The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [113]
They halted before large double doors made of smooth black wood. Kreshkali hopped off her grunnie and signalled Rosette to do the same.
‘Here we are.’ She smiled. ‘That didn’t take long now, did it!’
‘Are you mad?’ Rosette answered, nearly crumpling to her knees when her feet touched the ground. ‘It felt like forever.’
‘You have much to learn about time, young witch.’
‘Love to learn, but first I need some sleep.’
Kreshkali opened the door with a long toothed key. She was nothing like the Lupins, Rosette decided. Her hands were beautiful, the slender fingers marked with intricate tattoos. Rosette studied them. They were almost identical to Nell’s and La Makee’s. Tingles prickled the back of her neck. Was she once a High Priestess of Treeon? She followed Kreshkali in, leaving the grunnies to wait in the corridor behind them.
The room was spacious and well lit, the sound of rushing water pervasive. There were dark wooden beams overhead set into a cone-shaped ceiling that ended miles above them in a tiny point of light no bigger than a star. Was that the real sky? No wonder it had taken them so long—regardless of what Kreshkali thought.
Three of the walls, from the wooden beams to the tiled floor, were covered in mosaic designs. Scenes of hunts, battles, shape-shifting and some provocative intimacies jumped out in extraordinarily vivid colours, a contrast to the endless sandstone and rust of every other wall and corridor she had passed. It must have taken years to render the fine details, maybe decades. None of the subjects were familiar, as though from a different age—a different world—though they were unquestioningly sentient. They were doing everything a human on Gaela might, but the shapes were distorted, strange, transforming. She had to look away.
She followed the sound of churning water. Several lamps hung from the wooden beams, illuminating a large pool. A fall of water plummeted into its depths from a natural fissure in the far rock face, causing it to bubble and roil. Walking closer, she saw the pool was also lined with mosaic tiles, the rim a sparkling sapphire blue. The surface closest to her was smooth, almost undisturbed, and steam rose in wisps, reminding her of the granite bathing pools of Treeon.
The vast room was welcoming. It felt lived in, lined with carved chests and seating areas with furs and brightly coloured embroidered cushions. A low wooden table was laid out with bread, meat and a red fruit. There was a black-framed bronze mirror, easily seven feet high, resting up against one wall and partially obscuring a wardrobe with its doors open and clothing strewn haphazardly over it. A desk was cluttered with papers, books and what looked like a map. Her eyes widened when she saw a star chart.
There were also some peculiar items: tubes and boxes made of metal and some other unknown material, with thin black twine connecting them. Other items were stacked upright in tubs or lay covered in dust in the corner. Towards the far side—well away from the damp and mist of the pool—was a rumpled, unmade bed.
‘This is where you live?’ Rosette asked.
Kreshkali looked around the room as if to remind herself of something. ‘Sometimes.’
‘I see you don’t have an apprentice to keep it tidy.’
Kreshkali laughed. ‘Perhaps you’d like the job?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Drink?’ Kreshkali poured a clear liquid into two goblets, handing one to Rosette without waiting for her answer. ‘It’ll revive you instantly.’
Rosette took the goblet and drank. If it was poison, it didn’t matter. She would die from thirst if she didn’t drink it.
After a few tentative sips, she drained the glass and held it out for more. ‘Where’s it from?’ she asked. It was the sweetest, freshest water she had ever tasted.
‘Artesian,’ Kreshkali said. ‘From much further down.’
‘There’s a “further down”?’
‘There is. You ready to eat now?’
‘Why not…’
‘Dine and bathe, and rest. You have to prepare. I’ve got things to do, so feel free to wander.’ She chuckled at her own joke. Obviously there was no way Rosette could leave