The floors had a light wood veneer, the walls were deep purple, and the ceiling was completely see-through to the clouds and sky overhead. This royal color pattern repeated itself throughout the middle cabin, which looked like a lounge. It featured a long, leather couch on one side and a big screen TV fixed to the opposite wall, positioned just above a full bar. This second cabin enjoyed a bit of privacy from the first cabin, but cabin three was virtually a private oasis behind solid walls, complete with a king-sized bed, with black bedding and the family crest on two of the many pillows inviting me to lie down and take a nap for the next five hours.
Surrounding the bed were vases of black roses, the only heavy metal thing about the plane, indicating it belonged to The Duke of Mayhem at all. Petals were strewn across the bed, which felt very Auggie.
“The Duke has instructed that you make yourself at home,” Audra said. “This will be your transportation for the duration of the tour. If there is anything that you’d like us to provide specifically, let me know. I’ll personally ensure Roan I is fully stocked to your liking.”
“Roan I?” Fern repeated.
Audra nodded. “Named for Auggie’s father, Prince Roan.”
I knew then that the plane wasn’t just some private jet Auggie acquired as some famous rock god. It was a royal jet, part of the Queen’s personal fleet, thus explaining the grandeur. “Thank you,” I managed to say.
The minute she left us in Cabin 2, Fern and I shared a look, clasped hands and squealed under our breath.
Fern turned her attention to the bar, which was filled with whatever libation she might want, including several bottles of Yaars wine. I sank down into the supple black leather sofa, which was comfortable enough on its own. Maybe I didn’t even need the bed. I took a sip out of Ging, though she seemed as woefully out of place as I was.
Fern parked next to me, a drink in her hand, while we waited for takeoff.
At last, the pilot spoke. “This is your pilot, Major Sean Tover,” the familiar voice said. Fern and I shared a look. Like I said, an iceberg of a man. He went over all the safety instructions and prepared us for our first trip on Roan I. Before long we were streaking off into clear blue sky. Fern turned on a movie and I fell asleep against her shoulder as we curled up together on the sofa.
“You should go lie down,” she whispered as she nudged me awake.
“Are you kidding?” I quipped. “The floor will probably open up and flush me like the commoner I am.”
She laughed. “Fine. Stay here. Just don’t snore.”
I woke myself snoring at least three times before brunch, which was served a couple of hours before we were due to land in the Big Apple.
There was more Yaars, along with an impressive array of baked goodies. I fell in love with one because it was full of big plump near-black berries that burst with exquisite tartness complimenting the sweet muffin. “I don’t recognize this,” I told Audra, who had joined us for brunch.
“That is an auberry,” she explained. “They are from the Auburne region of Aldayne. A close cousin to the Yaarshire grapes, which is why they are more tart than sweet. But unlike cranberries, auberries are palatable enough to be eaten by themselves.” She pointed to a bowl of plump, juicy auberries. “For many, however, it is an acquired taste.”
I picked up one of the dark berries for further inspection. “Their color is exquisite,” I said, marveling at the purple-blackness of it.
Audra nodded. “It is one of our more popular exports from the Midnight Coast.”
“The Midnight Coast?” echoed Fern.
Another nod. “The entire northern coast of Aldayne. Because of Grandpa Charlie, everything that grows there takes on the same black and purple color as aldrite. Fruit. Vegetables. Flowers. That’s the home to the Charlemonde Rose,” she added, pointing to the black roses in a round bowl, mixed in with pristine white roses that looked like had been dusted with purple glitter.
“I thought those were fake,” Fern said, taking a closer look.
Audra chuckled. “I assure you they are quite real.” She plucked one of the white roses out of the bowl. “As are these. The Aldaynean Rose,” she said.
Upon closer inspection we realized that the white rose wasn’t dusted with glitter at all. The center of the flower was deep purple,