Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Aurelia
A s our procession passes through the arching gate in the city wall, High Commander Axius moves around the carriage’s seats to put himself right behind Marclinus.
His voice is firm and solemn. “I apologize for the inexcusable oversight, Your Imperial Majesty. As soon as the rite is finished, I’ll personally interrogate every guard and soldier stationed in and around the palace to root out any additional hostile sentiments.”
I notice he’s apologizing specifically to my husband, not me, even though I’m the one his soldier attempted to murder.
Marclinus appears to take that approach as a matter of course. “If we have any more incidents like that, I’ll be holding you personally responsible, High Commander.”
His voice has gone even colder than when he was speaking to Bastien. The burly military man sits back down without change to his grim expression, but I’d imagine he’s aware of just how dire a punishment his new emperor might deal out.
Should I find a way to mention Lorenzo’s suspicions about my guard? The curly-haired man might have made a disparaging remark before, but he did spring to my defense just as quickly as the others.
What reason do any of the soldiers or the crowd of civilians following along the road to the temple have to respect me? No one but the nobles and a handful of guards saw how hard I fought in the trials to win the title I now hold. I just had a man launch himself at me with full intent to kill, and all I’ve done about it is say a few words in mild gratitude to those who acted on my behalf.
Behind me, Bastien sends another arrow spiraling toward the clouds. I clench my hands against the urge to look back at him, to try to glimpse what’s going on behind his impassive face.
Such a difference one fleeting act can make when it’s the right one. In a split-second with one loosing of his bowstring, he turned every harsh word he’s spoken in the past several days, every glare he’s aimed at me, into a lie.
My gaze travels over the growing swarm of spectators as I offer another regal wave. Tension coils around my stomach.
Has Emperor Tarquin’s death had the same effect on Dariu’s people, only in the opposite direction? Every pretty phrase and smile I’ve offered could be dismissed as easily as Bastien’s vitriol if they associate my presence with the loss of their beloved ruler.
I can’t just sit here. I have to act myself—in some way that will overcome the tragedy my ascension has been tied to .
It’s not enough to tell them I’ll be a devoted leader or present a picture of one. I have to prove it to them.
Even Marclinus has to confirm his legitimacy, after all…
The spark of inspiration makes my pulse hitch. But this isn’t the time to play it safe. Some of Dariu’s people are already willing to kill me in an attempt to set their country back to rights.
I may have precious little time to convince them that I’m the woman who can right wrongs for them after all.
I glance over at my husband, who’s tipping his head to the crowd with a glint of his golden crown. The jutting stone towers of the sprawling temple building have come into view at the top of the rise ahead of us.
“Husband,” I say carefully, “all that’s required for this ceremony is that you navigate a relatively short maze. Is that correct?”
Marclinus’s eyes flick toward me. “That’s the gist of it. There are a few dramatics for effect, but easy enough to prepare for. There’s certainly no need to worry about my fate.”
As I meet his gaze, I force my smile to soften as if with fondness. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be no challenge for you at all. I was only thinking—it’s clear there’s a little unrest focused on me because of the tragic timing of your father’s death and perhaps my coming from outside Dariu… I’d like to demonstrate to your people just how committed I am to serving them as their empress. Would it be an imposition if I went through the confirmation rite as well?”
Marclinus’s eyebrows leap up. Behind us, Counsel Severo leans over with a disgruntled sound. “A secondary confirmation would be highly irregular. I don’t believe it’s ever happened before.”
“And it’s meant for the imperial line, not the wedded consorts,” Marclinus adds, but his tone sounds more curious than dismissive. “Couldn’t you simply hold them a festival or what have you?”
I look down at my hands in feigned modesty. “I suppose I could. But receiving a sign of the godlen’s approval should do much more to resolve any doubts in those who’d consider harming me. I’m not sure what else could have the same effect. The empresses who’ve been of your line and ruled the empire have gone through the rites as well, so I assume women aren’t excluded?”
Marclinus’s grandmother, the woman who ruled the empire before Tarquin took the throne, must have carried out these ceremonies, along with the handful of empresses who inherited the position before her. First born is all that ever matters, not one’s sex.
