Claude de Lune

Europa

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Quintus stuck a hand out of the carriage.

The grey slate stone of the market road gave way to the variegated sandstone of the rock garden beyond. Claude set his eyes beyond the carriage window and took in the sights. Structures made from boulders twice his size and pebbles smaller than his eyes. Ponds and baths where ducks and doves swam and bathed. And flowers. Thousands of flowers. Varieties he'd never seen. They clung to knolls and bushes, ran alongside stone paths, and floated upon the pond's murky water.

Claude shrugged a shoulder. "It's nice, I guess." He'd seen his fair share of gardens in Lehm and the greater mountain region.

Quintus drew his head back, the afternoon light painting his face yellow-orange. "You guess? What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged again. "It's a garden. It's supposed to be beautiful, or at least interesting."

"I burnt down an entire Cathedral and built this garden with its ashes and all you can do is shrug at it?" Quintus banged a fist against the roof. "Stop this damn carriage!" He reached past Claude to open the door, then pushed him out, before the carriage driver could halt the horses.

He hit the cobblestone shoulder first, pebbles digging into his skin and dust latching onto his clothes as he rolled down the path. His trunk thumped down further up the path.

"You can walk to the castle." The carriage door slammed, the sound swallowed up by the clouds mocking him from above again. He lay on the warm cobblestone until the clopping hooves faded away.

***

The sun was bowing to the night when Claude reached the gates of the castle. Sweat dripped down his face, slicked his back and made his clothes stick to him. The summer sun was unforgiving and, of course, the clouds stayed clear of its arching path the whole afternoon.

For hours he'd lugged his trunk uphill to the highest point in the city where the castle stood. He craned his neck up at the behemoth of dark grey stone. Flags sat atop the parapets bearing the same sparrow crest as the boat he'd ridden in on. So this is a castle.

"Excuse me, good sir, are you Claude?" A man dressed in red and gold livery stood beside him, but he'd been so enamoured with the castle, he hadn't heard anyone approach. "Master Quintus sent me for you. This way, please."

As Claude turned to follow the man, he glimpsed a black cross disappearing into the high doors at the front of the castle.

They walked further down the road, edging the castle to a smaller gate. The building became even more daunting when he passed through walls thicker than he was wide. All the stone in the region must have gone into building this place. Save for those in Quintus' prized garden.

Claude had never been in a castle, and the Ivory Towers in the Divine City didn't count in his mind. Gwenore had always read him stories of the grand structures and delicate folk who called them home. He'd always wanted to see one for himself, but by the time he had grown old enough to walk the world on his own, the netherborne had destroyed most of the castles in his home region.

The moment they stepped into the vestibule, an attendant took his trunk while another offered him a glass of chilled wine. It was fruity and sweet with a small bite at the end. He wanted to down it all in one go and take the bottle from the tray. But that wouldn't be very polite. Instead, he took dainty sips like a person visiting a castle would.

He followed the attendant around the thick walls and long halls filled with art of people and places that did not interest him. He much preferred art he could put on his body, or in his body. They passed a suit of armour sitting in an alcove, and he almost tripped. That was a castle thing that did interest him. But he'd have to come back to gape at the shiny, polished metal later.