The Ivory Rite

Chapter 42

Later that afternoon, I weave my way through the rebuild site. Toryn's work is beautiful; I lose myself in the detail every time I come here.

The skeleton of the new ballroom has been complete for some time now, and just this week they've begun work on the walls and ceiling. There are men all around me, some on high scaffolding, some on the ground. It takes me longer than usual to spot Toryn, who sits at least one story up. He hammers a pick against one of the castle's exterior walls, ice chips flying down like artificial snow.

I don't dare interrupt him when he's so far from the ground, but he takes notice, descending the rickety scaffolding and landing right in front of me.

"Your Majesty," he says, dropping to one knee and standing again. His smile falters upon inspecting my face. "What's wrong?" he asks, missing nothing. Sometimes I wish he was less observant.

"Nothing," I lie, wondering when I'll win the award for most lies ever told.

My immediate urge after this morning's discovery was to tell someone about Asmund, but the fact that he was excommunicated stopped me dead in my tracks. It's a miracle he survived such a thing, however meagerly. Most people who are excommunicated are also executed. I would hate to draw attention to his whereabouts if he's believed by the Fold to have vanished.

Landon is the other reason I've held my tongue. He's the person I really want to talk to, but somehow I can't bring myself to tell him a story with parallels so close to our own.

He loved her, and she died.

Given the prophecy, that could be Landon's own fate soon enough.

"Master Gaffer!" One of the other men shouts at Toryn from clear across the yard. "We have a problem!" Toryn looks over in his direction, his brow furrowing.

"Go," I tell him. "I'll wait for you here."

"I'll be right back," he says under his breath, annoyance taking a bite out of his words. He departs at a brisk walk, making for a group of men about a hundred feet away. Soon every worker around has followed him, leaving me standing alone among the scaffolding.

I glance over to my right, toward the White Watch station. The men appear to be distracted, many of them weaving in and out of sight behind the half-built walls.

I gained all sorts of freedom when I lost Adair. The men are distracted and sloppy without him.

I turn back to the scaffolding, running a hand across the stand in front of me. It's a marvel how such an unstable structure could hold the weight of several large men, being made only of wood and iron piping. The one I'm inspecting stretches far up into the sky, all the way to where the soaring glass ceiling of the previous ballroom once hovered. It's several stories at least, fastened into the ice of one of the outer castle walls in several places, which is how I imagine it remains erect.

There are crosses in the iron piping all the way up, providing easy footing for a climb. Before I know what I'm doing, my right foot is fitted into a foothold, both my arms reaching for the first landing.

I don't know what possesses me to do it. I'm not really thinking anything at all as I pull myself up and over, almost losing my balance. I kick off my fancy heels and try again, now barefoot on my way to the second landing. I wait for someone to notice and stop me, but none of the Watchmen even glance in my direction.

The heavy gown I'm wearing hinders my movement, weighing me down, but I welcome the challenge. My arms are strong after weeks of training, and I ascend the entire structure in almost no time at all, ignoring the way it groans under my weight.