Court of Snakes: This Desert Cage

Lies - The Palace | June of the Second Year

"Lord Guildenhart?"

Someone rapped on the doorway and Terran emerged from the throes of sleep, rubbing his eyes and stretching as warm sheets encapsulated him. He remembered where he was, and he pulled the puffy, down sheets up to his chin, a smile on his face. The sunlight streamed in through his window, the wavering glass casting fanciful patterns onto the floor, and he breathed in the scent of orange peel and cinnamon. When the knock sounded again, he startled himself from his half-dream and stood, alarmed. It only took one look in the mirror to tell him that his disguise had worn off, and he fumbled for the cards in his pocket as the rapping on the door continued.

"Lord Guildenhart, I have an urgent message for you from Lord Talbot."

"One moment!" Terran stumbled to his feet and, as quickly as he could, Terran drew a card from the pouch around his waist. He had no time to check if it was The Magician, and he knew he had to trust his cards. The first card he drew was the one he used, and just as the card finished its magick, the servant opened the door. Terran stumbled into a pair of pants. "Sorry," he apologized. "I had a long night. I had not yet awoken."

"My apologies for waking you," the servant added and nodded in a rote fashion as he opened the door wider. "Lord Talbot wished for me to inform you that he is holding a feast in your honor and instructed that I return with your response. It will be later tonight, but he wanted to make sure that you would have time to attend. He understands you are busy adjusting to your new life."

"I'll be there," Terran sighed and flopped down onto the bed. "Send my regards."

That had been incredibly close, he thought to himself as the servant closed his door again. He was banking on dozens of lies to get him through however long it would take for him to complete his mission. He was not sure if he was comfortable with it or not, but he knew it must be done.

He had forgotten how much he missed the Embassy, and he enjoyed the moment to himself a little longer. Soft beds, warm sheets, and large open windows leading to warm summer nights called to him like a dream. The Embassy Palace, as far as he was concerned, was the most beautiful building ever made, and each floor of the crystalline building served a different purpose. The first floor contained the courtyard, the throne room, and a few guests' bedrooms. The second floor held the kitchens, the dining room, and the servants' quarters, and above that there were floors of suites, each belonging to a councilmember. Esmond, Councilman Wolff, and now himself occupied these floors as leaders of districts, but the rest of the suites remained empty.

Terran wondered, when wandering these empty floors, why Talbot had refused to elect new members of the Council. The process was straightforward. If the Councilmember had an heir by blood, they took the position. If not, then an election was held to determine who would replace them. Each district offered up the best candidates and a vote was held. Why Talbot refused to move forward with the election process was beyond Terran. Seven empty chairs tucked under the council table on the ninth floor, and Terran had wondered the day before who would fill the seats.

Days ago, when he had been assigned his mission, Rune's face masked his for the first time, and he wandered the city like a tourist. As Terran passed through the districts, he kept his eyes to the skies as he gazed upon the Embassy tower. Once in Naa'a, he passed through the gates of the palace into the outermost courtyard, which was flanked by Russian Olive Trees, those that appeared white in the right light, blue hydrangeas, delphinium, bluestars, and bellflowers. The entire courtyard itself was enclosed in glass so all manner of plants could grow, regardless of the weather.

The gates to the actual palace, beyond this small garden, stood tall and intimidating made of silver and woven into the emblem of the Embassy, an eagle. He looked into the throne room through the glass doors that led into it but did not enter. He feared the room, and memories of his parents haunted him, their ghosts playing in the light of the afternoon. It was the grandest room in the entire palace, except for the Sovereign's bedroom, but every corner and every nook and every particle of dust that flitted down from the ceiling reminded him of something that no longer was.