The Ivory Rite

Chapter 3

There is only one way to get to Sanctuary that avoids going outside, and although it's well past dark, I'd rather not risk being seen by any of the Watchmen tasked with keeping track of my whereabouts.

After following an underground servant tunnel, I find myself at a heavy stone door. I set my plate down on the ground and use two hands to push it aside, entering the small room which sits adjacent to the main altar. Like the castle, the main hall of Sanctuary is constructed of ice and glass. Similar to the castle's servant quarters, the Ancients have stone preparation areas to keep them from view. I currently find myself in one such area.

Dim light shows through a crack in a heavy curtain, the only thing separating this room from the main hall where worship takes place. Not wanting to interrupt any Ancients in their evening prayer, I peek through, my eyes scanning the vast space for Landon. I don't see anyone as I look out toward the pews, but a moment later I'm startled by a familiar voice.

"I have to tell her something. I really think it would help her to understand." 

I hear Landon loud and clear, as though he's standing right next to me. It takes a moment for me to realize that he is. The altar is on the other side of the curtain, set far back in an alcove. I can't see him or who he's speaking to, but I can hear them both.

"The time is not yet right." The answering voice is older, authoritative. I can't place it.

"That's what you've been saying for years. She knows they're dead. She knows they were killed to protect the secret of her identity. What she doesn't know is why. She needs to know the truth." Landon is frustrated, his voice getting louder.

My entire body turns to stone as I strain to listen. They're talking about my family and friends. They're talking about my deepest shame, the guilt that behaves like a wild animal, gnawing on my bones every time I allow my mind to settle; every time I lay my head down to sleep.

She knows they're dead.

Excluding the current staff, any servant or child who interacted with me before I was taken in—before I became Queen Diem—has been executed. Entire families were murdered because of me. The slaughter of these innocent people is what Margret referred to earlier this evening. 

Perhaps we should just dispose of you the way we did the others, she said. 

I still have no idea why they didn't. It would have been easy to announce the birth of an only son.

A feeling deep in my tortured bones tells me I have to find out why they've kept me alive, why they insist I take my rightful place as queen despite all the trouble it poses. 

Landon wants to tell me why. 

The realization deepens an affection for him I already thought to be bottomless.

"The time is not yet right." The voice is firm, unyielding.

"I don't care about the prophecy, I care about her. If we don't give her a reason to fight for this, she won't! Why would she care about a kingdom that's turned its back on her?" The question goes unanswered, so Landon continues. "She's rash and reckless, and she will continue to be once she's thrust into the public eye." He sounds desperate. "We have to give her a reason to care."

"Domhan hasn't turned its back on her. The kingdom hardly knows she exists."

"Because you've hidden her away like something to be ashamed of!" Landon is shouting now.

"Keep your voice down." The man remains calm. "Don't let yourself forget that by societal standards she is something to be ashamed of." This is met with silence, and somehow it seems louder than the shouting.