Chapter 58
I open my eyes at midnight, sunrise-colored roses crowding every surface. My birthday is behind me. At Somnus, I stand at the edge of the hall and watch the delvarians cause a ruckus. I put off attending more social events as long as I can, until Seran insists I accept a few invites.
At the winter solstice, I dance with the olive-skinned lord from Nyvos. For a brief moment, I allow myself to be hopeful about who my father will choose for me. I lie awake at night wondering which province I’ll end up in, and whether the images in my mind match their terrain.
A few days after Noctus, I pass a window and see shadows in the sky. A flock of large birds soars overhead. Archers race along the walls, firing arrows, but there are too many; for every one that spirals down, three more birds cut through.
Guards flood the corridor. One grabs my arm and pulls me from the window. They drag Rinalda from her rooms and take us deep into marble, until we reach a basement chamber. No one tells us what is going on as they slam metal doors shut behind us.
Rinalda paces back and forth across the narrow room, her red hair catching the low lantern light each time she turns. I sit on a bench against the wall and watch her cover the same stretch of floor for the better part of the day.
It’s surely night when the door rattles, and the metal lock turns. Rinalda pulls me against her, her hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise. But when the door opens, it is only Seran, informing us it’s safe to come out.
No one tells me what happened, but the archers stay on the walls, and the guards double at every door. I am kept inside, which I don’t mind, saved from having to accept invites to more events. I only wish the gardens and the balconies weren’t closed to me.
With nothing else to do, I spend longer in the bath one night, soaking in scented oils, letting the warmth loosen my limbs.
I am floating, eyes closed, calm, when a thunk echoes from the hall.
I sit up and brush my hair out of my face, watching the door.
Nothing stirs, so I settle back and let the water cover my ears once more.
A shadow falls across my eyes. I open them just in time to see a dark figure as his hands shove me under. I choke. Water floods my throat, burning like fire. I kick and claw at the rim, but the hands hold me down. Spots crowd my vision, bright then dark.
Then nothing at all.
A muffled knock wakes me. I cough violently and sit up.
I’m shaking, breath ragged, sweat sticky on my skin.
I cough and cough, until spit glistens on my hand.
Another knock rings out, clearer this time. “Your highness?”
It’s a woman’s voice.
I survived the night. Despite being back in the Sunrise Palace, and despite falling into memory, I survived. I stumble out of bed. I need to pull myself together. “Just…” I cough and hack. “Just one moment!”
I take a few shuddering breaths and open the door. The world is grainy and bright, taking time to fully resolve itself around me. A woman in white stands there; a priestess of Ignar. She gestures to three more women waiting in the hall.
“We’re here to help you prepare yourself for the Flame.”
The priestesses don’t wait for my confirmation to enter.
They help me into a ceremonial robe and simple sandals, and I only have a moment to reach under my pillow and slip the moonstone dagger into one pocket.
I’m dizzy, bounced between their hands, my throat constricting around every breath, as if my body still thinks it’s water not air entering my lungs.
But I choke down my coughs. I just have to get through today.
I just have to hold it together until we get in front of the Flame.
They take me to the temple complex and lead me through its long corridors, sprinkling flowers in front of my feet all the way to the baths at its center.
The ceremonial pool sits in a wide sun-drenched chamber.
Hands remove my clothes and guide me into the water, scented with citrus and crushed maranth leaves.
The hot water washes away the dried sweat from last night, but the memories linger.
I grit my teeth, keeping my head as high above the surface as I can.
The priestesses push me under, and I come up gasping, fighting panic. I glare, hair dripping in front of my face, but I have to stay calm. I can’t signal to anyone that I’m anything other than a compliant bride. The bath hides my fearful tears as they reach for me again.
Their cleansing dips feel like torture, each one too rough to resist. I shake, my jaw twinging painfully. I do my best to center myself in this moment, in this unbroken body, in each breath.
The priestesses guide me from the bath. They wrap my breasts and hips with wide strips of gauzy fabric. They layer a white overdress on top, tying strings every few inches, then cover it with a long-sleeved robe tied once under my breasts.
They bind my wrists and throat with bands of raw silk bearing quartz and sunstone beads. Gold is traditional for most ceremonies, representing Ignar’s power, but no metal is supposed to touch me today. My body is to absorb all the blessings, reflecting nothing back.
