The morning brought the smell of fresh coffee and a knock at the door of Tom's room. He dressed quickly and opened the door to find Isabelle with two cups of steaming brown liquid.
'Thought you might need some before our audience.' She said. 'A messenger has been along already with an invitation.'
Tom took one of the cups gratefully in both hands. The ceramic was slightly too hot, but his hands were unaccountably cold this morning, so he continued to cling to it as he sipped.
'Who's invited?' Tom asked.
'You and a guest.' She said, innocently.
'Oh. I was wondering why you were suddenly bringing me coffee.'
'Look, I want to meet the Queen. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience for someone like me.' Isabelle huffed.
'Well I was thinking of taking Killburn. He knows the most about the Jotnar.' Tom said. 'But you are my oldest friend, so I guess I could take you instead.'
Isabelle's face lit up.
'Thank you!' She gave him a hug. 'I have to go get ready.'
With that she disappeared out of the door. Tom contemplated the upcomming meeting while looking out on the city; it really was a marvelous construction. It hadn't always look as it did, though: thirty years ago, the walls only surrounded the lowest tier, but Oesterin had been destroyed during the last war with the North Men. When Queen Greor ascended to the throne, she made sure Oesterin was re-built with security in mind. Now it was more like a citadel, the walls were higher and deeper, and every tier was protected.
After a light breakfast, Tom and Isabelle set out for the palace, which was built from the ninth tier all the way up to the summit of Mount Neshorn at the head of the valley. The other's were going to occupy their time at the inn or the bazaar on the second tier. Tom wore his cleanest travelling clothes, wishing he'd thought to pack a smart outfit, while Isabelle strutted along in her Arkangel dress uniform.
'Thanks for not showing me up.' He said sarcastically, as heads turned in admration.
'Not my fault you weren't prepared.' She replied.
The palace guards let them through in to a waiting area and a clerk came to offer them advice and hospitality.
'The Queen speaks very plainly.' He explained. 'She appreciates the same in her guests.'
'No problem there.' Tom looked at Isabelle.
'She should only be referred to as "Queen Greor", or "your majesty."' The clerk continued. 'When she stands, you must stand. You may only sit when prompted to do so.'
Tom looked bored.
'You must not lay a hand on her, unless she deigns to touch you. To do otherwise will result in instant death.'
Mild surprise passed across Tom's features.
'That's a little extreme, don't you think?' He said, when the clerk had left.
'No one's allowed to touch the King back at home.' Isabelle said, mildly.
'Yes, but if you did you wouldn't be killed for it.'
The clerk returned.
'The Queen will see you now.'
The audience chamber was huge, even by Jotnar standards. Twenty-one massive pillars of white stone rose to the ceiling, where they arched into create a lattice, which had been glazed with multicoloured glass. The chamber was made of three circular areas, with the white pillars forming a border around the centre area. At the base of the pillar directly opposite the door, a throne had been carved from the same white stone. In it sat a distinctly bored-looking female Jotunn, wearing a green dress and a fur cape. Her crown wobbled on her mass of blonde hair as she stopped cupping her chin in her hand and sat up straight.
'Prince Thomas.' She stood and smiled stiffly. 'I hear your journey was eventful.'
'Yes it was, your majesty.' Tom smiled back and bowed.
'Well you're here in one piece anyway. Who's your companion?'
'This is Isabelle, an old friend and a great help in my travels.'
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom could see Isabelle's smile broaden even wider.
'It's an honour to meet you, your majesty.' She babbled.
Tom shot her a look. It wasn't like Isabelle to be nervous.
The Queen nodded and turned to the clerk.
'You may go now.' She said, then to Tom and Isabelle: 'Please, take a seat.'
They sat on two comfortable chairs that had been provided for them. While the Queen squirmed and fidgeted on the throne.
'Bloody thing.' She muttered to herself.
'Are you ok, your majesty?' Isabelle asked.
'Oh you can drop the formalities, love - he's gone.'
Isabelle and Tom looked at her, shocked.
'I only do it to keep him happy. The soft bastard sulks and cries if I don't act properly. I would fire him, but he's actually really good at his job.'
'Oh.' Tom said. 'Ok...' He faltered.
'Is it true you really killed forty North Men single handed?' Isabelle blurted out.
The Queen looked pleased with herself.
'Forty-one actually, but who's counting?'
'Oh my gods. And is it true you ripped the head off a fenric?'
'Not all the way off.'
'And did you throw an actual spear through the eye of an actual cyclops?'
'Gunnir? Yes. It's around here somewhere.' The Queen looked around, then pointed. 'There on the wall.'
Isabelle squealed like a schoolgirl and ran over to inspect the weapon.
Tom saw his opening.
'Your majesty, about why I'm here.'
'I told you not to bother with the formal stuff. Just Greor will do.'
'Greor.' Tom started again. 'I'm here for The Book of the Mage. I was told you have it.'
'I do and you can look at it as long as you want.' The Queen said, generously.
'And if I wanted to borrow it?' Tom ventured.
'Ah, now that's a different matter. It's a very dangerous book. From the reports I've had I'm happy to let you see it, but I couldn't allow you to take it away.'
'Is there no way I could prove that I'm capable of looking after it in your stead?' Tom pleaded.
'Sorry love.' The Queen shook her head, then paused. 'Well, actually there might be something you could do.'
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