The Ivory Rite

Chapter 34

A little over an hour later I find myself balancing several heavy books in my arms, struggling to see over them as I make my way down a winding staircase.

"Allow me, your Majesty." A Watchman offers to assist me for the third time, and for the third time I deny him. I like the way the muscles in my arms strain to hold the volumes steady. It reminds me of the exercise routine I've been keeping in Adair's absence. Every day I try to make it a little bit longer, to endure just a few more repetitions than I did the day before.

"Didn't I tell you to fall back?" I ask, breathing heavy. I don't bother to look back at him or any of the others. A line of sweat drips from the nape of my neck, all the way down my back. No one answers, but I can sense it as the space behind me empties.

I've been brainstorming all morning for legitimate excuses to put myself in close proximity to where Toryn will be working. The best I've come up with is to bring my studies outside into fresher air, and it's taken me two trips to bring down everything I need to make this educational excursion look legitimate. I drop my second set of books next to the first, on an ornate marble bench. It previously sat only feet from one of the old ballroom's exterior doors, in the outside courtyard facing the ocean. Now it's tucked just close enough to the construction to offer perfect surveillance, and just far enough away so as not to cause any interference. I take a seat next to my study material, my chest heaving, my eyes already scanning the area for any sign of Toryn. I don't have to look very hard.

Once spotted, I watch him for what seems like a long time, trying to take in as many details as possible. He's stationed himself at a kind of makeshift workshop right in the middle of the construction site. There's nothing overt that distinguishes him as the leader; he works seamlessly alongside the other men.

They're building what looks like three oversized outdoor ovens. Wagons line the area, one filled exclusively with stone, the others with more stone and some tools I don't recognize. There are many long pipes, along with some iron molds that vary by shape and size. The last wagon, the one positioned closest to me, is filled with raw glass samples.

I open a book in my lap without looking down at it, losing track of time as I watch him work. Upon closer inspection, I can identify his effortless command over the other men. No one questions his authority, despite the fact that he's a new addition to their team. I fight the urge to approach him, not wanting to interrupt.

He finally notices me, his eyes grazing my face on their way to examine something else, only to abruptly return and settle. He gives me the tiniest of smiles, and suddenly I'm on my feet. They're moving before I have a chance to tell them not to.

"Your Majesty," he greets me, falling to one knee as I approach him.

"Please rise," I say, motioning for him to stand. "I don't mean to interrupt your work." He gets back up, beads of sweat dripping down his face despite the cool temperature. He tries to wipe them away, succeeding only in mixing the perspiration with the dirt on his hands. The grime smeared on his cheek reminds me so much of him as a child that I have to stifle a laugh.

"What can I do for you?" he asks, the smile he gave me a moment ago lingering in his eyes. He gestures for the men standing near us to move, and they scurry away like mice.

A quick glance back to my bench confirms that today's assigned Watchman has remained there. Whenever I'm on the move at least a handful of them materialize, so I've learned the key is to remain in the same place for as long as possible. If I'm immobile—eating, reading, studying—they drop off one by one until only an escort remains. This one seems unsure of himself, and I take full advantage, motioning for him to remain where he is. He falls into military rest, his eyes burning a hole in my back as I turn it on him.