The hike to the palace went as well as could be expected. Quinn watched the city of Mont Qerath pass by in the glow of an early dawn.
Cassandra led the way, hand on the rapier at her waist, and her face angry enough to scare rocks. Lilith walked behind the older woman, hugging her heels as if her shadow could offer protection. Boulder followed closely behind, injured and labored, and last in line came Quinn with Ural's sword resting heavily on her shoulder.
The small group stepped lightly as they passed through a maze of cobblestone streets. The air smelled fresh with hints of early morning city life: fresh bread from a bakery, coal smoke from a blacksmith's chimney, and hints of brine and pitch leftover from the docks.
It was the smell of life, of thousands of people and their individual homes, meals from the previous night, bedpans recently tossed into the street, and the general stink of unwashed bodies. It was a city.
The brisk morning air was humid enough for her to see her breath. Sunlight had yet to appear over the building tops, meaning their way was being illuminated by the rectangular glass lanterns built on metal beams driven into the sides of the cobble street. The tiny oil-fed flames bathed the landscape in a weak orange that reflected off the naturally white granite buildings.
Many of the structures were at least three stories tall and built upon a wedged foundation in order to keep the flooring level on a slanted landscape.
From offshore, the dense city had a way of looking uniformed, but it was at the street level where the complexity of the city came to life. They had odd-shaped structures wedged between two opposing buildings, filling gaps, or random dead-end alleys where one of the odd-shaped buildings closed a gap. Every corner of every street had a purpose. Patios to small vegetable gardens, sheer walls covered in green ivy, grape vines threaded along stone railings that doubled as a barrier to their neighbor for the sake of privacy.
For Quinn, the familiar visuals and old insecurities helped to stem off the terror. Staying calm was an exercise of restraint. Her thoughts ran a mile a second. Had something really attacked them? Of course it had. The details were so jumbled; it was difficult to sort the facts. And it happened so fast. Ural's dried blood on her hands and arms provided physical hints of what her mind tried to dismiss.
She remembered a thing had attacked them—she remembered Marius barreling into it and shoving it an insane distance into a nearby building. She remembered the dust, the blood... all of it.
The rest, she couldn't be sure. Frowning, she tried to scrub away the dried blood by grinding and scraping her fingernail across her skin. What'd happened to Cleo? His recovery on the beach and now this, this violent streak. She didn't know if he was even the same person. The way he'd handled the sword, cutting into the creature and the distant look in his eye.
Adjusting her grip on the hilt, the weight of the sword surprised her. And Cleo had given it to use as protection? She'd be lucky to get it up in time to block. Then again, maybe he had given it because of a need to be rid of it. Maybe he hadn't changed all that much.
In the past, he'd been hesitant to carry a weapon at all. The notion had been both admirable and foolish, foolish since their trade and travels carried them to all sorts of places. Across the oceans, to lands and people unknown. Unfamiliar customs were not to be trusted. Quinn had learned that the hard way several times in her life.
Ural had always proven to be enough of a deterrent, but more importantly, their ship had proven fast enough to outrun all the problems they encountered. And they avoided the problem areas of the world. War was only profitable to the less scrupulous traders. The last thing they wanted was to have their ship confiscated or sunk, or their crew pressed into service.
Thinking about it now, the change in Cleo had been a full one-eighty. In that moment of panic, where he had faced the monster back on the dock, his persona had changed. He'd become a different person entirely. A departure from the man she knew.
Did she love him? It was a question she wouldn't answer—even to herself. Family and career, too many balls to juggle to allow distraction. Would she be with him? Yes. But not if it required her to change or forget her own goals and aspirations. Her family and their debts took priority. A month ago, she might've assumed the two of them could work and be together, but now? The answer and question had become distastefully complicated. There were other factors to work out, least of all the current locale. Her eyes wandered over to the princess's back. And of course, there was her.
Quinn wiggled her bare toes across the top of the ancient cobblestone, feeling the smooth and rounded off chunks of stone. They were about halfway to the palace. Her decision to not sleep before their arrival had been a bad idea. Not that she could've predicted things ending up like this.
Her eyes sought Boulder. Slumped and struggling, the large man was coddling a broken arm and shoulder. His raspy breathing echoed off the buildings as his enormous frame fought to stay on his feet.
