The gate opened and the guard stepped aside as Kreet and Kallid entered the Palace grounds hand-in-hand.

“Follow me,” Avelyn said tersely. “And don’t step out of line. Half of the people here think you’re animals, and the other half monsters of darkness.”

“And you?”

He turned back and raised his eyebrows. “You are a cleric of Pelor. I know that. Others might need convincing.”

They passed through a wide avenue with tall trees flanking the sides, which were in turn lit by torches set high on poles on either side. The path itself was of some sort of white stone that gleamed in the flickering torchlight. But as they continued towards the impressive building at the avenue’s end she began to realize the true magnitude of the place. It stood only three stories tall, but it spread to their left and right into the darkness of the night with lit windows in what seemed like hundreds of rooms.

She looked at Kallid, who was obviously as awestruck as she was. He looked like she felt - insignificant in this place, and she realized that if they never walked out again that no one would be the wiser.

But that wasn’t quite true. Sigmundurr would. And knowing him he’d exact some sort of price for them before getting himself cut down. Would Eilistraee allow that? Who knows. It could even be that she’d predicted it. Taking his soul instead of his body to their home would still be fulfilling her promise. You could never be quite sure of the words of a Goddess.

They rounded the pool and fountain that burbled before the low steps that led to the grand entrance. Avelyn nodded to the big men in full armor that stood at the base of the steps and they nodded, not saying a word.

The steps were too wide for a kobold’s gait, and they had to awkwardly shift their steps to match. Kreet stumbled at one and Avelyn took her hand and helped her up.

“Thanks,” she said, not sure exactly where she stood with this man. Was he friend or foe?

“Who are we going to see?”

“That, you’ll discover soon enough,” he answered, breaking the silence as they came to the massive main doors.

The doors swung open of their own accord.

“Not magic,” Avelyn said as if reading her thoughts. “In fact, you would be well advised to never use magic in this place. It is forbidden on pain of death without royal permission. No, there are watchers here. You’re never unseen in the Palace. At least, it’s best to consider that you aren’t.”

But Kreet barely heard him. Her mouth had dropped open at the spectacle inside. She squeezed Kallid’s hand, who returned her grip. Inside, the main entry was lit by some form of incandescence she’d never seen before. It was not the flickering yellow flames of the torches outside, but a steady, white glow that came from what appeared to be perfect round gems of glass set around the hall. This was undoubtedly magic.

And what the light struck was every bit as fantastic. Statues of men and women, so perfect in form and attitude that she immediately felt shame for her kobold form. Paintings that appeared to be mirrors of ideal worlds beyond the subjects. And from every decorative panel… gold.

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The two kobolds had stopped just inside the door, looking around them. Avelyn had to backtrack after noticing they were no longer following.

“Come, it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting,” he began

Kreet registered the pronoun, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the place. She reached out to touch one of the statues to make sure it was really stone and not flesh. It was unyielding and cold.

“Do they not wear clothes in the palace?” Kallid asked quietly, his voice echoing in the open space.

“What? Of course they do. Oh. That’s just artwork. Now come on away from there.”

Kreet took Kallid’s hand.

“I know how you’re feeling, Kally.”

“Monsters,” he said, looking sadly at her. “It’s like Eilistraee.”

“I know,” she said. “But we are what we are. We can never be like them.”

Avelyn knelt to the level of the two kobolds. “Trust me, we can never be like them. They’re idealized. No one really looks like that. Not even royalty. I dare say if a sculptor of this caliber did a sculpture of you, he would make you look like a goddess too. But this is not the time. Please, let’s continue.”

Kallid snickered and whispered to Kreet, “In one department I’m comparable!”

Kreet laughed, “That you are my husband. That you are. Lead on Avelyn.”

He did so and they climbed a grand staircase and down what felt like endless hallways of dark woods, crimson carpets and grand paintings of people she would never know. Finally he opened a door to a large room - were any of them small?

Inside sat a figure in a comfortable-looking chair. Not a throne by any means, but still opulent. The figure rose and gestured to two other chairs that sat beside her. The chairs were smaller but no less opulent. Possibly meant for children, Kreet thought, though now they were meant for two kobolds. A larger chair sat on the other side and Avelyn stepped towards it.

The woman that greeted them was old, but far from decrepit. She could have been about Marge’s age, but she carried a grace that couldn’t be hidden. She seemed to have a sort of radiance - surely a trick of the light, for the room was relatively dark compared to the brilliance of the entry hall.

Kallid whispered, “the queen?”

But as Kreet bowed low before rising to take the offered seat, she pulled Kallid down beside her.

“No,” she whispered back, bowing her head low. But she had recognized the pale yellow robe, and the insignia on the left breast.

“Your Excellency,” she said in deference to the woman’s rank.

“You must be Kreet. I’m told you are a Cleric of Pelor. Is that so? An unusual calling for… one such as you. Are you truly a Cleric? You surely can understand my skepticism. It would be most unusual that the Lord of Light himself would bestow his blessings on one born of the darkness.”

Kreet turned her face back and rose to her feet, feeling Kallid do the same beside her.

“Yet so he has,” Kreet said simply. “I have had an unusual life.”

“Please, sit with me, Kreet. I have been following you since hearing that you’d arrived in the Royal City with keen interest. While I’d expected to meet under different circumstances, it seems things have moved more quickly than I’d planned.”

Kreet walked to the little chairs but didn’t sit yet. Kallid followed her lead.

“I had planned to meet with you as well,” Kreet began. “But things in the slums… well, I haven’t yet had the chance to make proper arrangements! To be honest, I haven’t even learned your name yet.”

The woman smiled and removed the hood. Her hair had streaks of grey among the light blond hair. Her blue eyes, though not without some crows-feet in the corners, still shone with the quickness of youth. Now they smiled, and Kreet couldn’t tell if the smile was genuine or not.

“I am known as Her Excellency, Bishop Wynda, Sixty Fourth Royal Bishop of Pelor and High Councillor of His Majesty King Eodryd and Her Majesty Queen Ayne.”

Kreet bowed again, in the prescribed manner she had learned years ago in the Monastery. The Church of Pelor had no figurehead. The god himself was their ruler. But this woman was certainly the most powerful religious leader of her sect in the region. Quite possibly in the world.

If she was to remain a Cleric of Pelor in any official capacity, she had to do her absolute best here.

She sat in her chair and Kallid finally sat beside her.

“And this,” she smiled, “Is my Husband and Defender, Kallid. Fellow kobold, ex-slave of the Dark Elves of the Underdark, now Freeman. But most of all, he is my Husband and Father of my children yet-to-be-hatched.”

“And bartender!” Kallid added hopefully.

Kreet watched as the Bishop of Pelor bowed to Kallid the bartender.

Suddenly she decided she liked this Bishop after all.