Chapter 24: Castle Ravenstone
The carriage rumbles beneath me as we ascend the final stretch of cobbled road leading to Castle Ravenstone. The structure looms ahead, a massive fortress of carved stone, each tower and battlement a testament to the wealth and influence of the Empire. The walls are impossibly smooth, crafted with an artistry that speaks of masterful hands. The afternoon sun casts long shadows over its façade. Ornate windows glint with colored glass, casting shimmering patterns across the manicured gardens. Fountains gurgle lazily, spilling crystal-clear water into marble basins. The whole place reeks of opulence.
I can't help but scowl in disgust. How many meals could that glass alone buy for the outskirts? How many lives could be saved if just one of those fountains was rerouted to the poor? Yet the same man who sits comfortably behind these walls—Count Ashland—willingly lets the outskirts rot. I bet he's never even set foot past the richer districts. Probably wouldn't even recognize the stench of the place if it slapped him in the face.
As we draw closer, my eyes flick toward the tallest battlement, where the Imperial sigil, a serpent coiled around the stone like it owns the place, gleams in the sunlight. I scoff under my breath. The symbolism is almost laughable; they loved carving that damn thing into everything they could. A snake, winding its way around everything it touches, squeezing, waiting for the moment to strike. It's fitting, really. The Empire slithers into every corner of the world, digging its fangs in deep and calling it civilization.
At the highest point of the castle, the proud green and white flag of the Empire of Elarion flutters in the breeze, its emblem—a serpent coiling tightly around a struggling bird of prey etched perfectly into the fabric. The sight of it gets on my damn nerves. That same flag is flown over every country King Malik and his predecessor have conquered, a mark of ownership seared into the lands and the people forced under his rule. A constant reminder of their subjugation.
Beyond the towering iron gates, the castle grounds stretch wide, manicured gardens lining the path up to the entrance. Ornate statues stand vigil along the way, their cold stone expressions eternal and unyielding. Two soldiers in polished armor stand at attention at the front of the gate, their corinthian helms with black plumes marking them as Imperial soldiers assigned as Count Ashland's guard. They don't move as our carriage approaches, but I can feel their eyes tracking us, weighing and measuring.
The horses slow, hooves clattering against the stone as we come to a halt before the grand entrance. A loud yawn snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance over to see Cain stretching lazily, his bright blue eyes flicking open as if he'd just woken from the best nap of his life. He blinks a few times, taking in the castle's walls as the carriage slows to a stop.
"Are we here already?" He mutters, voice still thick with sleep.
"Unfortunately," I sigh, driving through a city as big as Lont is a massive pain in the ass.
The carriage door swings open, and one of the guards steps forward ignoring the Doran the driver entirely as if the man wasn't even worth addressing. His eyes settle on us with practiced detachment, one hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. How comedic, does this little man think he could actually stop Cain if it came down to it?