Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
It was fronted with wild vegetation all around, wide squat plants with large flat leaves turned face up to the sun, spiked greenery, gentle, swaying limbs that drooped at their ends with delicate crimson flowers. Large decorative urns set here and there. Big pots filled with thin, tall bamboo or bursting with ruby-red cyclamen. Crescent and star-shaped pools lined with dazzling designs of bright mosaic tile. And small streams of water flowing everywhere.
And in the center of the curved drive, abutted by a wide pentagram of artistically-laid tile, was a pool shaped of curves and points, inlaid with mosaics, with an imposing three-tiered fountain at the center.
It was exquisite, an oasis, and the palace that sprang from it seemed but a grand accompaniment to the garden’s beauty.
The palace was not tall, only three stories.
But it was long.
The windows on the first floor were rectangular, and it would seem they all carried exquisite, scrolled screens.
On the second story, all the windows were of traditional Firenz. An unusual, but lovely, arch that had a steep point at the top, bulging out to a trimmed orb, the sides falling straight from that.
And on the third, the same but smaller.
It was built from burnished red stone that gleamed like a ruby muted by midnight.
And standing on its high steps was a warrior who was taller than my husband, muscular, but not bulkier. He was Firenz, fierce, but right then smiling broad and welcoming.
There was another warrior standing with him, wearing, oddly in that clime, thick black leathers—shirt, trousers, boots. He could be Firenz, but although he was as tall and broad as the other, his skin was olive, not brown. And his hair was black, but clipped short to his skull, not long.
And he had ink.
Not piercings.
Mars of the Firenz, the first.
Cassius of the Airenzian, the second.
We stopped, Aramus alighted and then put his hands to my waist to pull me down.
We barely turned before the King of Firenze was at the bottom step, but feet from us.
“My brother, my brother,” he said, both of his big hands out, the smile still fixed on his face.
And it appeared genuine.
He took one of my husband’s hands and clasped it, lifting the other to clap Aramus stoutly on the shoulder.
“I have desired long to meet you and to know you. Welcome to my lands. Welcome to my city. Welcome to my home. Many welcomes to you,” his black gaze came to me, “and your beautiful queen.”
Another clap on the shoulder before he released Aramus’s hand, then to my shock, bowed at the waist, perhaps not low, but it was respectful.
He did this to Aramus.
And to me.
“Aramus,” I heard a low voice murmur and the Firenz king moved aside as Prince Cassius took his place, and I was again shocked when they embraced, both clapping each other solidly on the back. They broke apart and Cassius stated, “Too long, my friend.”
“Indeed,” Aramus replied and turned to me. “Cass, Mars, my wife, Queen Ha-Lah.”
Cassius also did a slight bow.
Having already bowed, King Mars smiled at me.
Then Mars clapped loudly. “Wine!” he shouted. Food!” He started walking up the steps to the palace, but did it twisted at the waist toward us. “For you and your bride. Do not worry. We’re prepared for your arrival. Your men will be settled and seen to.” He smiled again. “Let the games begin.”
Cassius fell back, and I heard him greeting Aramus’s lieutenants.
Aramus took my hand in his and led us behind Mars.
“Aramus,” I whispered.
“I must reflect,” he whispered back on a squeeze of my hand.
He knew what I was saying.
Petals.
Coins.
Flaming arrows.
Hails to the King and Queen of Mar-el.
We were not curiosities.
We were luminaries.
So I had made a blunder in how I communicated with my husband.
And I knew right then he was reflecting on the fact that he might have made a blunder in not listening to his wife.
We arrived at the top of the steps, moved into a cool vestibule, and a variety of introductions were made to a variety of people that Mars clearly had very little interest in and even less respect for.
Save two.
Prince True, of Wodell.
And a strange exchange that seemed somewhat telling as he curtly introduced us to a petite beauty bizarrely named Silence.
His betrothed.
It was Silence I studied, doing this so intently, my head was turned to her even as my husband led us away, following Mars.
And I did this with the deepest shock I’d experienced that day.
Because she was Dellish.
And she was mermaid.
12
The Camp
Princess Elena
An Oasis, Dune Desert, Outside Fire City
FIRENZE
“Bid them to enter,” my mother called.
“Yes, my honored sister,” Lucinda answered and turned back to the coral silk of the tent flaps.
At who I knew was about to enter, my gaze went to Melisse who was sitting opposite me on the coral, purple, gold and silver pillows set on the rugs that covered the stone and sand of Firenze, and I gave her a disgusted look.