She couldn't imagine his pain. To be up and walking through the city seemed beyond possible. Uninjured and she was finding it difficult maintaining the pace set by Cassandra. Not that she was going to ask her to slow down. The quicker they got off these streets, the better.
As a child, she remembered hating it when her family would leave the harbor and go deeper into the city. The uphill climb had never been easy. Though, thinking about it now, Boulder seemed more focused on the princess than anything else. Quinn supposed it was his job, but there were limits. Cassandra split her attention between the two of them. Obviously, she was not happy with Boulder's status, but a delay in fidgeting or flustering would do no good. Fools all around.
A door slammed, startling her. Quinn spun to see a man exit his square white house. He wore a brown vest and brown work pants. His lined face sported a full beard, cut short and dotted with bits of gray.
He bent over a stone railing to retrieve water from a nearby barrel. His focus redirected to them as they scuttled along the street and offered no greeting.
Quinn initially assumed the guy was hiding something. Or maybe it was him responding to the angry look from Cassandra. It seemed like she was ready to attack anyone in the vicinity.
The stranger snorted at them, then retreated, returning to his house and slamming the front door. The glass in the windows rattled, almost like they might break.
The city was too quiet. The sun would be visible soon. Quinn had lived in Mont Qerath for a few years, back when she'd been young. She may have been young, but old enough to remember how the city had looked in the mornings.
There should be crowds, throngs of people rushing this way and that. Oarsmen and sailors headed down to the docks, workmen and laborers for the docks and shipyards. All sorts of craftsmen, from the blacksmith apprentices to the cobblers rushing to the docks to check on the latest shipment of leather. Yes, the city was too quiet.
They managed to reach the palace gates before the sun cracked the horizon. The waning glow of dawn had chased them the entire way through the city.
Quinn hunched her shoulders against the wind. Up here, the air smelled different. Salty and dry. She'd never been this high inside the city. Her father had legged the journey a few times, signing repair contracts and leases, or attending a meeting with the local guilds and/or magistrates.
Palace row, or whatever people liked to call it now. No one came this high, even when the city behaved properly. Visiting the palace wasn't strictly forbidden, but a stroll might attract attention, and the city guards were never gentle with their questioning.
The mansions were like the smaller homes and apartments scattered throughout the island, and yet they weren't. The doorways were larger, some made with fine wood and set inside tall, decorated alcoves. Wide bay windows and iron balconies. Nothing said wealth like the idea of wasted space. It bothered her the way the buildings towered over the roadway and blocked the sky above.
Quinn didn't know why these people had chosen to live so far from the harbor. Personally, she belonged on the water. She couldn't imagine having to walk all the way to the markets for fresh dinner ingredients, though the people who lived in these homes probably had servants to do all the menial tasks. Rich people always had more important things to do. If a person wanted to start a trade crew in Mont Qerath, these were the people that could make that happen. Loans, shares, stakes, and whatever deals they cooked up.
Surprise from their arrival at the palace nearly sent her tumbling over her own feet. She'd never seen the structure up close. Glimpsed from afar like most people. Sometimes from the harbor or the off chance she wandered higher in the city to visit a blacksmith or toolmaker, but never this close, and never in full view of the main floor and entrance.
For her, the spires that loomed over the island-city had always represented the Matriarch's home. Imposing and staggering to look at, nothing more, nothing less.
She eyed the iron wrought gates with irritated skepticism. On the other side of the barrier sat a pathway of crushed shells that led to the front door of the palace. Halfway to the door sat a circular fountain lazily sputtering water from the mouth of a stone-carved fish.
The layout of the palace grounds was orderly and fashionable, but Quinn found the concept of an inedible garden to be ridiculous. Regardless of the work that went into it, the resources required could feed a family for a year. With the reputation of the Matriarch, she had half expected to find a real-life watery mote, stocked with man-eating sharks.
Despite the hour, it was a surprise to see the lower levels of the palace illuminated. The interior had enough lanterns and candles lit—they might trick the inside occupants into thinking it was a day outside. Was the practice normal? It was enough to worry Quinn into thinking the Matriarch was expecting them.
