Cloud Piercer

Thirty

White.

That's the first thing I notice when I wake up. White ceiling, white sheets, white light. I try to sort through the groggy memories racing through my mind—the last thing I remember is those tunnels, my vision covered, the musky stench, the aching cold.

I dart up, sheets falling to my waist as the room spins around me. Bracing my arms against the mattress, I take in the bedroom, back against the large, wooden headboard. It is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Larger than the floor plan of Casimir's entire cabin, it stretches around a corner, beyond where I can see.

The stone floor is clothed with a lush, patterned rug, intentionally frayed at the edges. Towering into arches, the ceilings stretch metres above me, giving way to an arched window that beckons sunlight inside. Various paintings hang strung along the walls, landscapes of mountains, rivers, seas. I feel dwarfed by the huge bed, unable to touch either side even when I stretch my arms and legs out.

I expected to wake up in a dungeon, my wrists and ankles chained. Not... this.

I crawl to the edge of the bed, heart hammering in my chest as my bare feet find the floor. My skin is tender and smooth, any remnants of blood and caked dirt scrubbed away and replaced by a silk nightgown. I tiptoe to the window, the brightness outside making me squint. But it's the only way to confirm my suspicions, fears, hope.

The glass is glazed, so I cannot see through, but it is not a window like I first suspect, two black latches in the centre. I fiddle with the latch, shoving the doors open. A blast of icy air rushes in, violently pulsing through the wind and glazing over my skin.

But the bitter cold is a secondary thought when I step out onto the balcony, taking in the view, my heart falling into my stomach. The ground is not visible, giving the illusion that this room floats above the clouds—clouds only pierced by a jagged mountaintop across from me.

The Elel Mountains. The Palace. Shifter territory.

"Get away from the balcony."

I leap backwards, spinning back to the room. The wooden door is open, a young girl–no older than me–standing in the doorframe. I press my back to the wall as I stare at her.

"Who are you?" I ask.

Her expression remains neutral as she steps further into the room, turning to roll a metal tray in after her. I take the moment her back is turned to examine her from head to toe. Her petite frame is dwarfed by her voluminous hair, contrasting against the pale blue of her dress.

Her movements are slow and delicate, gliding through the air like she barely takes any space. She doesn't look like a threat, but I know better than anyone how looks can be deceiving—especially where the shifters are concerned.

She turns to face me once again, lips pressed in a firm line. She gestures towards the wooden chair against the wall, facing a mirror larger than my old bed. "Sit," she says quietly.

"Why am I here?"

She blinks at me, as if confused by my question. "Please sit, Miss Raune."

"How do you know my name?" She looks away. "Please. I'm just trying to... to understand how I got here. Why."

"I do not have the answers you are seeking. I am just here to do my job."

I watch her curiously. When I was younger, my father would tell me bedtime stories about Kings and Queens in their castles, a perfect utopian setting where the sun always shone and anything you wanted could be arranged at a simple word. It always interested me, the idea of somebody's job being solely to serve another. In a place like Veymaw, servants are non-existent. Nobody is wealthy enough for such an indulgence.