the fortress and the Queen having worked herself into a fine enthusiasm over the course of the tour, Altin had time to fall back and enjoy the sight he’d really come to see: Orli.
Her blue eyes would widen at each new discovery, an enchanted feature here or an immense grandiosity there, as each was described in glowing detail by Aderbury or the Queen. She would laugh, delighted, her soft lips parting to reveal the white line of perfect teeth as she tilted forward eagerly, her supple hands clasped together at her bosom and candid enthusiasm gushing from her as if she were nature’s purest source. She poured herself wholeheartedly into learning about every new item and new idea, her zeal unfiltered and innocent, unconcerned with appearances of nonchalance and unafraid to show either ignorance or awe. She was childlike and yet entirely woman, animated by ambient joyfulness rooted in nothing more than letting life be. No selfish ambition or avarice corrupted her. She was without material greed. Her appreciation of the things she saw was as unmoved by the expectation of glory as it was by the anticipation of cost. Those were the thoughts and motivations that sculpted the expressions on other faces, but not hers. Orli shared no consumption with such emptiness, and the breathless oohs and ahhs she murmured as they went along were as unaffected as birdsong.
And so it was that he trailed at the back of the pack, watching her, answering a one-off question for this captain or that dignitary, but mostly just enjoying her enjoying the sights she saw. He was a patient connoisseur, knowing that he need not gulp down the delicacy the moment the table was set. He was determined to enjoy each course as it came along.
And he might well have enjoyed it all afternoon had it not been for their arrival at the top-most level of Citadel . This was his particular area of expertise, and his agreement with Aderbury had included the concession that he would cover this part of the tour given the complexity of the battlements on the massive space fortress. To begin, they weren’t actually battlements, or at least, they weren’t in any singular kind of way. They were the collected bulwarks of two hundred and twenty-five separate towers, squat and squared off constructs of stone, gathered together and tightly packed side by side, row by row. Together they formed a grid, with the individual units combining to making one checkerboard whole. The only variation in the pattern was a single central tower that climbed some fifty spans above the rest, the last several spans of its height thrust into the diamond shell.
“What is all of that?” asked Captain Paxton as they emerged from the stairwell and onto a walkway that ran around the edge of the assembled towers. “It looks like a giant egg crate.”
“I prefer to think of it as a wine crate,” Aderbury said. “But I realize that may be optimism on my part.” He laughed and added, “Sir Altin is better equipped to describe this particular part of Citadel , given that all of this is entirely inspired by his hard work and genius.”
“If it’s a wine crate, there are no bottles in it,” said the Earl of Vorvington. “Emptiness on such a scale would be tragic. I’d rather miss a lifetime of omelets than so much wine. Imagine having lost two hundred and twenty five bottles of elven gossamer or the frostberry vintages of Dae.” He shuddered at the horror of it, sending ripples down his jowls and neck, likely straight through his body to his feet.
Most of the group laughed, fleet officer and Prosperion alike, though the marchioness was clearly displeased that the earl had stooped to participate in the commoners’ game.
The exchange went on for a few moments as others tried their hands at making jokes or analogies for what this uppermost level looked like until eventually the Queen grew impatient, wanting to carry on. “Sir Altin,” she said, “speaking of wine, we still have a dinner to
Her blue eyes would widen at each new discovery, an enchanted feature here or an immense grandiosity there, as each was described in glowing detail by Aderbury or the Queen. She would laugh, delighted, her soft lips parting to reveal the white line of perfect teeth as she tilted forward eagerly, her supple hands clasped together at her bosom and candid enthusiasm gushing from her as if she were nature’s purest source. She poured herself wholeheartedly into learning about every new item and new idea, her zeal unfiltered and innocent, unconcerned with appearances of nonchalance and unafraid to show either ignorance or awe. She was childlike and yet entirely woman, animated by ambient joyfulness rooted in nothing more than letting life be. No selfish ambition or avarice corrupted her. She was without material greed. Her appreciation of the things she saw was as unmoved by the expectation of glory as it was by the anticipation of cost. Those were the thoughts and motivations that sculpted the expressions on other faces, but not hers. Orli shared no consumption with such emptiness, and the breathless oohs and ahhs she murmured as they went along were as unaffected as birdsong.
And so it was that he trailed at the back of the pack, watching her, answering a one-off question for this captain or that dignitary, but mostly just enjoying her enjoying the sights she saw. He was a patient connoisseur, knowing that he need not gulp down the delicacy the moment the table was set. He was determined to enjoy each course as it came along.
And he might well have enjoyed it all afternoon had it not been for their arrival at the top-most level of Citadel . This was his particular area of expertise, and his agreement with Aderbury had included the concession that he would cover this part of the tour given the complexity of the battlements on the massive space fortress. To begin, they weren’t actually battlements, or at least, they weren’t in any singular kind of way. They were the collected bulwarks of two hundred and twenty-five separate towers, squat and squared off constructs of stone, gathered together and tightly packed side by side, row by row. Together they formed a grid, with the individual units combining to making one checkerboard whole. The only variation in the pattern was a single central tower that climbed some fifty spans above the rest, the last several spans of its height thrust into the diamond shell.
“What is all of that?” asked Captain Paxton as they emerged from the stairwell and onto a walkway that ran around the edge of the assembled towers. “It looks like a giant egg crate.”
“I prefer to think of it as a wine crate,” Aderbury said. “But I realize that may be optimism on my part.” He laughed and added, “Sir Altin is better equipped to describe this particular part of Citadel , given that all of this is entirely inspired by his hard work and genius.”
“If it’s a wine crate, there are no bottles in it,” said the Earl of Vorvington. “Emptiness on such a scale would be tragic. I’d rather miss a lifetime of omelets than so much wine. Imagine having lost two hundred and twenty five bottles of elven gossamer or the frostberry vintages of Dae.” He shuddered at the horror of it, sending ripples down his jowls and neck, likely straight through his body to his feet.
Most of the group laughed, fleet officer and Prosperion alike, though the marchioness was clearly displeased that the earl had stooped to participate in the commoners’ game.
The exchange went on for a few moments as others tried their hands at making jokes or analogies for what this uppermost level looked like until eventually the Queen grew impatient, wanting to carry on. “Sir Altin,” she said, “speaking of wine, we still have a dinner to
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