Castle Avalon in Brockton bay

“Whoa. You actually have your own fucking castle?”

I looked out, now, too. The ramparts loomed over the courtyard, tall and solidly built. The white brick gleamed in the flickering light of the sun from above, and the glitter of the grid of golden lines that held them together made them appear to sparkle like jewels. They looked as though they could withstand even the strongest of modern missiles, as though Lung himself could hack and claw and blast fire at them without leaving a scratch. Upon their fronts were traced symbols in sapphire, arcane formulae that made the sturdy walls even stronger.

The towers stretched up towards the sky, roofed with blue tiles of lapis lazuli. Banners woven of blue and gold silk flew from their tops, waving in a nonexistent breeze. From the windows hung yet more banners, forked at the bottom and bearing a coat of arms that looked like nothing that had ever been used before.

And at the center of it all stood the monolithic keep, the tallest, largest single part of the entire thing. It was circular and rounded, built into three, staggered tiers that reached up towards the murky blue sky — which, down here, was the surface of the ocean. Atop its roofs and ledges, I knew, there were more patterns in sapphire, forming into a magic circle of truly massive scale, designed for performing thaumaturgy of the highest order.

I’d seen pictures of Windsor and Buckingham, and for sheer majesty, they couldn’t even compare. This was a castle fit for a queen, already a priceless marvel on dry land, made even more incredible by its location on the bottom of the ocean. It was almost impossible to imagine that I had even had any part in making this thing.

We had landed just inside the main gate, and behind us, the ocean floor seemed to fade out into infinity. Above us, the weight of the whole sea pressed down upon an invisible barrier that protected the castle and its inhabitants.