buildings and roads are crumbling in many places, and the streets have no drainage pipes, which likely contributes to the horrid smell the drifts on the air like an invisible fog. No wind penetrates the muggy climate, and I haven't seen a single tree or garden.

Our small procession is met just outside the city by soldiers in dented, ill fitting armour. All six of them wait underneath two excessively large marble statues of a man holding a candlestick in one hand and prayer beads in the other. The statue is the cleanest thing that we pass in the whole city. The soldiers lead us through twisted city streets until we reach a boxy castle which must only be a quarter the size of the royal palace.

"Was it always like this?" I hear Mirabel whisper to Garen.

The Prince shakes his head sadly, "When my parents were children, Miraclus was the most prosperous city in Skevet. Every year they held a giant festival for Saint Maximilian, the saint who performed miracles of faith for which the city is named. My family use to come and dance with the people in the square, around a maypole. My brother said that the celebration was too frivolous during wartime, so it hasn't taken place in many years."

I recognize the sadness in his voice, which causes me to realize I have never bothered to learn what happened to Garen's parents. I feel ashamed for overlooking this in my self pity and selfishness.

I lean over to Cairo and ask quietly, "What happened to Garen's parents?"

Cairo frowns, "It's a sad story really. Their majesties King Rune and Queen Lisbet accepted an invitation to go sailing with General S'var, you know, Queen Jacqueline's father? Well, the boat went down in a freak wind storm. Only the general and three sailors made it back to shore alive."

I frown, "That seems immensely coincidental."

Cairo glances at me, "Torranians don't believe in coincidences."

My face darkens, "Precisely."

His golden-brown eyes burn to say more, but we are prevented from discussing the subject further by our arrival at the palace portcullis.

The gate is lowered for us and all of us clop over the broken cobble stones. I become aware for the first time that I am dirty and bloody still, and I likely smell.

We enter through a large wooden door set with bland iron hinges. I leads to a large room filled with long rectangular tables, but only about half of them have anyone sitting at them. Still, those who are here sit through our arrival, barely glancing up from the meals set in front of them. Sitting on a small throne in the front of the dining hall is an older woman with steel grey hair. Garen approaches her confidently. He reaches her feet and immediately bends into a sweeping bow.

"Our humble greetings Lady Ragna B'ror. We thank you greatly for your hospitality."

The woman does not respond to Garen's words immediately. She seems to be taking careful account of our entire party. I return in kind.

She is the first Skevetic woman I have seen that exudes true power. She sits ramrod straight on her rough wooden throne, her hands planted firmly on the arm rest. Despite her rigid appearance, she manages to look relaxed, which might have something to do with the loose trousers and tunic she wears. The loose fabric does nothing to hide her well muscled arms and shoulders, and she wears no make up to cover her lined face.

Knife of Rebellion: Battles of Eyenwar, Book 1 Where stories live. Discover now