My husband looks over his shoulder toward Cleric Pierus. “I don’t suppose Estera would take offense to passing judgment over both of us, as far as you’re aware?”
The religious man opens his mouth and closes it again as he appears to grope for an answer. “We could put that question to Cleric Nellia at her temple. But we wouldn’t want to diminish the spectacle of your own rite.”
Marclinus snorts. “I hardly think that my wife following in my footsteps will make my own triumph any less. If anything, it would show even more of my wisdom in picking such a dedicated partner.”
Counsel Etta’s mouth has twisted. “Your Imperial Majesty… She hasn’t had all the same preparation as you…”
Marclinus shakes his head at her, his eyes gleaming with increasing enthusiasm. “All the better. It’ll be a real confirmation of her faith in the gods—and theirs in her.”
He turns back to me with a grin so sharp that my nerves jitter. “You aren’t fully informed of the details. It’ll be more of a challenge to your wisdom than it is to me. There’d be no shame in rethinking the idea if you have your own doubts.”
A note of challenge resonates through his voice, punctuated by a crackle of distant thunder. I keep my smile on my face, but I’m abruptly sure with a sinking of my gut that Marclinus hasn’t warmed to the idea only for how it’ll benefit my standing with his people.
If there’s more to the rite than I know, he could tell me—but he hasn’t. Does he see my participation as a test of his own, to ensure I’m not actually the bad omen some of his people are claiming?
Or perhaps he simply wants to confirm my mettle one more time. If I’m overstepping with this request and fail, I can’t imagine he’ll feel the slightest shred of guilt about replacing me.
I can’t back down now. Then I’ll lose not only my chance to earn his people’s favor but perhaps any respect I’ve so painstakingly won from my husband as well.
I touch my hand to the bodice of my dress over the godlen sigil branded into my skin. “I’m sure Elox and what wisdom I possess will guide me.”
Marclinus rubs his hands together. “I think it’s an excellent idea, then.”
His advisors’ expressions still range from skeptical to outright uncomfortable, but they don’t raise any further argument. I avoid looking toward any of the princes along the edges of the carriage, not wanting to see what they make of my decision.
It’s meant to be a simple test, merely symbolic. Whatever Marclinus’s additional knowledge is, surely the rite can’t be that difficult without it?
The crowd’s clamoring of anticipation intensifies as our procession reaches the crest of the hill. The imperial carriage comes to a stop right outside the main temple doors .
Cleric Nellia is waiting on the front steps, her deep green robe fluttering around her slim frame with the unruly wind. She motions us along a route that’s been prepared with a strip of green silk.
As we follow the path around the silken side of the temple, Marclinus murmurs to the cleric in quiet conference. From the flick of her gaze to me, I assume he’s mentioning my intent. It looks as if she asks a couple of questions, but her ultimate answer must satisfy my husband. He glances back at me with a subtle nod and a pleased smile.
We come around the temple’s last rambling tower and find ourselves at the edge of a vast hollow holding a structure of smooth beige stone.
The polished stone walls we peer down at form an immense square filled with many more identical walls. They bend around each other, intersect, and split apart seemingly at random, like a twisted house of tiny, warped rooms that’s missing its roof.
Estera’s maze.
At the bottom of the slope before us, a flight of stairs leads up to the top of the nearest wall. Another set of stairs stands at the opposite end of the structure, just before a small marble dais festooned with green ribbons and gold figurines of Estera’s favored animals and plants.
Ah. For this maze, we don’t walk between the walls. We walk on top of them.
The structure must loom at least ten feet above the floor of the hollow. It’s a good thing the walls look wide enough that balance shouldn’t be too big a concern.
The soldiers who escorted us have formed a ring around the hollow on a ridge a few feet down the slope. The growing audience gathering around the edges gazes over their heads at the maze .
At another rumble of thunder, Cleric Nellia glances up at the sky. “I suspect we will see some rain.”
Marclinus taps his finger against the scar on his lips and peers over his shoulder. “I suppose I could ask my gifted foster brother to send off the clouds…”
That’s right. I’ve never seen Bastien use his gift with air for that purpose before, so I’d almost forgotten the story he’s given the rest of court. Everyone else believes he can only summon or disperse rainclouds.
