The Inheritor of Light

Matters of State (Part One)

"Of course," Riald said, nodding. "We'll head to the palace right away. Please, follow me."

Riald turned around and began to move swiftly through the crowd. Johnathan grabbed Sãra's hand and pulled her along as he waded back into the writhing sea of bodies.

After several minutes of fighting waves of people, they broke out of the mass and into the market district. There, the dense crowd broke into smaller and smaller groups as the people stopped and looked at stalls, shops, and wares. This break only caused their pace to increase as Riald moved swiftly through the market, and Johnathan was forced to keep up. Sãra seemed to be the one lagging behind, but Johnathan's tight grip on her hand kept them from getting separated.

When not struggling to keep up, she looked around at the various vendors. She'd never witnessed the market at such a close distance. She had only ever been in her carriage with her entourage, who cleared the streets before her. Now, amongst the commoners, she was able to experience what a marketplace felt like. She heard sellers call out to them as they passed by—attempting to garner another sale: produce and fruit sat open for inspection, peddlers trusting out their trinkets to every pedestrian, spice merchants making use of their scales. As quickly as they had entered, they left the marketplace behind.

The stalls and shops changed to houses, taverns, and inns as they moved further into the depths of the great city. Here the streets were clearer, save for small groups of people, mainly women, who were locked in conversation. Occupied with their own business, they paid no mind to the odd troupe hurrying by.

Traveling deeper into the heart of the city, they left the residential area and passed into the city gardens. Here, the gray stone and wooden buildings gave way to an arrangement of flowers, fountains, and shrubbery. These all lay before the great looming wall that guarded the palace. Had they not been in such a hurry, Sãra would have taken a moment to stop and admired the many flowers. If she was still a child, the fountains would have, instead, been the target for her mirthful amusement.

Johnathan stopped, which almost caused Sãra to crash into him. She looked up to see the gates to the palace grounds closed. Riald was talking to a guard who saluted and then yelled something to his comrades behind the gates. In short order, the gates had been unlocked and swung open just wide enough for them to enter.

It was here that Johnathan saw fit to release Sãra's hand. She hurried after him and Riald as they slipped through the gates before the guards closed and barred them. They now stood in the palace courtyard. Straight ahead lay the palace gates. Sãra, finally feeling at home, rushed towards the great oak doors and pushed them open with all her might. She stepped in with a triumphant swagger, having just survived an arduous journey.

"Nice place you have here," Johnathan commented as he entered in with Riald.

"Yes, well, we do try and keep the place up," Riald joked. "I must be off, though. I am not someone they just let stand around. Milady." He finished with a bow and then closed the doors behind him as he left, leaving Johnathan and Sãra alone.

Sãra turned towards the interior of the palace and started walking at a swift pace. She was so close to being rid of Johnathan and back in comfortable, fashionable clothes, she could almost feel it. The antechamber quickly moved into a grand staircase that led up to the second, main, floor. Several large windows allowed light to stream into the room, reflecting off the polished floor and into the surrounding space. Johnathan whistled at the sight, to which Sãra gave no reply. She headed straight for the stairs until a voice made her stop and look up.

"I'm glad to see that you have returned safely." The voice came from a man who was slowly walking down the stairs with his arms outstretched towards Sãra. His skin was fair, and his head was a mop of thick black hair. He had dull red eyes, like the embers of a long-forgotten fire. His clothes were not Milzocian, but rather, they were loose and of a lighter fabric with rich reds, purples, and blues.