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Balthion shrugged and smiled. “Same thing. Anyway, let’s get you all some food and water. You’ll be right back to your old selves in no time.”
“No.” I said abruptly, and Balthion frowned at me.
“I need to speak with Prince Sirocco. Immediately. It’s urgent.” I couldn’t waste any more time. This was already taking too long as it was.
Balthion and Darianth exchanged a look, before finally nodding.
“Alright. That can be arranged. Follow us, please.”
Fury’s Palace put the Taj Mahal to shame… not that I had ever seen the Taj Mahal outside of a picture on a postcard or in a school textbook, but I imagined it couldn’t be nearly as impressive as the structure that stood before me.
If I hadn’t been so goddamn miserable, I would have wanted to stop to take in every feature and detail. The structure sat in the middle of a hidden oasis deep in the Viridian Desert. There was a large freshwater river that wound through the territory, and the people of Wrath had built Fury’s Point to follow the line of the river bed. The metropolis thickened and flourished around the mouth of the river, where it spilled into the Obsidian Sea.
The river, which Balthion informed us was named The Vein, brought an explosion of life that cut through the dry desert landscape. The sparkling blue water of The Vein was dappled with white sails from boats filled with fishermen.
The homes that made up Fury’s Point were only a few stories high, bleach white and nearly perfectly squared cubes. Despite their namesake, the people of Wrath were friendly and humble. They waved to Darianth and Balthion, greeting them by name as we passed. Dossidian was greeted with equal enthusiasm, as we made our way through the large town. Several daemons welcomed Dossidian back home with large smiles on their faces.
The palace, or the Wrathful Citadel as Balthion called it, was incredible. The structure was made up of several cylindrical white pillars, topped with large blood-red domes. In the center of the citadel stood a massive white pyramid, the sides carved with intricate patterns and designs. Resilient desert vines crawled up one side of the white pyramid, thriving, thanks to the lattice of waterways and exterior plumbing built to allow the life blood of The Vein to flow through the palace.
As we entered the massive courtyard that led into the inner walls of the Citadel, we passed two warriors, who were even larger than Dossidian, at the front gates. They were stone faced, bearing long restructium spears, and wearing armor that looked thicker and more brutal than the style of armor we had back at Pride.
I tried not to gape in awe at how huge everything was. The palace in Midasara had been beautiful, but everything here was larger than life. As Darianth and Balthion led us into the pyramid-like structure, I couldn’t help but do a slow three sixty to take everything in.
There were paintings on every wall, each one depicting what looked to be a member of Dossidian’s family, either at war or posing for family portraits. One entire wall also housed a staircase to the next floor that seemed to be dedicated to these types of frames.
As we moved deeper into the pyramid, I noticed that there were several instances of large sections of the tapered wall that were actually made of glass, which filled the interior with a plethora of bright natural light.
The hallway we were led down had high ceilings and was elegantly furnished with a rich red carpet, golden ornate chandeliers, and more paintings of battle scenes.
“Father likes to relive the glory days.” Balthion said, sounding amused. “Most of these are depictions of battles that happened thousands of years ago.”
We passed one large portrait of a young, dark-haired girl in a white dress with a brilliant smile. Flowers were falling out of her hands, and she was giggling, surrounded by nearly a hundred butterflies. She seemed out of place, amid all the paintings of war and carnage. Darianth caught me looking at the painting and scowled.
“And some of them are depictions of much more recent events.” He muttered angrily, increasing his pace. Balthion looked confused and glanced at Dossidian, who just pursed his lips and kept walking.
Finally, we arrived at the end of the hall, which was set with two large crimson doors, carved with more images of daemons fighting in brutal wars. If I hadn’t been so worried about Amon, I might have been excited about the possibility of recruiting a prince who seemed to crave the glory of war. Unleashing Dossidian’s people on Ash Nevra’s army would certainly help our cause if they fought as valiantly as these paintings and carvings implied.
“You ready?” Balthion asked, winking at us. Darianth rolled his eyes, and I exchanged a look with Dossidian, who was watching me nervously, before nodding.
“Yes.” I nodded, and Balthion swung the crimson doors open, revealing an exquisite room set with two golden thrones surrounded by a crystalline indoor stream. In between the two thrones stood a large, crystal orb on a blood-red wooden stand. I looked at it curiously. The inside seemed to be filled with swirling white smoke, and I could have sworn I saw a face float through the clouds, pressing against the glass to peer back at me.
The floor to ceiling windows allowed the sun to illuminate the space, and I was met with the smiling faces of who I could only assume were Prince Sirocco and Princess Balveria. Dossidian’s parents.
Raven
“Mother. Father.” Balthion beamed, stepping forward. “Look what the sand drake dragged in!” He gestured back toward myself and the rest of my party.
I could immediately see where Dossidian and his brothers got their looks from. Prince Sirocco was huge, muscled, and boasted a head full of dark unruly hair. He was bare chested and armed, though he wore several large gold chains, and his fingers were laden with heavy gold rings. His dark skin was inked with what looked like dates of wars and battles he had fought in. Despite being physically intimidating, he had a kind face, with a square jaw and a smile that reached his eyes.
Princess Balveria, on the other hand, was petite in comparison. She rose from her throne, smiling kindly at us. After having met Princess Vespara, I had been apprehensive about the types of rulers we might find in Wrath, but the look on Balveria’s face was kind and welcoming.
“Dossidian?” She called; her smile so bright it could compete with the sun. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two and was a curvy woman with an hourglass figure and plump red lips. Her dark skin stood out against her white gold trimmed gown. Her black hair was curly and hung to her supple hips, which swayed as she approached us. My eyes widened as she floated over the bubbling indoor stream that snaked around the thrones. She was the first daemon I had met besides Amon that could fly like I could. Without wasting any time, she wrapped her arms around Dossidian’s waist, and rested her head against his chest with a content sigh.
“You really must visit more often. I feel like we never see you anymore.” She pouted and he chuckled.
“Well, when you make it so difficult to cross the desert, the idea of a visit becomes less enticing.”
“Nonsense!” The daemon who I could only assume was Prince Sirocco boomed. “Overcoming the challenge of the Viridian should stoke vitriol in your loins and call you to prove yourself worthy of claiming your heritage!”