I resist the urge to hug myself against the damp wind. How much strain does it put on the prince of Cotea to propel a heap of heavy clouds away with the wind?
Before I can decide whether it’s safe to speak up in favor of sparing the man who just defended my life, my husband shakes his head with a definitive air. “But the weather may very well be the gods’ will. An additional challenge for both of us.”
He shoots his sharp smirk at me again.
I square my shoulders. “Indeed.”
Cleric Nellia doesn’t argue with Marclinus’s assessment. Without further comment, she escorts him down the slope to the base of the first set of stairs.
There, she swivels to take in the spectators all around the maze. An amplification charm lifts her voice over the murmurs of anticipation. “A ruler can only be as strong as their strategy and insight. His Imperial Majesty will now complete Estera’s rite by navigating her blessed maze and then welcome the approval of our godlen of wisdom!”
Applause breaks out through the watching crowd. Marclinus raises his hand to them in acknowledgment and strides up the steps with total confidence.
At the top of the first wall, there’s only one direction he can turn. He walks along that first stretch with his head high, his golden crown blending into the slightly paler curls of his hair. I trace his course, preparing to make the same journey myself in a matter of minutes.
He’s just made his first turn toward the middle of the maze when I realize the rite is more complicated than I assumed.
With a grating sound that reverberates through the hollow, most of the walls within the outer square slide and rotate. Old paths disappear; new ones open up.
Figures throughout the audience let out awed gasps. How many of them will have gotten to see this spectacle of magic nearly three decades ago when Tarquin carried it out?
How often does the maze change while the rite is going on? How many different configurations are possible?
How do you manage to stay standing if the wall you’re on shifts beneath you?
There must be a trick to it—the extra knowledge Marclinus mentioned. He pauses until the walls have settled, steps onto a new route, and waits again when other walls spin around him. After a couple more iterations, it’s clear he somehow knows how to always step onto a portion of the maze that’ll remain still beneath him, even if that wall jerked or pivoted every other time.
He makes the process look easy. It can’t be more than a few minutes before he’s stepping onto the final wall and loping down the far steps, his teeth flashing with his grin.
Cleric Nellia has come around the maze to meet him. She ushers him onto the decorated dais and spreads her arms toward the citizens swarmed around us. “Emperor Marclinus has proven his understanding and intellect. Estera welcomes him onto the throne!”
As if to emphasize her words, a streak of lightning slices across the clouds. Its glow flares off Marclinus’s crown.
Even knowing what a psychopathic prick he is, my breath catches a little at the spectacle .
The audience roars their own approval. Marclinus lifts his arms to accept it, tipping his face toward the sky. Then he motions for the cleric to pass over her amplification charm.
“Thank you for witnessing my first rite of confirmation, my good people of Dariu!” he calls out. “You’re lucky enough to get to observe an additional honor today. My wife, Empress Aurelia, will complete the rite herself to prove how worthy she is to stand by my side.”
That’s not exactly how I’d have put it, but it isn’t the worst possible framing.
The applause that follows my husband’s announcement is more hesitant. I wave to the watching civilians and head down the slope as if I’m every bit as sure of my success as Marclinus was.
When I reach the bottom of the first set of stairs, I tap my hand down my front in the gesture of the divinities. Estera, see me through this trial so I may guide the empire in a wiser direction. Elox, give me a calm mind so I can recognize what needs to be done.
As I climb the steps, the loudest burst of thunder yet cracks the clouds. Raindrops sprinkle down on my coiled hair and patter against the stone.
I swallow thickly and keep walking.
Wonderful. Now the tiles will be slippery as well.
It won’t matter as long as I choose the right path. There has to be a strategy, something that’ll become clear to me if I pay enough attention.
I can’t let myself think about falling—about how easily my bones could break and my neck snap if I tumbled into the midst of these shifting slabs of stone.
The cool dampness seeping across my scalp and dappling my face shocks my mind into sharper alertness. I step onto the tiled surface on top of the wall and start forward in the same, obligatory direction Marclinus did .
My gaze slides ahead of me—and lingers on images carved into some of the tiles up ahead.
