The Cedna (Tales of Blood & Light Book 2) by Emily June Street Page B

of his torso against my back, the contact of his thighs molding mine. My body was warm and liquid against his. My mind was slippery and addled from the novelty of riding, the freedom, the cool wind stroking my neck and hair.
    I caught my breath as we approached the gates to Onatos’s Alcazar. The Galatien Palace had been larger and more extravagant, with its gold gate and its colored crystal pillars seeping magic, but I found the Alcazar more beautiful. Dark trees lined the avenue leading to the gates. Thousands of candles lit the white stone steps that we climbed to reach the arched doors, which were nothing like the towering gold gate in Galantia; these were made from pale wood carved with serpentine emblems, intricate and fine. A row of servants in black and gold lined the inner hall, peering at us with barely disguised curiosity.
    “Here I must leave you, Cedna.” Onatos offered me a wistful smile before we passed through the door. “You will be in good care with the handmaiden I have given you.”
    “But why?” I hated my tone of dismay. Onatos’s sudden leave-taking startled me, and I could not tame my voice to hide my feelings.
    “ You may do whatever you please here on the grounds of the Alcazar, Cedna. You are my guest. But I have returned to my responsibilities. Go on now. Your handmaiden will show you to your rooms.” He gestured to a silent, small woman dressed in odd black robes standing to the left of the intricate doors.
    I wanted to ask him when I would see him again, but two purposeful liveried men interrupted us with the loud rap of boots on the stone stairs. I felt out of place, a foreigner in this southern land. As the two men spoke soft words to Onatos, I let the somber handmaiden lead me away.
    “Again?” Onatos’s voice raised in anger behind us. I glanced over my shoulder, but the handmaiden pulled me away before I could discern what troubled him. I did not want to let him out of my sight.
----
    T he handmaiden led me up so many stairs that I was breathless by the time we arrived at a level hall lined with doors. I froze as the handmaiden gestured me into my chamber; it stunned me that much. The room was fit for a goddess! I could hardly countenance that I should occupy it. The ceiling soared, etched in the same serpentine motifs as the doors far below, but these designs were gilded in what appeared to be real gold foil. Blue magelight burned in wall sconces cast from glass. Four white pillars girded the bed, allowing it to be draped in a tent of blue silk. An open door led to an outdoor courtyard.
    A carved wardrobe took up a whole corner of the room, and when I opened it, I found two new silk dresses, rich green and deep blue, as if they had been made for me. Eager to shed my Gantean traveling clothes, I pulled one out and changed under the watchful eye of the handmaiden.
    “It was suggested to me that you might enjoy sculpting blackstone, my lady,” the woman said. I could not discern her age or distinguishing features behind her garb.
    “Is there some available?”
    She nodded. “I will arrange it. You are to let me know anything else you need for your comfort.”
----
    T he handmaiden arrived in my room early the following morning. She gestured at the courtyard. “Please let me know if what I have arranged is to your liking.”
    I stepped into the bright southern sunlight and gaped at a box full of blackstone spalls set upon a wooden table before the fountain. The spalls had been shaped, all the tedious work of refining the raw material finished. Various tools—leather wrappings, hammerstones, files, copper wires—had been set out in a neat line beside the box.
    “This is perfect!” I cried, amazed.
    “Do you require anything further?” the handmaiden asked.
    “No,” I said, already distracted. “Thank you. You can go.”
    Days passed in a flash. The handmaiden brought me meals, and between eating and sleeping I shaped, and shaped, and shaped, using the techniques I had