The wrought iron fence stretched across the lawns at the front of the palace, wrapping at the corners and extending around to enclose the main grounds and outbuildings. Masterly crafted, it sported scrolls and whirls reminiscent of branches, the ends of which were tipped with copper leaves that had aged to a soft verdigris. The center of the front gate boasted a large sideways oval in the center of which craftsmen of old had used their skill to articulate through design, the concept of the Select as strong and sure, in the form of an eagle in flight. Wide enough for two carriages to ride through side-by-side, the gate swung open with a grating screech at the touch of the latest to visit the grounds.
Basha and Therese rode up the drive toward the main building, their horses leaving clouds of dust in their wake.
Silent, the Oathtaker reminisced over past sights and sounds she’d witnessed on the grounds. In former days, guards escorted carriages from the gates to the front of the white marble palace that glistened, both in the sunlight and moonlight. But now, there were no guards, and little of the white marble remained exposed, as ivy crept up the palace exterior, nearly smothering the building in a shroud of green.
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