We could just begin to see our breath fog the air in front of us as autumn’s chill began to give way to another harsh Eserenian winter. Past the shops and the shanties that made up Gormill Road, we climbed the slight hill that blocked the district’s view of Pellucid Harbor. We made it to the top just as the sun crested the northeast wall behind us, illuminating what laid in front of us.
Words failed me. My jaw hung on its hinges. Larka and I both stopped in our tracks, enraptured by the hundreds of ships that had sailed into the harbor under the cover of night. Colors I had never even seen lay before me. Reds and oranges that appeared to be on fire; yellow that looked like it was cut directly from the sun. Black that swallowed all the light around it, somehow capturing the essence of the dead of night in the bright morning light. Every shade of every color I could ever imagine — multiplied by a thousand — greeted us.
My eyes searched the painter’s palette before me as we silently walked forward with the crowd, all just as dumbstruck as we were. As we descended the hill, I turned to my right and saw the throngs of people spilling out of the other districts. There were thousands, like grains of sand through an hourglass. Music played from somewhere — everywhere. The chill that had inhabited my bones melted away as Larka and I looked at each other and laughed, words still escaping us.
I watched as the waterfront of Sidus filled with people that were almost as poor as us, the district just barely passing the threshold of being worthy enough to be cleaned and shined for today’s festivities. The district of Prisma’s waterfront was bursting with people who never had to worry about their chances of eating on any given day. They had the money for homes and clothes and good horses. On a day like today, their houses would be full of loved ones celebrating with tables of food, much of which would go to waste, a feast for the rats. I tried not to think of it.
The other districts were not as fortunate to have such easy access to the waterfront, but the waterfront was open to all Eserene residents. The Cliffs of Malarrey rose proudly toward the west end of the city, the jagged edges and sheer cliff face a natural deterrent for any attackers.
“Pardon me. Excuse me. Thank you.” I muttered niceties as I all but shouldered my way through layers of people crowding the barrier at the waterfront. I felt a palm graze my backside and whipped around to find a man in his thirties with missing teeth and a drunken grin. I froze.
“I think the fuck not,” Larka spat, her hand connecting with his cheek. The man stepped back, stunned. “Hands to yourself, prick,” she muttered, pulling me along.
My face had reddened, my cheeks hot. “Saints,Larka,” I whispered to her.
“Do you want a man to justtakewhat he wants from you?” She opened her mouth in a dramatic gag, ever the purveyor of theatrics. “All men are lousy pigs, Petra. Can’t trust any of them. Take no shit from men who try to take from you. Take no shit from anyone, really.” I knew she was right, but it had always been hard for me to speak up. Besides, she seemed to like being my voice.
Rising high above the harbor and the lower districts of Eserene, the castle was a series of daggers in the blue sky, the entire castle built on a pedestal, only accessible by a road that wound around and around the base. The lower levels that surrounded the High Royal Castle were reserved for Low Royalty — the lords and barons held private residences among the turrets, conducting their daily duties under the eyes of the High Royal Court. Dukes and counts held residences just above in the High Royal Castle. And jutting from the lower levels...
The King’s Keep. The spires and reaches seemed to skim the clouds some days, leaving scars in the mist as the sky floated by. It provided the perfect vantage point to view the sprawling harbor — and the peasants that now surrounded it. I wondered if the King was watching now.
They called him the Invisible King. King Belin had never once stood on a terrace waving to his people. Never paraded through the city streets to the cheers of the lowborn, flowers thrown at the feet of his steed. His age, his appearance, his mannerisms — all a mystery. He had come to power after King Umfray had died of the red delirium, drowning in his own blood as delusions called him to meet the Benevolent Saints. King Umfray’s sole heir had been a terrible drunk, meeting his demise at the bottom of the harbor one winter night ten years prior. It was a mess trying to find an eligible family member to continue Umfray’s legacy. No brothers, no nephews, no obvious choices. King Belin was an obscure cousin, somehow falling next in line for a throne he had never shown his face for. He took the throne just over four years ago, more than enough time to greet his people.
And still the people loved the faceless king, scrambling to catch a glimpse of his windowless carriage any time he had to leave the city for business.
Today, the Royal Guard had cordoned off a swath of the waterfront where plush sofas and velvet chairs and food-laden tables were arranged with a perfect view of the harbor. Eserene's elite were bundled in the furs of rare beasts, excessively wrapped in luxurious fabrics from far off places. Guards stood every few feet around the stanchion, ready to protect the royals from us common folk. I thought my eyes would roll straight out of their sockets.
“Petra! Larka!” I heard, spinning to the left to meet Elin’s brown eyes and full cheeks, my arm unhooking from Larka’s. Elin was Larka’s best friend and had been since we were young. I never thought she liked me much, simply tolerating me for the sake of her friendship with Larka. They’d always been close, but in recent years they’d become inseparable. Larka squealed as she gave Elin a squeeze, the girls giggling. “Can you believe how beautiful it is?” Elin remarked excitedly, one arm still around Larka.
Larka nodded emphatically, the girls falling into the chatter I was so used to hearing, arms linked together. I couldn’t focus on their conversation as I scanned the harbor for my Eddenian lapis lazuli. “Let’s try to get closer,” I leaned in and told Larka and Elin, who barely nodded in acknowledgement as I followed them through the crowd. The smudges of color that were the sails became clearer, sigils and crests taking shape as we neared the water.
Suddenly, I was on the ground.
I hadn’t even recognized the feeling of being pushed before my tailbone hit the gravel, an instant ache traveling through my spine.Shit.My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I began to collect myself, hoping no one had seen the fall, when an outstretched hand entered my vision. Calloused, rugged, honest.
I glanced up to meet the gaze of the kind stranger, finding his eyes–
His right eye was a startling blue, the color so intense it reminded me of the waters lapping in the harbor. But his left eye… The inner half of his left eye was the same blue as his right. The other half, though, was the color of a broken bottle of ale — gleaming emerald.
Like nothing I’d ever seen before.
“Are you okay?” he asked.