Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Aurelia
T he first thing Marclinus does after he’s escorted me to my chambers is throw wide the double doors at the far end of the bedroom. “ This is the most laudable quality of our Rexoran palace. Take a look, wife!”
I venture over beside him, willing away my travel weariness, and peer out beyond the doors.
The bright mid-day sun streams over a walled garden right inside the palace itself. The building stretches in a looming stone rectangle around the inner grounds. Graceful trees shade marble benches, a burbling fountain, and cobblestone pathways between plump shrubs and flowerbeds, all of which give off a mix of heady perfumes.
I take a deep breath of the warm, floral air. For once, I don’t have to lie to my husband. “It’s lovely.”
Marclinus grins and motions exuberantly to a wall only one story high that cuts through the inner grounds. “The section on this side is reserved for imperial use—you and I alone. The only doors that open into it are from the imperial apartments. The part on the other side of that wall for the rest of our court is larger but I’d say not half as stunning.”
He draws back with a yank of the doors as if to indicate that the view isn’t for me just now and swipes his hands together. “All right. If you’re insisting on doing this, get yourself presentable for Creaden’s rite. You can hardly put yourself before my people all travel-rumpled.”
My smile tightens. I dip my head in acknowledgment, and he lopes out of the room with a holler to one of the footmen bringing along our trunks.
He sounds as if he’s lost any enthusiasm in my participating in the rite again. Is there something about the long days of travel that provokes his temper and turns him more sour toward me?
I’d like to think it’s possible he’ll soften once the rites are over and we can settle in at one residence or another for months at a time, but we were perfectly settled at the capital palace when he poisoned me.
We’re meant to carry out the rite in just a few hours. I calm my own mind as well as I can, barely listening to my maids’ fawning chatter as I soak in a bath and then let them primp and prepare me.
I’ve chosen another white gown for the task ahead, even though I don’t know what it entails. Reminding the people of my desire for peace and healing has seemed to work well in the past.
When my hair is completely pinned up in its delicate swoops around my head and my face has been powdered, I dismiss my maids with the excuse that I’d like to meditate before the rite. I do spend several minutes on that, shoring up my well of inner serenity, but then I go to my trunk of supplies .
I concocted an ointment for the sharpening of one’s vision before we left the capital. The effects should last for the rest of the day.
Carefully, I dab a little of the cool gel into my eyes and blink to spread it across their surface. A faint stinging sensation spreads through them, but no tears form.
Using the same test I did when I was perfecting the mixture, I set a book open on my vanity and step back to see if I can read it from a distance. With my normal vision, I need to be no more than five paces away to make out the print.
With my concoction, I can manage eight. A significant improvement.
Let’s hope that Bastien’s information will serve me well and that seeing clearly in a literal sense will help me through the rite ahead.
The city bells announce the hour. A knock sounds on my door. “We’ll escort you to the temple now, Your Imperial Highness.”
Kassun is among my personal guard this afternoon. As we walk through the gleaming marble halls to the waiting carriage, he steps slightly closer, his voice pitched low. “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Your Imperial Highness?”
He speaks carefully, but I can hear the genuine concern in his tone. My throat constricts.
He was shadowing me when I argued with Marclinus at the residence near Ubetta—he no doubt overheard the disparaging remarks my husband aimed at me over my participation in the rites. And it isn’t as if I had an easy time with either of the previous confirmations to begin with.
As much as it warms me that the guard cares for my well-being now, I hate that he thinks he needs to worry. That he’s afraid I might be making the wrong decision, one I’ll be too weak to see through .
That’s exactly why I have to continue demonstrating how much strength I can bring to bear, isn’t it?
I keep my own voice gracious. “I trust that the gods see my faith and will support me through whatever may be required of me.”
Kassun doesn’t speak again. Even asking the first question was an unusual imposition from the figures who are supposed to fade into the background when they’re unneeded.
Marclinus is already waiting in the carriage. He simply nods at me before leaning toward one of the gilded windows.
As we lead the procession around the palace, through the city, and beyond it to the Temple of Stalwart Crowns, he raises his hand high to the people gathered along the roads and beams at the praise they holler. I offer my own more subdued waves and smiles, my sharpened eyes picking up every detail.
Some smile wider at the sight of me. Others’ mouths tense as if in suspicion or uncertainty. I catch a few furtive gestures of warding.
I still have many more folk to win over here.
It’s impossible to know if word of my exact deeds has spread this far from the locations of the other rites. I’m sure travelers and news-bearing messengers have reported that the new empress carried out the rites after Marclinus, but those stories might not have been conveyed with much detail.
They certainly all know that I married their current emperor on the same day the previous one died.
Some of my attention veers to the elaborate buildings behind our spectators. Creaden oversees the art of construction as well as leadership, and his influence shows throughout the city.
