In the center of town, an ancient Halderian monument dedicated to the citizens of Antora was gradually being replaced with a grand statue of Lord Endrick. I'd been told it would be completed by spring and then the entire country would celebrate it together. After what I'd seen earlier today, I knew people would stand in the streets when commanded to do so, with smiles on their faces and cursing us under their breaths.
The higher we climbed the hills of Highwyn, the more Dallisor family homes could be seen. They were easily identified by the Dallisor crest on the gates, a shield with the upper half depicting the conquering sword of Gridwyn Dallisor, and the lower half a solid red, representing the Scarlet Throne of Antora. It was a source of family pride and, I assumed, of pain as well. The throne belonged to Lord Endrick now.
Of all the houses on the hill, my home, Woodcourt, stood highest among them all. That was because of my father's position in the kingdom. Lord Endrick's coziest lapdog.
The Dominion Palace sat highest on the hills of Highwyn, almost as if Woodcourt itself bowed to Lord Endrick, which I supposed was accurate enough. I'd never been allowed inside, nor had I ever asked to enter. Despite its glistening marble walls, the palace felt dark to me. A tomb for an immortal Lord.
Up here, near the palace walls, it wasn't hard to know when Endrick's condors were near. Their screeches carried for almost a mile and always left my ears ringing.
Endrick had created his own breed of the bird, born of magic and his unquenchable thirst for death. Each was large enough to carry a grown man and had talons that could rip flesh. At the palace, they were caged and fed live animals by their riders to keep them both loyal and bloodthirsty. They flew higher than any opposing weapon could reach, and their trained riders carried shoulder cannons with leaden fire pellets that exploded anything and anyone they landed on. Nothing in Antora had yet withstood their attack.
"What is making those sounds?" Trina hissed over at Simon.
He said nothing. He knew, which meant he had probably seen them in action.
I never had, and I never wanted to. It was a relief when our road bent away from the palace, toward my home.
Woodcourt was L-shaped with a circular tower at its center. Gray granite blocks made up most of the exterior, along with white-shuttered windows and a gabled roof. There were several entrances into Woodcourt: the main doors in the tower for guests and members of the household, another for servants, one for the vast gardens that extended to the rear of the home, and another one set just outside the gates for prisoners to be escorted directly into the dungeons, unseen and unsmelled. One word from me and these soldiers would use that entrance for Simon and Trina. The temptation of it was difficult to shake from my mind.
The soldiers left us at the main gate into Woodcourt with polite bows. I thanked them for their service. Simon and Trina didn't even acknowledge them, which was both rude and foolish. Real servants would have expressed gratitude for their protection.
The three of us slid off our mounts, and Simon walked the two horses through the main gates. Trina almost immediately recoiled, then pointed forward, saying, "What is that?"
When I saw who she was looking at, I hissed back at Trina to shut her mouth. Celia had already warned me about my father's household manager, so at least one of us here wouldn't behave like an idiot. He was of medium height, with a plump body, bald head. And blue skin. Or grayish blue, to be more specific.
He must have seen Trina's reaction, but he ignored it and turned to me. We exchanged polite bows, then he said, "My name is Gerald Bones. I am the manager of Woodcourt. Are you Miss Dallisor? Your father expected your arrival today."
"I am." My formal tone matched his. "With me is a guard, Simon, and my handmaiden, Trina."
Gerald raised a hairless brow when he noticed them. "Your handmaiden is supposed to be Celia. I chose her for you myself."
"You chose a stupid and lazy girl. I released her and selected my own handmaiden."
It was a question I'd anticipated, so my answer was ready. But it felt like a betrayal to describe Celia so cruelly, after her months of patience with me. It was also a ridiculous excuse, considering that Trina was still staring at him as if she'd forgotten how to blink.
"I have a condition," Gerald said at last, uncomfortable beneath her gawking. "I'm as human as you, only--"
"Blue." This was the word Trina used to shake herself from her trance?
"Speak so rudely again, and you'll go to work in the laundry!" I scolded, then returned my attention to Gerald. "Forgive my handmaiden, sir. Clearly she's even less intelligent than Celia was."
Gerald grunted and turned toward Simon, who had made himself busy with our horses that needed no attending whatsoever. "We expected a man named Darrow to bring you back ... in a security carriage. And with a garrison accompanying you."
"They're all dead." Simon spoke stiffly, clearly uncomfortable. "Lady Kestra's carriage was attacked at the inn where she stayed last night. I rescued her and came on as her protector."
Thinking of the soldiers and why they died, I clenched my teeth, an angry retort at the tip of my tongue. But not in front of Gerald. Not in front of any servant of my father.
Instead, I offered Gerald a wry smile. "These two aren't much, but I intend to keep them ... for now."
Gerald dipped his head at me. "Very well, my lady. Your protector can attend to the horses while your handmaiden prepares your bath for a special supper tonight. Your father asked to see you as soon as you arrive."
Simon and Trina exchanged a wary look--one so obvious I would have to discuss it with them later. Neither of them seemed to like the
idea of being separated from me this soon, but what had they expected? It would never be tolerated for servants to follow me around Woodcourt.
After Gerald moved out of earshot, I whispered to Simon, "Either you trust me or you don't."
His gaze on me was steady. "I don't."