The Ivory Rite

Chapter 47

I am not afraid. Maybe I should be given the attitude of the crowd this morning, but the truth is I've never felt more alive.

Ki takes me steadily through the white stoned streets, a handful of Watchmen leading the way and another handful bringing up the rear. Our small numbers allow us to move quickly, even at a gallop in places where the stretch of road is clear. The fair people of Glace rush from their homes as we pass, not wanting to miss the royal procession.

I'm awfully sorry to disappoint, but there won't be one today, I think. Not a traditional one, at least.

Right after Margret's funeral, I asked Eva to create me an outfit for the next Rite. When I first described my unconventional idea she was skeptical, but in the end she agreed to give it a try. This morning I was relieved to find out it's already finished. I didn't even have to ask; she came parading into my room only moments after Adair's departure, bearing the most striking ensemble I've ever seen.

It's a black that can only be found in nature on a moonless night, both skirt and pants. She's done exactly as I've asked—the gown I wore to Margret's funeral is almost unrecognizable. The high neck and tight bodice remain, the sleeves now tapered to the ends. They stretch down and across the backs of my hands, small loops of thread around my middle fingers holding them in place. The heavy skirt of the gown splits in the front to reveal my fitted leather riding pants, and knee-high heeled boots. I've let my hair fall free from the simplest of all my gold crowns, and it blows behind me as I ride.

The most arresting addition to the original piece is an ethereal gold detailing. She's used a thread so bright it looks to be made of starlight, elaborate vining embroidered all across the skirt. It must have taken her at least a month to complete.

My glass horse is back in my pocket where it belongs. I keep waiting for Adair to bring it up again, but ever since we stepped outside he's been all business. His back is arrow straight as he rides beside me, his eyes visible and vigilant due to his refusal of the standard facial armor. He's on the lookout for threats, despite the fact that we're riding straight toward the biggest one of all.

People gape and point at our unusual party, which is what I intended. My attire borders on blasphemy given the setting. I should be wearing white for the too soon season of Beltaine.

Never again, I decided over a month ago.

Never again will I stoop to pretending this is a celebration of any kind. The Ivory Rite is a slaughter and a funeral, and from here on out I will treat it as such.

The fresh air is taken from me too soon, as we ride straight into the tunnels below the Theater. I take extra time leaving Ki behind, stroking his face with genuine affection. "Good boy," I murmur, kissing his nose before turning toward Adair.

He holds his hand out, not caring who out of our detail is watching. I stare appreciatively before taking it, stepping up beside him.

"Remember what I told you," he whispers, his other hand grazing my cheek. "It doesn't come out here." I nod to him.

I remember.

I think I say the words out loud, but I can't be sure. We're already moving.

We walk through the remainder of the tunnel together, finding ourselves at the entrance to the royal box. He pauses in stride, and for as long as I live, I'll never forget the way he looks at me as he brings the back of my hand to his lips, like it's the most natural thing in the world. I have to force myself to take the steps into the Theater.

Asmund is already here, having declined to remain with the other Ancients. He allows me my throne, but the message is clear: he's the one running this Rite. I expect distaste when he looks me over, but his face reveals nothing.