"Beautiful, isn't it?" Quintus stuck a hand out of the carriage.
The grey slate stone of the market road gave way to the variegated sandstone of the rock garden beyond. Claude set his eyes beyond the carriage window and took in the sights. Structures made from boulders twice his size and pebbles smaller than his eyes. Ponds and baths where ducks and doves swam and bathed. And flowers. Thousands of flowers. Varieties he'd never seen. They clung to knolls and bushes, ran alongside stone paths, and floated upon the pond's murky water.
Claude shrugged a shoulder. "It's nice, I guess." He'd seen his fair share of gardens in Lehm and the greater mountain region.
Quintus drew his head back, the afternoon light painting his face yellow-orange. "You guess? What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged again. "It's a garden. It's supposed to be beautiful, or at least interesting."
"I burnt down an entire Cathedral and built this garden with its ashes and all you can do is shrug at it?" Quintus banged a fist against the roof. "Stop this damn carriage!" He reached past Claude to open the door, then pushed him out, before the carriage driver could halt the horses.
He hit the cobblestone shoulder first, pebbles digging into his skin and dust latching onto his clothes as he rolled down the path. His trunk thumped down further up the path.
"You can walk to the castle." The carriage door slammed, the sound swallowed up by the clouds mocking him from above again. He lay on the warm cobblestone until the clopping hooves faded away.
***
The sun was bowing to the night when Claude reached the gates of the castle. Sweat dripped down his face, slicked his back and made his clothes stick to him. The summer sun was unforgiving and, of course, the clouds stayed clear of its arching path the whole afternoon.
For hours he'd lugged his trunk uphill to the highest point in the city where the castle stood. He craned his neck up at the behemoth of dark grey stone. Flags sat atop the parapets bearing the same sparrow crest as the boat he'd ridden in on. So this is a castle.
"Excuse me, good sir, are you Claude?" A man dressed in red and gold livery stood beside him, but he'd been so enamoured with the castle, he hadn't heard anyone approach. "Master Quintus sent me for you. This way, please."
As Claude turned to follow the man, he glimpsed a black cross disappearing into the high doors at the front of the castle.
They walked further down the road, edging the castle to a smaller gate. The building became even more daunting when he passed through walls thicker than he was wide. All the stone in the region must have gone into building this place. Save for those in Quintus' prized garden.
Claude had never been in a castle, and the Ivory Towers in the Divine City didn't count in his mind. Gwenore had always read him stories of the grand structures and delicate folk who called them home. He'd always wanted to see one for himself, but by the time he had grown old enough to walk the world on his own, the netherborne had destroyed most of the castles in his home region.
The moment they stepped into the vestibule, an attendant took his trunk while another offered him a glass of chilled wine. It was fruity and sweet with a small bite at the end. He wanted to down it all in one go and take the bottle from the tray. But that wouldn't be very polite. Instead, he took dainty sips like a person visiting a castle would.
He followed the attendant around the thick walls and long halls filled with art of people and places that did not interest him. He much preferred art he could put on his body, or in his body. They passed a suit of armour sitting in an alcove, and he almost tripped. That was a castle thing that did interest him. But he'd have to come back to gape at the shiny, polished metal later.
The attendant led him up to the second floor and down a corridor to a door at its end. "This will be your room for the night. I had a bath brought up already. Dinner will start soon."
A thick, hand-woven rug depicting a hawk in flight cushioned his feet when he walked inside. Nice, probably worth more money than he'd ever seen in his life, and he was ruining it with his gross, sweaty feet. His bath sat under the window, and its spicy scent filled every corner of the room. A bed took up most of the room's space, its four posters like tree trunks. Claude ran his hand over the sheer canopy draping the entire affair. So this is how a king lives.
Claude crossed to the small seating arrangement next to the hearth and set his wine down next to a basket of ripe strawberries. Sitting next to it was a long black box tied with red ribbon. A welcoming gift? Or an apology from Quintus? No, he wasn't the type to apologise, and it smelt too nice to be from him.
Only a wooden card lay beyond the ribbon and sweet perfume. He turned it over in his hands, and studied the hand-painted rose on one side, then the script on the other.
Claude,
I hope this note finds you in good spirits and health. I wish I could've been in Avaly to give you a proper send-off, but alas, I am needed elsewhere. Take my blessing with you to the archives. Should anyone give you trouble, show them this card.
All the best, Octavia.
So much for delivering the letters.
***
Claude found the dining hall tucked away in the northeast corner of the castle. He'd expected chandeliers and glittering crystal goblets and silverware polished to a high shine. What he got was a cosy room with heavy wooden furniture, rugs of animal pelts, and firelight courtesy of the sconces fixed to the walls.
It seemed he was the last to arrive for dinner. The king sat at the head of the table, speaking animatedly with a young girl at his right. Quintus was in deep conversation with two other people, but looked up as soon as Claude walked in.
"You're late."
Claude shot him a withering look and took the only vacant chair. His hair still dripped from his rushed bath and he'd had no time to pick the few pieces of lint from his trousers. Only the prospect of being snapped in two stopped him from flying across the table and throttling Quintus.
"I'll introduce you to everyone." Quintus waved a hand towards the other end of the table. "You know Jaredeth, Sovereign King of the Avalian lands, the most beautiful creature to have walked this world, the love of my life."
The King's eyes nigh disappeared into his head. "You can cut the theatrics, my darling; the governors are long gone." He cut his gaze to Claude. "You're the Claude Octavia spoke of? The one who made the dress?"
