I tried not to start. I might call myself a prince, but I had not expected their king to clasp hands with me as an equal. I found my tongue. “I am honored, King Reyn. This is Lord Lant Fallstar, and my serving man, Perseverance of Withywoods.” Both were already on their feet, bowing.
The king finally released my hand and gestured to the door. “I regret my delay in greeting you. My lady, Malta, was called away to deal with unexpected visitors and left me to finish a complicated accounting with one of our ship’s captains. I had given orders I was not to be disturbed until the inventory was complete and somehow your arrival was not seen as an extraordinary event that demanded immediate attention. But, enough explanations for now. Please, accompany me to a more comfortable place. Rapskal, summon someone to prepare chambers for them in the Greeting Hall, and transport their belongings there. No, please, leave your things as they are. I promise they will be delivered safely to your rooms. Accompany me, please.”
The lack of formality was unnerving, and I suddenly and desperately hoped that our arrival would not upset any treaties or pacts that Dutiful and Elliania had been carefully negotiating. As I followed the king, I made a wild reach with my Skill, only to founder in the vast chorus of the city that surrounded me. No. Useless. I’d have to go very cautiously.
He took us back to the great entry hall and then, to our surprise, ushered us out into the early evening. The city was lit as I had never seen any city lit. When Per gasped at it, I knew it was no Skill-trick but actual light emanating from the buildings. They gleamed in dragon colors: gold and blue, scarlet and verdant green, yellow as daisy hearts. Some were patterned with vines of light or stylized waves and swirls while others simply glowed. We needed no torches to make our way down the steps to the street. There I fought my Skill clear of the thronging ghost-Elderlings to see a far sparser population moving in the streets. King Reyn walked briskly, responding with waves or nods to those who greeted him. We attracted stares but he did not permit anyone to detain us or ask questions. At the end of the street, we reached a structure that was humbler than the map-tower but taller and grander by far than Withywoods Manor.
“Our Greeting Hall,” he announced it with a gesture. “We find it a pleasant place to welcome guests. It’s scaled for humans. Smaller doors, lower ceilings. Sometimes I feel rather insignificant in some of the other structures here.” He tipped me a small smile. “A hazard of living alongside dragons, as you may imagine. Please, come with me. There are many comfortable rooms here. And it is what we call a quiet place, meaning that in the upper chambers the voices of Kelsingra do not whisper so loudly.”
He maintained his brisk pace up the steps and weary as I was, I strove to keep up with him. The entrance hall was furnished in what I believed was a Bingtown style. There were clusters of chairs around small elegant tables. The room still looked oddly empty to me until I realized that it was missing a grand hearth with a fire. Despite the high ceilings and wide windows of thick yellow glass, it was still warm inside; I judged this further evidence of Elderling magic at work. We did not pause in this room, but entered a flagged hall and walked along it, our boots ringing while the softly shod feet of the king whispered along. We passed half a dozen ornately carved doors before he opened one and gestured us in.
In the center of the room was a table with an elegant cloth and fine dishes set out upon it. Chairs with carved wooden backs and green cushions awaited us. The art on the walls was foreign to my eyes, but pleasant. Images were suggested—the deep twining greens of a forest or the wide rippled face of a river—but nothing was precisely depicted. A woman had been straightening the silverware on the table, but she turned to greet us as we entered.