The Ivory Rite

Chapter 2

Most days I try not to think about my mother.

When I say mother, I don't mean the woman who died giving birth to me, the last queen. All I know of her is her living blood, and I am convinced there is not a less appealing person in the entire kingdom than my Aunt Margret, our acting regent. She takes her rule very seriously, never missing an opportunity to remind me she currently holds the power. She will continue to do so until I come of age.

When I think of my mother, I think of the woman who raised me for the first seven years of my life. Her name was Aster, but I never called her anything other than Mam.

I can't picture Mam's face anymore, and I don't remember when that image was lost to me. It slipped away quietly, over time, until one day she was gone. I still dream about her sometimes. I can hear her voice—Aisling, darling—but when I wake I can never fully recall her image. Only her eyes stay with me. They crinkled at the sides when she smiled, and even more so when she laughed, a rich brown, like the melted chocolate that covers the elaborate cake now sitting in front of me on the glass dining room table.

I gaze across the vast expanse of the meticulously decorated room, down to where Aunt Margret sits—she at one head, I at the other, as far away from one another as possible. She senses my attention, and fixes a glare on me in return. I've never seen the skin around her eyes crinkle. Not once, in ten long years.

I often forget how young she is. My birth mother's little sister was only eighteen herself when Calder and Cain died, gaining her the regency.

"Diem, did you have something you wanted to say?" she asks me, her tone harsh. We are alone in the room, except for the servant waiting in a dark corner for her next command. 

It seems we are always alone.

Over the last few generations the royal house of Valore has slowly died out, the trend culminating in the deaths of my father and brother. The King's blood relatives all gave their lives in service to the crown, as soldiers. On the Queen's side, of House Alanna, there is Margret and her single living brother, Liefteanant Damien Alanna. He chose to reject the regency and remain with the White Watch.

I flinch at Margret's tone but feign indifference, looking up at the glittering glass chandelier. The light it throws around the room glows eerily, bouncing off the elaborate ice sculpture set at table center. Tonight it depicts a strutting turkey, but there is a new one at every meal. My eyes follow a single drop of melt, as it lingers on the turkey's beak, finally falling onto the table's glass surface.

How strange.

It isn't often that you see ice turn to water in Glace. Even a drop is rare.

"Diem?" Margret looks at me, impatient.

"I'd like to go to the Mart tomorrow," I say, steeling myself for the fight I know I'll get. The Mart is a large, informal marketplace on the outskirts of Glace, where citizens of both cities gather to sell, shop and trade. I prefer it over the stuffy, expensive downtown shops. It has an air of freedom and festivity that the Elite can't seem to capture on their own.

"That's absolutely out of the question." Margret answers immediately, showing no consideration and providing no explanation. As though the issue is closed, she returns to her meal.

"Let me rephrase." I pause as she lifts her head again, inch by inch, until her sharp eyes pierce mine, her blonde brows sitting much higher on her forehead than they did a moment ago. It seems I've regained her attention.

"I will be going to the Mart tomorrow. I've scheduled to have my appearance altered, and the White Watch has been notified that I'll need a minimum of three ununiformed men. Thane has approved it, and I'll be departing late morning."