The grooves etched in the stone are shallow enough that I couldn’t see them from the edges of the hollow. The first one lies just a few paces away, near the first turn Marclinus took.
It’s an owl—Estera’s patron bird. Is that a clue to my course?
As I come up on it, the walls swivel around me. Two swing to a stop on either side of the owl tile, both with a similarly styled carving at their ends.
To my left, there’s a tree. To my right, what looks like a smoking chimney.
This one point was fixed all along. I know Marclinus veered to the right.
Recognition flares in my head.
There’s a fable about Estera in which she gives advice to an old man who later discovers an owl in his chimney. The truth will come to you if you search for it, but it’s often not as easily found as lies.
You could say owls belong in forests far more than chimneys, but that clearly wasn’t the point of this association. Are we meant to think of Estera’s deeper messages rather than common understanding?
I step to the right and hold still there. The rain picks up, soaking into my dress.
The wet silk clings to my legs. I can already feel how clumsy I’ll be if I make a wrong move and end up on a moving wall.
So I’d better not let that happen.
As they did for Marclinus, the slabs rearrange themselves again. I don’t think it’s quite the same configuration he was faced with, though. From what I remember, he took his next turn from the middle of this section, but no other passages branch away from that spot now. My next options wait all the way down at the end, five paces away.
There, I can either step onward onto another wall straight ahead or turn to my left.
The tile in front of me shows an image of a feather—no, a quill, for writing. Beyond it lies an image of a scroll. To the left, a pot of ink.
I don’t have much time before the walls move again. I stride forward, inhaling deep into my lungs. What association would Estera say matters more?
Having the material to construct a message is more important than what you place it on.
I swerve to the left. The second both of my feet have hit the tile, the wall I just left lurches away.
But the one I moved to remains in place. I choose correctly again.
All right, Aurelia. You’ve got the hang of this now. Just keep moving toward the end.
As I walk on, I summon all the stories of Estera I can remember from my childhood reading and sermons in the temples back home. I step from a tortoise to a waterlily, from a monocle to a vase, and from a sprig of sage to a lit candle.
The rain pelts down harder, blurring my vision. The tiles are growing slick beneath my leather slippers.
My forward foot comes down on a thin puddle and skids farther without warning.
I stifle a yelp, my whole body swaying within the confines of my now-drenched gown. The muscles in my inner thighs twinge with strain, but I manage to catch my balance, braced as if I’m halfway to doing the splits.
Dragging my legs back together, I peer ahead. The racing of my heart fades.
I’m almost at the end.
I hurry forward more cautiously, coming to a stop at an image of an iris. Either of the walls branching out beside it could lead me to the final staircase, depending on how the slabs around them move in turn.
To my left, there’s a carving of an open book. To my right, a winding snake.
The book seems like the obvious answer. What clearer symbol could there be of Estera’s dedication to learning?
Which means it could be too obvious.
What stories are told about her and irises? Are there any specifically about a book as well?
I draw my posture straighter, delving into the well of calm in the center of me.
An image swims up from my memory: a painting that decorated one side of Estera’s alcove in a smaller Temple of the All-Giver in Accasy, one near our secondary palace farther north.
A banded asp slithering through a field of irises. A lesson she taught about the danger that can lurk if you focus only on superficial appearances rather than studying deeply enough to get the full picture.
Breath held, I step to the right.
The slabs around me heave and rasp. A wall clicks into place right beside me, leading to the outer wall with the stairs descending from the maze.
I scramble through the rain with as much grace as I’m still capable of. Cleric Nellia grasps my hand to lead me to the dais, where servants have erected a canopy to shield Marclinus from the rain.
As I clamber up to join him beneath it, he brushes my damp hair back from my forehead, his hard-edged face beaming with satisfaction. “There’s my empress.”
He raises my hand before the audience that’s stayed throughout the thundershower. Cleric Nellia declares Estera’s approval for all to hear. This time, the surge of cheers is nearly as emphatic as it was for Marclinus.
I smile, water still trickling cold down my back from my drenched hair.
I’ve made my first real stand, but there are still three more rites to go. And I intend to complete every one of them, no matter what I have to do to convince my husband and his advisors to agree.