In front of her, Quinn heard Lilith whimper at the sight of the palace. She even shifted, like she was trying to hide behind Cassandra.
Dressed in Quinn's loaned clothing, it was a far cry from the dress of a princess. The one she'd worn when they'd first met had been beautiful. Squashing the insignificant jealousy, she couldn't recall the color—only its fabric and the way it'd hung across her bodice and hips.
The small party paused before the gates of the palace. Quinn eyed the length of solid, interlocking iron fencing again. As far as she could see, there was only one entrance, and a trio of men stood on the other side of the barrier as guards. Dressed in blue uniforms, they carried tall pole weapons equipped with crescent-shaped axes on the top.
The guards kept themselves busy while they ignored Cassandra and Boulder. To Quinn, clean shaven and slicked-back hair, they looked related, minus the differences in height and build. Then again, maybe they weren't related. It could be them wearing the same clothes.
"I've never seen these gates locked," Cassandra mumbled. Her uneasiness remained, though the intensity had become measurably more subtle since their departure from the docks. "You there," she called. "Open the gates and make haste!"
She split her attention between the guards and the surrounding buildings like she expected another one of those creatures to pop out.
Quinn couldn't blame her for having such a reaction, though for her, the caution felt a tad unnecessary owing to the trust she put on Cleo's insistence that they would be safe. There was no rhyme or reason to her newfound faith other than to associate it with Marius and his clairvoyance. Things happened around those two, and it didn't make much sense.
It felt strange escorting a princess to her palace. Would they remain friends when this was over? Quinn didn't see why not. Having a connection with a future monarch was a peculiar realization. Maybe she could work out a deal for her family, borrow a bit of coin to pay off their loan, or reopen the shipyard.
Of course, she'd remain skeptical. Begging left a foul taste in her mouth, but pressuring a connection was plain good business. She just didn't want to exploit her. Otherwise, she'd be no better than the people who had wronged her family.
"Open the gates? Heh. Not gonna happen!" said the guard on the right. Pointedly annoyed, his voice echoed and cracked amongst the palace grounds. "We can't open these gates till first light. You're lucky we don't toss you in the dungeons for being out past curfew."
"Curfew?" Cassandra asked dubiously. She looked at Boulder, then Lilith. Clearly, the idea of a curfew was news to them.
Quinn mulled the shock over. Mont Qerath had never had a curfew before—as far as she knew. Such a declaration would ruin all the famous bars and restaurants the city boasted. Not that she was old enough to drink beyond a single cup, here and there. Plus, the memory of her father and mother stumbling home occasionally after a night drinking had always bothered her to no end.
To enact a curfew, the Matriarch had to be off her rocker. The closure of the only functioning dry dock and now the suppression of the city's populace. It would hinder legitimate businesses. People were going to lose a lot of money. How long had this been going on for?
And this kind of impediment to business would be bad for the entire region, not just Qerath. What was the Matriarch thinking? Judging by the reactions from Boulder and Cassandra, the outrage was mutual.
At least it explained the state of the harbor, docks, and city. But not the creature they'd encountered. The coincidence of the two was almost too much for her to swallow.
Boulder's outrage over the curfew helped him overcome his apparent pain. "We've only just arrived," he sputtered and breathed. "What has happened for there to be a curfew in place?"
The guard nodded like he'd expected as much. "About a week ago, the Matriarch enacted the curfew in response to the string of murders inside the city. By her orders, we cannot open these gates until daylight. If you wish to petition the Matriarch, I recommend you find somewhere to wait until later in the day. Your ignorance is why we will not arrest you for ignoring the curfew." He then eyed them like he'd finally noticed their appearance. "And another thing, consider a change of clothes. The Matriarch will not appreciate it if you walk the marble halls looking like beggars, especially if you hope to get something from her."
"I don't think you understand," Cassandra added evenly. She straightened her tattered dress, resting her hands on the borrowed sword belt and hilt. She took a deep breath, like she was trying to contain her temper. "I—I am Cassandra Laurens, and by order of the princess Lilith Windward, I demand you open these blasted gates!"
The force of the words caught Quinn off guard. She had to stop her feet from marching up and opening the gates herself.
