What an asshole.
I looked for Sir Holland among the Royal Guards that waited in the alcove closer to the family, but I didn’t see him.
My skin felt uncomfortably warm as I flicked a look out over the crowd, wondering if any of the people here knew what’d happened to the Coupers—what had surely happened to other families, and was currently happening as they sat in the pews, most likely thinking of the feasts and fine wine they’d celebrate with later. Did they even care?
My jaw ticked. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Many of them did care. Wealth and nobility didn’t automatically make a person apathetic to the needs of others. I knew for a fact that Lady Rosalynn, who stared up at the dais now, often sent food for the children under the care of the Ladies of Mercy. Lord Malvon Faber, Marisol’s father, had opened his home on more than one occasion to shelter others when fire or rain damaged their homes. Lord Caryl Gavlen, who sat behind the Crown with his daughter, still paid the harvesters even though they hadn’t been able to work the same amount of land.
Many of those in attendance cared, probably even more than I knew, but all it took was a handful of others to not. All it took was a soon-to-be King more concerned with hunting for pleasure and chasing skirts than feeding his people, for all of the others’ good work to come undone.
The shimmer of pearls in Ezra’s hair caught my attention. I stared at the tiny, round gems. They were pretty, but I didn’t wear jewelry other than the gold chains that had once held my veil in place. No one had ever given me a piece—not a ring, necklace, hairpin, or bauble. I’d never purchased any for myself with whatever coins I’d found in my travels throughout the city, either. I never sought to own jewelry because I didn’t think it was meant for me. That sounded silly, but when Ezra or Mother wore such sparkly, beautiful things, they felt meant for them. Just as they did for nearly every female and many of the males in attendance tonight.
My mother’s head turned toward Ezra in response to something she’d said. The Queen smiled, and the breath I took was too thin. It was a beautiful smile, and I couldn’t remember her ever directing one like that at me.
She smiled at Ezra that way, but not me. Not her daughter.
I swallowed in hopes of easing the lump that had filled my throat, and all I succeeded in doing was nearly choking myself. My mother laughed, and I felt it in every bone. I had never made her laugh. Why would I? I was the failed Maiden, and Ezra was a Princess.
Gods, I was actually…jealous. After all these years. How could that even be possible? I wanted to laugh, but for the briefest of moments, I wanted to be Ezra.
I wanted to be the one sitting there, worthy of the family that surrounded me. Well, all but Tavius, but Ezra counted. And I wanted that.
The strangest thought entered my mind—something I had stopped wondering many years ago. How different would my life be if my forefather hadn’t agreed to such an outrageous price? If I hadn’t been born in a shroud, a Maiden promised to the Primal of Death. Would birthdays have been celebrated with cakes and candies? Would my first gift have been a doll or some lovely trinket? Would there be warm embraces and evenings spent gossiping in the tearoom? Would I sit beside my mother at Rites? Possibly even by my father?
Would my mother then be proud of me instead of disappointed? Instead of disturbed by what I’d become?
Those questions floated away from me as the thick, white curtains bearing the golden symbols of the sun behind the throne stirred and then parted. My grip on myself tightened as a Sun Priest led the Chosen out. This one was male, dressed in loose, white pants and a vest. The Veil of the Chosen obscured all but his jaw and mouth. His skin had been painted gold, reminding me of Callum.
Conversation lowered to a whisper as the Chosen was placed on the throne. A crown of peonies and some other fragile flower was then added to the veil. The Sun Priest moved to stand behind the throne, and then three more Priests lowered to their knees.
Flames sparked to life from the remaining unlit candles as an awareness pressed down on me. I recognized the feeling. It was similar to what I had felt at the lake. I was being watched.
Tensing, I glanced at the front pews, and my stomach sank as my gaze collided with Tavius’s. His lips twisted into a smirk, and I resisted the desire to give him the middle finger, something I imagined would be viewed as highly inappropriate in the Temple of Life.
I watched Tavius lean forward, his head dipping to my mother’s. Her pale, silk-covered shoulders stiffened. Bastard. I tensed as the Queen turned her head. I wanted to step back into the shadows, but there was no place to go. My jaw locked as I felt her stare land on me.
I would never hear the end of this.
I knew I shouldn’t have come, and if I lingered, it would only make the Queen angrier. I started to turn when a gust of warm air whipped through the chamber, stirring the flames. I halted as a hush went through the crowd. That wind carried a scent—
Energy charged the air, crackling across my skin and those around me. My gaze shot to the center aisle as the space there appeared to warp and vibrate. Knowing what was coming, I looked up to the raised dais, to where the male sat, his hands folded, ankles still crossed. There was a tremendous smile on his face. He wasn’t nervous about his Ascension. He beamed, his body rigid with anticipation as all that Primal energy ramped up. A crack of thunder echoed through the golden cella, and outside, cheers rose. Flames roared from the hundreds of candles, stretching toward the glass ceiling as the realm split open with a rumble. Wispy eather poured out, slipping onto the floor of crushed diamond and limestone. A mass of pulsing silver light appeared in the aisle, whirling and throbbing around the shape of a tall male.
All around me, bodies moved, dropping to one knee as they pressed a hand against their chests. As the winding, spinning tendrils of silver light dimmed, I jerked into motion, lowering myself to my knee as I lifted my hand to my chest, as well.
I stared at the center of the aisle as all others did. It was the first time I’d seen Kolis, the Primal of Life. He was golden-haired and skinned, much like the god, Callum. He was tall and broad of shoulder. His clothing was white and sparked with embers of gold. My attention snagged on the golden band encircling one heavy biceps.
The Chosen rose from the ceremonial throne and lowered onto his knee, his shrouded head bowed. Kolis was a blur of white, gold, and spitting tendrils of eather as he ascended the dais, the force ruffling the edges of the Chosen’s veil. His large body blocked my view of the Chosen as he lifted the veil, exposing the Chosen’s face only to him.
I didn’t know if he spoke to the Chosen. I didn’t know if anyone else’s heart was beating as fast as mine, or if they felt the Primal energy bearing down on their necks like I did, making it almost impossible to keep my head lifted. If it made them feel churning nausea as Kolis straightened to his full height once more and spoke in a voice that made my insides tremble. “You, Chosen, are worthy.”
Hands slammed down on the Temple floor all around me. The thunderous pounding echoed from those crowding the streets outside the Sun Temple and all through Carsodonia. But I flinched, unable to move my hand. Worthy. That word curdled my insides as the Primal turned to the audience. My chest seized, and the Temple seemed to shudder under the force of hundreds of beating palms. The Primal’s face…
It was too bright and too painful to look upon for any length of time, for the time it would take to decipher much of his features. He slowly scanned the pews and beyond into the alcoves. His gaze stopped, along with my heart, as my eyes began to water and burn. My skin pimpled, and the breath I took lodged in my throat.