Balconies emerge from second and third floors in feats of balance so delicate they look as if they’re floating. Rooftops arch and curve in ways that must channel rain to useful purposes.
The colors and materials are more varied than I’ve seen anywhere else in Dariu, from the reddish-brown of fired clay to shining gray stone to creamy yellow blocks I believe are made from a sand-based mixture. I get the impression the city’s builders like to stretch their abilities and welcome a challenge.
Beyond the last of the city buildings, the largest temple of Creaden in the country comes into view. Its structure is a patchwork of materials and a spectacle of architecture merged into one. Swaths of clay blocks merge with others of stone, sand, wood, and colored glass. Turrets veer off at seemingly impossible angles. One staircase winds along the outer wall rather than remaining inside.
Yet as chaotic as it should feel, it gives a sense of cohesion, as if all those parts were placed in exactly the right way to have the most impressive effect. As if no building not made of so many disparate parts brought together could ever function so well.
I suppose it represents Creaden’s attitudes about ruling as well as his constructive skills. There’s been ample proof of the validity of both.
Supposedly, this structure has stood for hundreds of years on its sturdy foundation. It’s said that the first emperor prayed here for the means to build Dariu’s authority before he led his victorious campaign to claim a large piece of Lavira for his new empire.
Beyond the temple, a structure made of a darker material than any part of the temple stretches up toward the sky, perhaps twice the temple’s height. The glossy black surface gleams with spots of sunlight but mostly absorbs the beams into its depths.
What in the realms is that? Some sort of monument ?
It appears to be part of the rite. Our procession veers around the temple toward the black obelisk.
Marclinus and I emerge from our carriage at the edge of a ring of soldiers. They stand about twenty feet back from the sloping stone tower on all sides. A throng of civilians crowd close behind them, staring up at the dark structure.
There’s no need for a hollow to allow easy viewing of this rite. I assume we’ll be clambering up that tower where everyone on the ground can see us.
I swallow past the dryness of my mouth and glance at my husband. Marclinus has changed into a fresh suit of the typical imperial purple and dark gray, gold embroidery gleaming along the jacket’s trim. Nothing about his attire looks different from usual, but then, his clothing didn’t offer any clues about the first rite either.
I won’t know exactly what awaits me until he launches himself into the ceremony with all his exclusive foreknowledge and preparation.
The temple’s cleric moves to greet us, her steel-gray hair pulled tightly back from her square-jawed face. Her violet robes ripple around her robust frame as she gives Marclinus a small bow.
Her amplification charm projects her voice across our audience. “Your Imperial Majesty, it is an honor to host your third confirmation rite. Creaden wishes to witness how you will guide our people and our empire to greater heights.”
She holds up a harness of leather straps and a small purple banner imprinted with the imperial crest. “Choosing your handholds wisely, you will lead one of your people all the way to the top of this tower, where you will claim it for the empire with this banner. Both you and your subject must complete the climb without significant injury.”
But insignificant injuries are all right?
I study the tower, picking out the even darker splotches of handholds here and there, before returning my attention to Marclinus as the cleric fastens the harness around his chest.
She beckons forward a young man who’s a few inches shorter than Marclinus and likely a good fifty pounds lighter, given his slender body. He must have been chosen as a volunteer ahead of time, selected on the assumption that he wouldn’t put too much strain on the emperor.
The harness connects him to Marclinus’s back with just a few feet between them. Every step Marclinus makes, the other man will need to follow quickly behind to ensure he’s not dragged—or pulling his emperor off-balance.
The man stands tall, proud to be part of this spectacle. Marclinus aims a grin over his shoulder. When he sets off for the tower, brandishing his banner in one hand, his civilian partner falls into step behind him.
Applause and whoops of encouragement peal out from the spectators. When Marclinus reaches the obelisk, he makes a show of kicking one of the lower footholds. The dark rock crumbles away at the impact.
Marclinus shakes his head dramatically and reaches for a higher hold that stays solid.
So that’s the challenge—leading another person through the climb where some of the holds won’t, well, hold.
It wouldn’t be too painful to stumble back to the bottom while you’re still close to the base, but if you lost your grip even halfway up? That’d make for quite the fall.
From close to the very top, it might be fatal.
As Marclinus clambers upward, his volunteer citizen scrambles after him, grasping every foothold the moment Marclinus has departed it, sticking as close at the emperor’s heels as he can. He has to—the straps are nearly pulled taut.
One slip from either of them could bring them both tumbling to the ground .
Marclinus’s personal guards draw close around the base of the obelisk. He has four with him today, two keeping an eye on their master while the others scan the crowd for any sign of hostile intent.
They’re far enough away from me that Lorenzo must judge it safe to project his illusionary voice. It slides into my head with its reassuring resonance.
