Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter IX

Idabel

The great fortress of Dabdagan was so large and so enduring that Idabel had always given it the same, careless awareness that she would give to the northern mountains, or to any immovable landmark. Each stone, each rounded turret, even the arching halls and spiraling walkways, were so incalculably massive that it was almost impossible to observe them honestly. It was so large that a sizable grove of trees lay at the center of the fortress, hemmed by sprawling grounds—herbs, vegetables, and a cascading flower garden. One glistening arm of the Teverene River delta snaked its way through the greenery and, every time the breeze changed, a breath of crisp air wafted up to the dining pavilion, where Idabel had been sitting since dawn.

What a shame she couldn’t enjoy any of it.

Her stomach roiled as she flipped a coarse page in the spiralbound she held, not having read a word. Trying in vain to arrest the momentum of her careening thoughts, she methodically took a tasteless sip of now-tepid te…