The reaction from the guards was mixed. The one who'd spoken stammered, like he didn't know how to respond. He looked at his companions for help.
The one on his right shrugged, and the other said, "It might be her. I've only seen her at a distance, and the princess." He adjusted his stance to eyeball Lilith. "That could be her. She's the right age, but no one I know has ever seen her outside of the southern spire."
His companion shrugged. "Don't look at me," said the one on the right. "Just let them in. We'll be in more trouble if we refuse entry to the princess than if we allow in an imposter."
Boulder and Cassandra shared a troubled look. Quinn didn't know what that look meant, but she didn't like it one bit. What sort of problems had Mont Qerath encountered for the Matriarch to resort to such drastic measures? And what did the princess think? Lilith seemed to bide her time. Limp and tired, the negative posture seemed to suggest they had yet to survive their journey.
The guard fished a large metal key from around his neck, kept on a large chain, before unlocking the gate and cracking open the iron barrier wide enough for them to slip inside.
Cassandra offered a hand to Lilith, "Let's go, princess." Boulder fell in behind the two women. He tried to mask the strain and constant wincing as he nursed his arm and shoulder.
Quinn hung back, watching them move away. The prospect of a return hike through the city didn't sound too appealing, not while it was still technically dark outside, and the threat of being caught by another set of guards for disobeying the curfew sounded like a bad idea. But what choice did she have?
"Welp," Quinn said. "I guess this is goodbye. We'll probably be in town for a while, so stop by and say hi. And if you're too busy, no worries. I'm sure we'll send word before we leave port." She cleared her throat, surprised at the emotion that was suddenly interfering with her talking. "Heh. I guess it was fun while it lasted."
Cassandra stopped mid-stride. Her anger melted into a genuine smile as she turned to regard the shipwright. Quinn realized it might be the first smile she'd seen from the old hag. She could be quite beautiful if she wasn't snarling or trying to throw her weight around by telling everyone what to do.
"Thank you," Boulder added. "And of course, this is not goodbye. I'm sure we can organize a small feast in the palace in a few days, once we get the princess settled, and the details ironed out with her majesty. Know that I am indebted to you and the crew. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you need only ask." He bowed, favoring his arm. Cassandra mirrored him with a slight curtsey. The handmaid then offered Quinn a hug, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you."
Attention turned to Lilith. She was staring at the ground and avoiding eye contact. Her body language made Quinn feel quite awkward. "Good bye, princess," Quinn said, waving her hand at a lower angle to pass in front of Lilith's field of view.
In response, Lilith leapt forward suddenly, latching onto Quinn's free arm with a mini death grip. Quinn still held Ural's sword in her other hand, making the interaction markedly dangerous. She didn't want to drop the point on her foot.
"Please, don't leave," Lilith said. Her tiny hands were ice cold and shaking. "Stay with me. For tonight, at least. You can go back tomorrow. Please."
The vulnerability caught Quinn off guard. She didn't know what to say. This girl... pleading, really? They were nearly the same height and yet she looked down into a pair of glossy, puppy-dog eyes. What had her so frightened? This was her home. Safety.
"I-I... I guess I can stay, but you'll need to send a messenger to the rest of the crew to let them know we're alright."
"Of course," Boulder said. "Not a problem." He sounded confident, but then shared a nervous glance with Cassandra. She seemed to share the sentiment.
Nothing for it. Quinn followed the three of them into the palace. Not that she had much of a choice, seeing how Lilith had maintained her grip on her arm.
They moved past the spike topped gates, past the confused guards, and toward the massive, thick wooden doors covered with carvings of sailboats and an artistic rendition of Mont Qerath.
Before going indoors, Quinn stole one last look at the sky. She noted the sun had finally cracked the horizon, made clear by the beams of light streaming past the palace spires that soared high overhead.
Quinn wondered how she'd gotten mixed up in this mess. It felt like the princess had some power over her, tricking her to do as she wanted, but not in a bad way. She glanced at the palace again. Taking a chance and venturing into the palace, was she crazy?
Well, she owed Lilith for saving Cleo's life. And deep down, she admitted she liked the girl. Sheltered, yes, but good natured. Besides, how hard could it be to stay in the palace for a single night?