The Ivory Rite

Chapter 27

It takes me a moment to gather myself, and another to decide upon a response.

It would be useless to deny anything now. I'm sure my face has already said it all. "How did you know?" Is what I land upon. It takes only seconds for me to regret the unnecessary admission.

"I didn't." He still holds tight to my hand. "But now I do." A frustrated growl rips from my throat.

"So you manipulated me into telling you something I wasn't ready to talk about?" I take my hand back, getting to my feet.

"I wouldn't have to do such things if you were as honest with me as you claim to be." All of his anger from earlier has evaporated, as when the sun comes out and banishes a morning's lingering fog. Now he's as serene as usual.

"I don't have visions," I correct, the word dripping with disdain. "There's no such thing. I have dreams, an overactive imagination."

"There is such a thing." He pauses, considering whether to part with a piece of sensitive information. In the end, he lets it fly.

"Your mother had the sight."

"Excuse me?" My voice breaks a little, confusion washing over me like a rogue wave. "My mother?"

"Queen Nealie. Kept secret, of course. Those with such gifts cannot offer them freely."

"Then you know why I didn't mention it," I say, furious with both him and myself. "This is madness! I didn't say anything because there's no meaning behind it. You speak of tales told by heathens, meant to scare and intimidate, and you dare bring up my mother?" I grow more hysterical with every word. "You would use against me a woman I barely had the chance to lay eyes upon before bearing the responsibility of her death?"

"You must try to calm down," he says, shaking his head. "Look at me," he demands. "You did not kill your mother. If you take one thing to heart, let it be that." I fight the urge to turn my back on him, tears of shame forming and threatening to fall.

"Women die in childbirth. It is the world's greatest gift, but it can also be as violent as war if the body turns on itself," he tells me in the tone he usually reserves for teaching. He watches me like I'm a child throwing a tantrum and he's the adult, waiting for it to subside.

"All of this is beside the point." I take a deep breath. "I don't want to talk about Nealie." I can't bring myself to refer to her as my mother. "Our lives hardly touched. She can be of no comfort to me now. She can be of no help."

"I insist you will find that to be false, but very well," he tells me, his calm unnerving. "We don't need to speak of her today." He stands, but instead of coming toward me he moves far across the room, reaching for a volume on a high shelf.

"Are we to resume the lesson, then?" I ask with sharp sarcasm. "Forgive me for no longer being in the mood to learn." He opens the book and withdrawing a piece of paper hidden within, turns back to me.

"I think you may change your mind about that. Would you please shut the door?" He motions to the open hallway. I hesitate, looking from him to the exit and back again. As always, curiosity gets the better of me.

I lean my back against the door after closing it, looking to him for answers, not a trace of patience left in my entire body.

"Well?"

"You asked me about the conversation you overheard that night, in the Sanctuary." He motions for me to join him back at the table.

"I did." I don't move right away, my body frozen in place. It's true I've looked forward to this moment, that it's been on my mind since the day he promised to tell me more about the prophecy. Now that the time has come, all I feel is dread.