As they prepare my veil, I grab the moonstone dagger from my robe on the floor and slide it into my gauze skirt. The tight layers hold it securely against my hip. They return to me before I finish refastening the overdress.
“I had an itch,” I explain, as they tie me back in.
The sheer veil is draped over my hair and pinned in place with carved bone. I feel cocooned, a sacred vessel for Ignar’s power, even though he’s gone from this world and doesn’t care what I’m doing. Even though his blood has never been in me at all.
They slip woven-silk sandals onto my feet to prevent me from touching the gold-inlaid floor before they lead me to the temple. The priests of Ignar wait in a semicircle around the altar, white-robed and solemn. They chant and wave scented smoke over my head.
I remember some of these rituals from my ceremony with Cantor, but I still need the priestesses to guide me down when I’m meant to kneel and nudge me when they want me to stand.
A heavy scent of maranth follows me as a procession of priests and priestesses lead me to the Central Palace.
My sandals scuff against the tile, my layered outfit limiting my pace.
I trail them through the palace, until marble doors groan open and I step into the throne room.
The path to the dais is flanked by a small crowd, dressed in dark clothing on one side and light on the other. Thankfully, I only spot three brothers; we didn’t give my four oldest enough warning to travel here, nor any of my married sisters.
The other two redheads on my side are Rinalda and my mother. I meet my mother’s eyes for a full breath, not flinching away. Her chin is lifted, her expression tight. Whatever she’s feeling, she’s locked it down today.
Rinalda, on the other hand, is showing rare emotion, her eyebrows pulled together. Is she worried for me?
I’m worried for her too.
Please don’t kill any of them. I send one pleading look to Nykiri, who will remain with most of the company outside the chamber.
Karns agreed it would be safer to incapacitate my siblings than face their flames.
Siro provided cloths soaked in powerful sedatives, which the group will use on the ignarians before they cross swords with the guards.
But I know once the violence starts, no one can control who gets hurt.
I need Rinalda not to block our exit with her blue fire, and I need her safe.
Alaris faces the throne, his silhouette a stark contrast from the white steps up to the emperor.
My father sits with his knees spread wide, robes covered in a solid gold breastplate.
Past lives crawl under my skin as I approach, another version of this scene fighting to surface with a different groom waiting ahead, but I shove it down.
I stop next to Alaris and bow as low as my ceremonial gown allows.
My father studies me for a long moment, taking his time to assess my presentation. Then he speaks: “Lord Alaris, why do you come before the Flame today?”
“I come to receive Ignar’s blessing so I may marry Lysandra Ignaros.” Alaris’s low voice is like a caress on my cheek. After my visions last night, I feel like we’ve been apart for months.
My father’s eyes blaze. “And do you swear to wed her in Arastos, to bear your heirs there, on arastorian lands?”
“I swear it.”
My father smiles. In his eyes, the map created at the end of the Incarnial Wars is finally being redrawn, with an entire province returned to Ignar. “Then let us go before the Flame and bless Lysandra to bear a sun-strong child.”
The priestesses swarm me and undo three of the ties in the center of my dress. They hold it open, exposing my midsection. A priest approaches with a bowl and brush. He dips the brush into white ash and paints a sun low on my stomach. The priestesses retie the dress and re-drape my robe.
A priest takes Alaris’s hand, and a priestess takes mine, and they fold them together. His cool skin is an instant relief.
My father speaks again. “None of my line and no women may accompany us before the Flame. Lysandra’s womb and blood alone must absorb Ignar’s fire. Men from both sides serve to bear witness to these vows and this blessing.”
Emperor Belzas strolls down from the dais and leads us behind the throne. He stomps his foot, and a huge marble slab groans to one side, inch by inch, revealing a wide, white staircase. He sparks a ball of flame in his hand and descends.
We enter next, followed by the priests carrying torches, the witnesses, and the guards.
We step down, down, down, deep beneath the palace. Even though the tunnel is wide enough to fit a carriage, the smooth walls and endless curve feel claustrophobic. The walls are pure white marble but sparks of color start to swim at the edges of my vision…
I smell roses, and the present wavers.
Not now.