❝'But don't let them make it too perfect,' I added.
Scars made good reminders.❞
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THE WINDING WHITE gravel path led us through the palace grounds, past the rolling lawns and follies, and the high walls of the hedge maze. Tolya, ordinarily so still and silent, squirmed in his saddle, his mouth set in a sullen line.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
I thought he might not answer, but then he said, "It smells like weakness here. Like people getting soft."
I shot a glance at the giant warrior. "Is that so?"
Tamar could usually be counted upon to laugh off her brother's moods, but she surprised me by saying, "This place feels like it's dying."
They weren't helping to settle my nerves. Our audience in the throne room had left me with anger I'd felt toward the King and Saints knew he deserved it. He was a filthy old lech who liked to corner servant girls, to say nothing of the fact that he was a rotten leader and had threatened to execute both me and Mal in the space of a few minutes. Even thinking about it, I felt another jab of bitter resentment.
We entered the wooded tunnel. The trees pressed in on us and, above, the branches wove together in a canopy of green. The last time I'd seen them, they'd been bare. We emerged into bright sunshine. Below us lay the Little Palace.
I missed it, I realized. I'd missed the shine of its golden domes, those strange walls carved with every manner of beast, real and imagined. I'd missed the blue lake gleaming like a slice of sky, the tiny island not quite at its center, the white flecks of the Summoners' pavilions on its shore. It was a place like no other. I was surprised to discover how much it felt like home.