"The very one. It's a pleasure, your Majesty." Claude tried for a bow, but the King waved a hand to stop him.
"Please don't. I've seen more crowns of hair than faces today."
"Oh, me, me. Introduce me next," the little girl beside Jaredeth said, bouncing in her chair.
"All right." Quintus flourished a hand towards the girl. "Claude, this is Princess Jaliah. Tea party enthusiast, fan of frills and ribbons and Sovereign Princess of the Avalian lands."
"Hi! Miss Octavia said you make pretty dresses." Jaliah grinned up at Claude.
He shrugged. "Sometimes. But mostly I just patch holes and sew buttons back on."
Quintus cleared his throat and nodded to the man and woman on his right. "Lastly, we have Amadeus and Undine, two of our resident necromancers."
The pair gave Claude a half-hearted wave. They seemed nondescript compared to Octavia and Quintus—who were larger than life in both personality and presence. Undine was dark-skinned like Octavia and wore the wild coils of her hair like a lion wore its mane. While Amadeus was tawny and slight with glasses framing his grey eyes.
"Pleasure to meet you," Amadeus said. Undine only gave a curt nod of her head.
Necromancers. Claude wondered how many lived here in Avaly. How long they'd been here, or why they chose to live in a place where the blood of their brethren was once spilled at the whim of the Divine City.
Jaredeth tapped his glass to get the table's attention. "Excuse me. I'll be taking Jaliah to bed now. Quintus, I'll be in my office if anything comes up." He picked up his daughter and gave them all a nod before leaving.
"Aren't we going to have dinner?" Claude asked.
Amadeus laughed over his glass. "We ate already, while you were cosy in your room."
"The attendants will bring you something. For now, let's discuss business." Quintus leaned back and swirled the wine in his goblet. "Amadeus, Claude will be accompanying you and Undine to the Caldea Coast."
"For what reason, exactly?" Undine asked, her voice a low rasp.
"He's headed south to the archives. I wouldn't have asked you all to take him with you if he could've survived out there on his own."
Amadeus sighed up to the roof. "Very well. Can you fight?"
"I..." Claude swallowed. The next words out of his mouth could get him killed. "I used to be a priest."
He rolled his eyes. "We know that already. Not every Priest can hold their own against the netherborne. And you're a little scrawny."
Claude clenched his teeth. It shouldn't surprise him that Quintus would surround himself with people just as crotchety and rude. "I know my way around a sword and dagger, but I don't have one with me."
"Just be ready to walk," Undine said. She set her napkin on the table and rose. "And don't let Quintus get you drunk. You'll need your strength and your wits." With that, she left the dining chamber with Amadeus in her wake.
"Don't mind them. They're just being dramatic." Quintus poured out a generous serving of wine in the crystal goblet before sliding it in front of Claude.
He frowned down at the blood red liquid, took a small sip and elected to drink no more. Quintus could say what he wanted, but it was Undine and Amadeus he'd be travelling with. And he didn't want to get on their bad side.
"You realise there could be a corpse waiting for you at the end of all this? Are you prepared for that?" Quintus' face was half cast in shadow, and half glowing in the firelight.
Was he? Claude rubbed the back of his neck. He'd grown so accustomed to finding nothing. It was comfortable, familiar, and it meant there was a chance his mother was still alive. Finding a corpse would bring ten years of searching to a bitter, cold end. An end he wasn't sure he could face.
"No, I'm not," he finally said.
"Well, at least you're honest." Quintus reached into his coat and pulled out a tiny silver bell before tossing it at Claude. "That bell is your ticket into the archives. Don't lose it."
Claude turned the trinket around in his hands, careful not to tangle the black silk ribbons. A bell as a ticket? He'd thought these things were just a sidearm necromancers carried around, but it seemed they held more significance than he thought. "So I go with Amadeus and Undine to the Coast. Then what?"
"You priests are all business, hm? Fair enough. From the coast, find a boat called the Maiden's Pearl. It goes down to the southern kingdoms, but I don't know how many stops it makes these days. You'll need to get off at the coastal city of Desta."
"And then?"
Quintus shrugged. "I don't know. That's as far as my power can take you. The archives lie ten days east of there in a small town called Jibari, but you'll have to make it somehow on your own."
Claude nodded. He'd figure it out. This wasn't the first time he'd ventured into the unknown. After leaving Lehm, he'd drifted around from village to village to city before reaching the Divine City.
"Also, a word of caution," he continued. "Once you get to the archives, keep your head down and keep your mouth shut. Only speak when spoken to, only answer when called. And for the love of the gods, don't tell them who you truly are."
Claude scowled. "But I'm not a priest any—"
"It does not matter if you are or you were. If they find out, they will kill you." Quintus set down his empty goblet and stood. "You have that bell and you have Octavia's blessing. So long as there are no mishaps, you should get to the archives just fine."
"Understood." Claude rubbed his face and eyed the goblet of wine. Perhaps one more drink would be fine. "Thank you, Quintus."
He gave a wave of his hand and headed for the exit.
"Why are you helping me?" The question slipped from his lips before he could think better of it.
He stayed quiet for a long moment before he looked over his shoulder and said: "Octavia told me you were her only ally in Hedalda for a while. I look out for those who look out for mine, so consider this a debt repaid." He threw a wave over his shoulder. "Eat up, get some rest. You'll need it."
As the door clicked shut, Claude looked down at the little bell, ran his fingers over the inscriptions on its surface. Ten years he'd been on this journey, this was the closest he'd ever been to finding his mother. Or finding closure. He should be elated.
Then why was he shaking?