Chandigarl felt like another world, and she was reminded of stories she’d heard as a child from Myrddin of other worlds that he had visited. None of the other girls craned their necks to see the monkeys clambering in the branches. But Trynne could not stop watching their antics as they pried fruit from the trees and hunkered down to devour them.

The air was so heavy with moisture that Trynne was sweating openly as she walked, but the loose silks of Reya’s clothes helped prevent her from overheating. The massive tower at the top of the hill loomed ahead, the decoration and carvings gilded with pure gold that dazzled the eye. She saw no men along the way, only women who bowed and greeted the newcomers as they passed.

As they came nearer to the tower, the noise of the birds and monkeys was joined by a sorrowful melody of flutes and lutes. Voices joined the instruments in song, though they didn’t sing words—they simply matched the pitch of the music.

A series of majestic fountains converged at the top of the hill, in front of the tower. Trynne stared with surprise as she watched shoots of water spurting up from the floor, forming pillars like upside-down waterfalls. There was an open pathway through the pillars, but the sound and the size of the display was impressive. The grounds of the zenana were larger than the palace of Kingfountain.

As she entered the tower, she felt the richness of magic, but there was also something strange in the air. It was difficult to define, but it made her wrinkle her nose. The opulence of the decorations was beyond imagining. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and the marble floor shone with light. Trynne arched her neck, gasping when she saw that the tower was open in the middle, all the way to the sky overhead. On each floor, the rooms had been built around the open space, layer by layer, floor by floor. There were plants and birds inside the tower, man-made waterfalls, and decorative fountains more elaborate than anything in Kingfountain.

There were women everywhere she looked—most bent in conversation or showcasing some skill or other. Some of the women were hurrying about, delivering chalices and cushions and trays of fruit. The servant girls wore rich garments and displayed obsequious courtesy to those who had come to the zenana for sanctuary. But her first impression lingered. Something was wrong there. The sense wasn’t coming from a specific person or from an object, but it was persistent and undeniable.