"So, what do you think about my castle?"
Days ago, the first time Bess'd been hauled up here, she had in too much terror, her mind screaming about dragons and captivity and the vertiginous drop outside the window. She hadn't processed the place at all. She also didn't realize the woman who commanded dragons and miracle recipes was also looking around wide-eyed.
The castle itself was a paradox of brutal geography and elegance. It was carved from the mountain, the creator persuaded the stone into arches, buttresses, and soaring, rib-vaulted ceilings.
The predominant stone was bone white, veined with threads of obsidian and pale quartz that caught the high-altitude light in cold, glittering sparks. It was majestic, but dark thanks to the surrounding mist.
"Dark?" Oathran asked later, after they'd settled Bess in a chamber that looked more like a cathedral workshop. He and Cecilia walked alone through the heart of his domain.