“You just focus on getting up that tower, Rell. I’ll be reminding the crowd how fantastic you are.”
He’s been using his powers here the way he promised he would too, then: sending out illusionary voices as if fellow citizens are speaking up with my praises, to encourage the rest of them to do the same.
But none of it matters if I don’t prove I deserve their praise.
As Marclinus climbs higher, the crowd falls into a hush of anticipation. He keeps reaching steadily upward without any sign of hesitation or flagging. Not a single hold breaks in his grasp.
As if he knows exactly what path to take. Which no doubt he does.
Is there something about the holds that distinguishes the solid ones from the fragile, or was he simply given a pattern to memorize?
I’ve tried to keep track, but it’s increasingly difficult the higher up he gets.
At the top of the obelisk, Marclinus lifts the banner and brandishes it triumphantly to a renewed wave of cheers. He fits its handle into a spot at the top of the structure.
One of the temple’s devouts has climbed a set of narrow steps cut into the opposite side of the obelisk. He shows Marclinus and his companion how to ease around to that side, and they descend to even more applause. As the cleric gives Marclinus her official blessing, he lifts both hands high in the air, soaking up his people’s adoration.
For a few seconds, I’m afraid he’s obstructed my intentions after all and I’ll be left standing here aimlessly. But the cleric returns to my side of the obelisk, carrying a second banner. The devout trots behind her with the harness he’s peeled off my husband.
The cleric smiles at me coolly and pitches her voice across the crowd. “Our empress would also like to earn Creaden’s approval and show her worth as a ruler. Who here will accept her leadership and take the climb with her guidance?”
My heightened gaze sweeps over the crowd beyond the ring of guards. I catch a flicker of a hand moving down a chest in the gesture of the divinities, and another making a warding gesture. Foreheads furrow and mouths twist.
A thick baritone calls out from somewhere behind me. “I trust our empress!”
The middle-aged man who emerges from the throng stands nearly half a foot taller than me and a fair bit wider as well. Watching him approach, I can’t help wondering if Marclinus had someone prod him to volunteer so I’d face the additional challenge of leading someone who could drag me down the tower that much easier.
It doesn’t matter. He’s here; he’s offering his faith in me. I have to offer him the same in return.
My guards look him over and evaluate him as harmless. The devout fixes the harness over my dress. I restrain a cringe at the tightening of the leather straps around my torso.
It feels like a cage, however flexible.
When the cleric hands me the banner, my fingers curl tight around the handle. I slide it beneath the straps that cross my chest so both of my hands will be completely free and aim a reassuring smile at my companion on this journey. “Just follow my lead. We’ll make it to the top. ”
Despite the jittering of my nerves, I put the same confidence into my strides walking to the obelisk. Even up close, the handholds blend into the smooth darkness of the stone. I peer at those at knee and waist height for anything that might distinguish the correct ones, but the semi-circles look essentially identical to me.
All right. I’ll just have to rely on my memory of what I saw from Marclinus’s climb.
Girding myself, I reach for a handhold at shoulder level. Then I lift my foot onto one of the lower protrusions.
My companion shuffles closer behind me. He peers up at the steep slope of the obelisk. “It looks even taller from here.”
His voice quavers slightly. Have I been tied to a man who’s afraid of heights on top of everything else?
“Don’t look too far up,” I tell him in the same assured tone as before. “Focus on where I put my feet so you can grasp on to the same holds and then put your own feet along that path.”
He swallows audibly but nods. As I stretch my arms higher and clamber upward, he follows right behind me. His nervous huffs of breath ruffle the hem of my dress.
I picture Marclinus’s ascent, pausing and then reaching for the holds I remember him using. It serves me well for the first ten or so feet of the climb.
Then I reach for a protrusion that I think is the right one. My first tug suggests it’s firm enough, but the second I put pressure on it to haul myself upward, the rock fractures between my fingers.
My fingernails skid against the stone with a thin squeal. I clutch my other handhold tight, pressing myself against the slope to keep my balance. My pulse lurches, but I remain in place.
Murmurs break out through the watching crowd. I can’t imagine they’re saying good things about my close call .
I can’t let the mistake faze me. Gritting my teeth, I reach for another nearby hold.
I’ve clambered up another several holds when my memory starts to get shaky. I didn’t see exactly where Marclinus was grasping from here on.
Breathing as evenly as I can, I pull on one hold, judge it solid, and then another. As long as I’m cautious about it, I should be able to avoid any major?—
The protrusion I just stepped on snaps beneath the ball of my foot. I lurch sideways, my leg swinging wild. With a hitch of breath and a yank of my arms, I center my balance on my other foot.
Sweat trickles down my back despite the afternoon’s refreshing breeze. Below me, my harnessed companion lets out a sound like a stifled groan.
“Just a minor slip,” I tell him and myself. “We’re doing well.”
