Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

Losing the house was a major reason for that, but it was more that Aunt Arianne still seemed to expect them to keep track of how much things cost, even after sorting through a safe full of treasures, and unflinchingly buying them vast piles of clothing.

Working to put money and nerves aside, Eluned reminded herself this visit was a privilege, and she had particularly wanted to see the next place on their ‘tour’, an egg-shaped courtyard surrounded by arched windows and a triumph of carved linework.

This, at least, allowed Eluned to forget other concerns. She’d always been proud that her own grandmother had been among the artists called upon during the construction of Gwyn Lynn Palace, but it was the Running Yard she’d most wanted to see. The walls above and between each and every arch were filled with knotted depictions of the Otherworldly beings the Suleviae, by Sulis’ grace, commanded. The three dragons, Nimelleth, Dulethar and Athian, the Night Breezes, and the triskelion. Fabulous. The kind of balance of form and pattern Eluned longed to achieve.

“The two islands are officially called Thurin and Aliden,” their guide was saying, “but, of course, everyone calls them the Bean and the Bonnet because of their shapes, like we call this the Egg instead of the Running Yard. There are over seven hundred rooms in the main part of the palace, which fills the Bean completely. The Bonnet, Aliden, is the smaller island, but will look more spacious because the royal residences are widely spaced around gardens. This way, damini.”

Patient with their gawping, the page coaxed them past the tiger, waiting with its driver, through an open doorway in the northwest curve of the ‘Egg’, and into a large, dome-ceilinged room with many exits, the most notable flanked by two very impressive guards wearing both swords and pistols. The walls between were hung with paintings, and the room itself busy with groups of people coming and going.

“The Crossing Gallery,” the page said, as Aunt Arianne took her hat and veil off. “The only dry way to reach the residences without a boat—or wings. Let me hold that for you, dama.”

Aunt Arianne smiled her thanks, and they paused to study the paintings until Aunt Arianne discovered a mirror set between two enormous landscapes and said: “Is there somewhere I can tidy my hair?”

“Of course, dama—” the page began, but broke off as one of a pair of men heading toward the Egg stopped short.

“Rian?” he said, voice high with surprise. Aunt Arianne turned, and he looked startled, then held up his hands in apology, continuing in heavily accented Prytennian: “Ah, pardon. It is my error…”

Aunt Arianne, after a moment’s pause, smiled. “You’ve changed far more than I, Felix.”

Eluned, who prided herself on her Latin, was disappointed to barely be able to make out more than a handful of words in the exchange that followed, though it was easy enough to guess that a large part of it involved: “You look so young!” The man himself only seemed to be in his twenties, his companion a good deal older, and the pair of them almost stereotypically Roman in appearance, with curling dark hair and impressive noses. Like most non-Prytennian men, they weren’t wearing a summer shendy at all, only short, sleeveless tunics belted over tight-fitting shirts and trousers, with some rather nice patterns to the cloth.

“But, no, I have learned it with great effort,” the man said, switching back to Prytennian. “Diligently, if not well.” The older man with him murmured something, and he grimaced. “I must go. But I will call on you, and we will to lunch.” He took Aunt Arianne’s hands then, adding: “I was sorry, to hear what happened. That was badly done.”

“An object lesson,” Aunt Arianne said, with her faint, amused smile. “Good afternoon, Felix.”

The Roman man kissed her hands, which made Aunt Arianne raise her eyebrows, and then the page was leading them to discreet rooms where they could primp before meeting Princess Leodhild.

“Used to court him?” Eleri asked, as Aunt Arianne slipped a comb out of her daybelt.

“Given he was all of twelve last time we met, no,” Aunt Arianne said. “He’s a cousin of the Dacian Proconsul, and is apparently in Prytennia with the company assisting the underground railway’s construction. Not at all what I thought he’d end up doing.”

Eluned watched with interest as their aunt swiftly let down and recoiled her butter-brown hair, settling it back into the heavy knot she liked to wear at the nape of her neck. Eluned’s own hair, kept short for convenience’s sake, was easily smoothed.

“In charge of digging automata?” Eleri asked, pursuing her own interests.

“Possibly,” Aunt Arianne said, as they returned outside to find Griff plumped down on the corridor floor sketching the view into the Gallery. “I’ll ask, if I do see him again.”

After Griff was persuaded to stand, the brightly interested page led them back into the Crossing Gallery, past the attentive guards, and onto a covered bridge, a short arch of pale stone.

“The Glass Channel,” the girl said, as they gazed down the lightly curving corridor formed by two rows of windows, the buildings of both islands deliberately constructed to mirror each other. “During winter the water freezes, and on some days at sunset the whole thing turns pink and red.”

A short, well-built man stepped onto the bridge from Aliden Island. “Danel, Her Highness will be waiting for her guests.”

Starting, the page fished a watch from inside the waistband of her shendy, and bit her lip. Although they’d arrived well ahead of their afternoon appointment purely so they could linger over their trip through the palace, they had somehow taken a long time seeing very little.

“This way, damini,” the man went on, and they followed him obediently down an arched corridor.

The royal residences were technically three separate buildings arranged in a triangle, but the residences of Sulevia Leoth and Sulevia Seolfor were joined together by the rooms that sat along the bank of the Glass Channel. The braided tower belonging to Sulevia Sceadu was more distinctly separate, its square base joined to the others only by covered walkways. Beyond the tower were trees, and ivy-covered walls, and in between the three residences were shrubs and massed flower beds, and a central pavilion that reminded Eluned distinctly of the roofless ruin at Hurlstone. It was in the pavilion that Princess Leodhild waited.

There were no covered walkways to this central point, so the page, Danel, handed Aunt Arianne her hat back. While her Aunt rearranged it, Eluned took several calming breaths. Although she had knelt before Cernunnos himself only a few days ago, that did not make it any less amazing to meet one of the three living avatars of Prytennia’s sun goddess. A week ago the idea of an informal chat with the Sulevia of the Song, commander of the triskelion, would have been outright unbelievable, but this had somehow become their life. Gods, vampires, royalty.

And yet, the princess didn’t seem like she was waiting for them at all. There was a table set in the middle of the pavilion, and the princess was intently studying wide sheets of paper spread all over it. When the sound of their approach caught her attention she looked up at them quite blankly. But then she smiled.

“I’ve forgotten my schedule,” she said. “Sit down, do, and let me look at you. Benric, send someone to clear away this mess and bring us something nice.”

Princess Leodhild’s grandfather had been Nubian, and she certainly lived up to the fabled vigour of that people. Eluned had rarely seen anyone more vibrantly alive, even though she was older than Aunt Arianne, with three children of her own. But, of course, she was a living avatar of Sulis herself, one of Three Who Are One.