“I’m very glad to see you,” the Prince Bishop said. “You’ve made your decision?”
“I have,” Solène said. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”
“That’s very good news,” the Prince Bishop said. “Very good news indeed. These men are members of the Order of the Golden Spur, and will bring you there. You’re about to embark on a very exciting journey, Solène.”
Solène had never ridden in a carriage before, let alone one as fine as the Prince Bishop’s. The comfort did little to quell the butterflies in her stomach. His haste in sending for his personal carriage as soon as they had spoken suggested that he wanted to get her to the Order’s headquarters before she had a chance to change her mind. She was flanked by the two men in the cream robes, both young and intense-looking. She tried to engage them in conversation to satisfy her curiosity and temper her anxiety, but they said little. They were courteous enough, however, and if anything, she would have said they were wary of her.
The Priory—the Order’s home—was situated on the city’s north bank. At first glance, it was an austere, walled complex that did little to build her enthusiasm. The buildings looked like they had been built many years earlier; certainly long before the Order came into existence, and judging by the density of buildings around it, before this part of the city was as populated as it now was. Her sense of foreboding grew and she questioned if she had made the right choice. However, she knew she couldn’t spend the rest of her life running. The Order might represent her only opportunity to stop. It didn’t need to be the land of milk and honey that the Prince Bishop had painted it. It only needed to be safe.
The carriage rattled to a stop outside heavy old gates recessed into the wall. The two men got out of the carriage and engaged in a brief conversation. After a moment, one of the men popped his head back in.
“His Grace’s carriage is too large to fit through, miss. This is as far as it can take you. We’ll take your baggage and bring you in.”
Solène smiled at the thought of having baggage. The seamstress had arrived at the inn with her new clothes only moments before she had left for the palace. She would not have believed how good a fresh set of well-made clothes could feel, but after fleeing Trelain with only those on her back, it was a sensation she hoped she would not forget, nor ever take for granted.
Her companion offered Solène his hand, to help her out of the carriage, and she could not help but notice the effort they were making. The Prince Bishop wanted her, and wanted her badly. Was she really so special?
“Thank you,” she said, peering through the open gate to get her first glimpse of the place she might be calling home. Her eyes widened in surprise. From the outside, she would have described it as bleak. The inside was a very different matter. A courtyard garden caught her eye first; it rivalled anything she had seen at the palace for beauty. It was lush, shady, tranquil, and as far from what she expected as she could imagine.
“This way, miss,” the man carrying her bags said. “Word of your arrival was sent ahead, so you’ll be expected.”
She smiled and followed him, trying to take everything in. As she passed through the gate, the path changed from mud to smoothly raked gravel that crunched pleasingly underfoot. A large fountain adorned the garden’s centre, and the sound of flowing water lent the courtyard an air of serenity. She wanted to lie down on the grass and listen to it all day. Men and women in cream robes were scattered about the garden, sitting and reading, or walking together, deep in conversation. Her immediate reaction was that this was somewhere she wanted to be.
The buildings that had seemed so dour from outside were exemplars of architectural beauty from this side. Many looked far newer than the walls themselves, and she felt her misgivings being replaced by the exciting thought that this might be somewhere she could be happy.
A tall, slender woman with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail approached the new arrivals.
“Solène?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Excellent. My name is Kayte dal Drezony,” she said. “I’m the Seneschal of the Order—that’s a fancy name for one of the senior officers. Welcome to the Priory.”
“Thank you,” Solène said.
“Where are you from?”
“A tiny village called Bastelle-Loiron.”
“I hear the Loiron valley is very beautiful,” dal Drezony said. “I’ll take you to your room and tell you how things work while we walk.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Solène said, feeling overwhelmed. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Not what you expected?”
Solène shook her head. “No, it looks very different from the outside.”
Dal Drezony laughed. “That’s not entirely unintentional. The Prince Bishop felt that maintaining as low a profile as possible was for the best. I agree with that, but we discovered early on that if people are happy in their environment, they make better progress, so we hide our little paradise behind ugly walls.
“This way,” dal Drezony said, indicating an archway leading into another courtyard garden. “I’m to be your mentor while you’re training. If you have any problems settling in, I’m the first person you come to.” She pointed to a long building. “That’s the library over there. It’s not the largest around, but it’s being added to nearly every day and it holds a lot of books you won’t find anywhere else. Not just on magic, but a broad range of things that might be useful to us, or just of interest.”
Solène glanced at the building and wondered how many books it might contain—certainly more than the shelf in the chapel’s annex in Bastelle.
“There are two types of people here,” dal Drezony said. “Fencers and conjurers—although one day the Prince Bishop hopes for us all to have the same skills, and there are a few who are passable at both. I don’t see it happening myself—at least not to the level the Prince Bishop wants, but he can always dream. The first type—the fencers—are Academy graduates. Commander Leverre, the Order’s marshall, is the only banneret who can create worthwhile magic. The bannerets are pretty lethal with a sword, though. Most of them have been swinging one since they were infants, and it shows.
“All the swordplay goes on in there,” she added, pointing to a low building. “The refectory is over there.” She indicated a long building that took up one side of the courtyard. “We try to take meals together as a community. Helps to create a sense of collegiality. The food’s pretty good—one of the benefits of having so many people here of noble backgrounds. You can train them into the ground, but if the food isn’t up to standard, it’s mutiny.” She laughed.
“Your room is through here.” She escorted Solène through another arch, into a galleried lane. “The conjurers—you and I—are usually academics or people who’ve shown a bit of talent. You can swing a sword from dawn until dusk—and you’ll have to until you get the hang of the basics—but you won’t match a banneret’s skill. I like to think we have an edge when it comes to the mental agility needed for magic, though, so it balances out. Now.” She stopped at a door and opened it. “Your palace.”
While the room did not quite match Bauchard’s standards, it was certainly far closer to a palace than Solène’s room in Trelain. She looked around—a large bed with what was clearly a feather mattress, comfortable chairs, spotlessly clean. It was far more than she could have hoped for.
“Will it be all right?” dal Drezony said.
“It’s excellent. It’s better than excellent.”
“Good, good. The Prince Bishop is very eager to see that you’re happy. We’ll take lunch in an hour—the bell will let you know when. Come across when you hear it. Until then, settle in, relax, and feel free to take a look around. If you’ve any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”