But now I know that some of the holds can handle being grasped onto but not the full weight of my body pressing down on them. How can I be completely sure of my footing?
The lapses must be starting to rattle my companion. He heaves himself up the glossy surface after me as closely as before, but his breath has gotten a little raspy.
His concentration has been shaken too. I’m just reaching for another hold when he steps up after me—and jerks downward with a yelp.
The harness snaps, wrenching me down after him. The banner wobbles where it’s tucked against my chest.
I skid down the smooth surface, fumbling to snatch at another protrusion. One of the straps twists my arm, sending a stinging pain through my shoulder. Another smacks against my ribs roughly enough to bruise. I clamp my lips against a cry of my own.
Just as my fingers close around a hold, my companion manages to catch himself and flings his hand up to steady me by the waist. My toes jar to a halt against one of the tiny ledges.
“Sorry, sorry,” the man mumbles. “I put my foot on the wrong spot. I’m so sorry.”
My shoulder throbs, but it’s not my most immediate concern. I’m never making it even halfway up this tower if the man I’m supposed to be guiding continues stumbling.
I dig into my well of calm and put all the soothing vibes I can summon into my voice. “It’s all right. Everyone blunders a little when they’re getting used to something new. Now you have a better idea of what to do. You’ve been with me so far. I know we can make it.”
“I don’t want to let you down, Your Imperial Highness.”
“You won’t,” I promise. “Only think about following me. About the next two holds for your hands and putting your feet where your hands were. That’ll take us to the top. We won’t lose our way. We can do this together. Are you with me?”
He exhales roughly, but when he speaks again, there’s renewed conviction in his voice. “Yes. It’s that simple. I can do that.”
It’s that simple as long as I can pick the right holds to begin with and don’t let him down.
More worried muttering is drifting up from the spectators below. Every second we linger in our mistakes, the worse we look.
I stare at the handholds around me, the ones that have proven stable and the ones that might not be, searching for any clue that might direct me. My enhanced sight still can’t pick out anything significant. The sheer slope above us looks nearly flat in its blackness.
Closing my eyes for a second, I extend my thoughts toward my godlen. Elox, guide me as I would guide the empire’s people. Show me what I need to see to find the right path.
When I open my eyes, my gaze veers upward just as the sunlight glances off the obelisk at a slightly different angle.
My attention snags on tiny black lines that creep out from the base of the holds just above me. In a blink, the light fades off them again, but now that I know exactly where to look, I peer even closer.
I can still make out the minute crevices, ever so faintly. Without the ointment, I doubt I’d be able to pick up on the slivers of slightly darker shadow at all.
Most of the holds nearby have a spidery crack or two somewhere close to the middle of their base. A couple only have a few thin lines near the edges.
A swell of certainty rises up inside me. The holds with only outer cracks are the sturdy ones. I have to rely on the pieces of rock that are solid at their core.
I have to show I can recognize a strong foundation.
I stretch my arm up for the closest one, ignoring the deepening ache in my shoulder as well as I can. I think the joint might be sprained, but my discomfort can’t matter right now.
All I can do is climb.
“I see the way,” I tell my companion as I clamber onward. “I know how to tell which ones are too weak now. We’ll be all strength from here on.”
With each length we climb without another hold crumbling, my companion’s movements below me become more confident in turn. I pause only long enough to squint at the next set of protrusions before curling my fingers around them.
We continue up and up and up. The murmurs below fade with the distance, but they’re brightening in tone. The breeze picks up, ruffling through my hair .
My companion’s breath stutters.
“We’re almost there,” I call down to him encouragingly, and he keeps following without faltering.
I reach up once more—and the top of the obelisk is there. A choked laugh hitches from my throat. I reach to tug the banner out of my harness and halt.
No. It’s not good enough to simply lead my companion up here, especially after our early mistakes.
I need to demonstrate more than just the basics of being a ruler.
Peering at the area around the peak of the structure, I discern a shallow ridge that curves toward the steps on the far side. I ease onto it, flashing a smile toward my companion. “Come the rest of the way up. I want you to put the banner in with me. We did make the climb together, after all. You should share the glory.”
His eyes widen with shock, but his face lights up at the same time. He hauls himself across the last few holds.
I extend my hand toward him, gripping the banner. He clutches the handle alongside me. In one movement, we slip it into the hole at the peak next to Marclinus’s banner.
A roar of excitement reverberates from below. My companion lets out a joyful chuckle, his eyes outright sparkling now.
He’ll never forget how well his empress led him.
The devout is beckoning us over to the stairs. As I slide over to join him, my gaze tumbles down the tower—and lands on Marclinus standing by the altar, staring up at us.
Staring at me with his mouth twitching into the briefest of grimaces, as if he doesn’t like what he’s seen at all.