The Ivory Rite

Chapter 9

I don't sleep a wink the entire night.

It's a coincidence, I tell myself.

It means nothing.

As soon as Raina comes to dress me the next morning, I bombard her with questions. "What does this look like to you?" I demand, shoving the trinket in her face.

"A horse?" she asks, looking alarmed by my attitude.

"Well, yes, but nothing else comes to mind?" I place it in her hand, staring at her with an intensity inappropriate to the moment. I'm desperate to hear someone else say the word.

Hope is a wicked thing. It lifts you to dangerous heights. If you realize it's misplaced, something that should feel like tripping over a stone can feel like free falling off a cliff.

I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.

"It's a glass horse?" she tries again. "Are you alright, my Lady? Would you like me to get rid of it?"

"No!" I snatch it back from her. "No," I say again, more calmly this time. "Never mind."

An hour later, I fiddle with the horse in my pocket as Adair walks me to Sanctuary. My hands are perfect, my hair is blonde, and my eyes are a pale blue. I feel uncomfortable  in today's beautiful, royal gown.

"There they are." Adair motions to the castle wall. Temporary servants spill through the gates, making their way along the edge of the property over to one of the servant tunnel entrances. We're not close enough for anyone to get a good look at me, but even from a distance I can tell some of them are staring in our direction. They're curious.

It's begun.

I glance sideways at Adair. He's quiet this morning, and I can't decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

"Do you like the Formals?" I ask. He looks over at me, surprised.

"Of course. Everyone likes the Formals." He studies me for a moment. "You've been to a few of them. You weren't impressed?"

"Impressed? You mean by the extravagant display of wealth and waste, when there are people in Hearth who don't have enough food to eat?" I expel a joyless laugh.

"You know, that's your problem." He shakes his head, giving me a scornful look.

"What? My problem is that I don't want people to starve?"

"Your problem is that you still think of yourself as one of them." He looks at me pointedly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but there is a physical wall between the Elite and everyone else. The Border is there for a reason, and you still find ways to cross it, to try to go back." A pause. Then, "Why is that?"

The question feels like a test.

"I've never been across the Border," is all I can think of to say. He stops walking, and I leave him behind a few paces.

"You know what I mean," he insists, holding his ground. "Look at me," is his next demand, as I try to continue down the path.

"What?" I turn to face him, annoyed.

"I don't care what color your hair is, tecushla," he begins, closing some of the distance between us. "You aren't one of them." He seems oblivious to the fact that his own nickname for me is a contradiction to this sentiment. "The sooner you figure that out, the better it will be for all of us."

The sun is rising behind him, and it casts his face into shadow. My pulse starts to quicken. There's something about him that challenges me—something that's different. Something no one else has. He's constantly giving me the opportunity to lose my composure, and my stomach pools with hot shame as the truth occurs to me.

I like it.

It feels a little like freedom.

"It's abundantly clear to me that I'm not one of them, Adair," I answer, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Look at me!" I wave my arms over my hair, my face, my dress. "Do I look like one of them?"

"You did the other day, on your knees in the dirt with that Rust." I flinch as though he's slapped me.

"Don't you dare use that language," I seethe, taking a step toward him. He responds by taking a step toward me.

"Every time you do something foolish it puts the rest of us in danger. When you shout my name at the Mart, you put me in danger. Do you care about that?" he demands, moving closer. "Your recklessness, your little rebellions will put my men in danger, men who live to protect you and your throne." He's standing far too close, now. "You want to think of others? Think of them!"

I open my mouth to respond, but I don't get the chance. His head snaps to the side at the sound of approaching male voices and he reacts with instinct, grabbing my arm and backing me into an alcove, just out of view from the walking path. I catch my heel on an uneven stone in the haste of his movement, his hand rushing to the back of my head before it connects with the wall. All of a sudden I'm pinned by his broad frame, my face resting in the crook of his neck. My nose grazes the scruff on his jaw, my breath hitching. He smells like something distinctly male, like musk and pine.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice low as he pulls back a tiny bit to look down at me. I struggle to answer, too busy gulping air back into my lungs to form words.

"Why did you do that?" I gasp, ignoring his question. "It's just your men." His fingers brush the back of my neck as he takes his hand away.

"We weren't finished talking," he says lamely, both of us knowing it was more than that. I wait for him to go on, but he doesn't. His eyes search mine, his perfect brow furrowed.

"It seems as though we are," I say after a few moments of silence, having taken that time to study the planes of his face—his strong jaw and long eyelashes, the part of his cheek usually graced with an arrogant dimple. Right now it's nowhere to be found, his usual confidence having completely abandoned him.

He looks worried.

"There will be people all over the grounds from now on. You can't assume the men you see or hear are with the White Watch." His eyes flicker from mine, down to my lips and back again. "There are strangers here. It's best for you to be seen on your own terms." He tips his face the tiniest bit closer, a piece of hair falling across his forehead. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I answer, unable to elevate my voice above a whisper, though I'm not sure why. I'm startled when he pulls away, the movement abrupt.

"I just want you to be more cautious." He stands back to his full height, pulling a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "It'll make things easier for me." He sounds more like his old self.

"I understand," I tell him, unable to shake the feeling there are secrets buried under his words.

He offers me his arm. I glance at it only to move past him, back out onto the path. "We're going to be late to Sanctuary," I say, walking away from him.

Once we arrive, I have trouble concentrating on the ceremony. There are strangers in the hall, and although I was warned there would be, the unfamiliar faces are disconcerting. I sit up straight in the first pew next to Margret and try to pretend like they aren't there.

I try to forget about the look in Adair's eyes.

After what seems like hours, the ceremony ends and I exit behind Margret. "Come, Diem," she calls back to me. "I think that's enough exposure for your first day. I'll walk you back to your quarters."

We're flanked by several members of the White Watch the entire way.

Adair is not among them.