The Ivory Rite

Chapter 12

I'm momentarily blinded with daylight as I emerge from the tunnel, stepping right into the royal box. Adair is behind me, less than an arms-length away, holding my traveling cloak. Margret is already seated.

Light reflects in all directions off the jewels of my dress, and I know this was the effect Margret desired when she chose it. There's no way anyone could miss my entrance, no matter their position in this vast space. Raina's words from this morning return to echo through my mind. 

I wouldn't be surprised if the reflection causes a fire when the sun hits you. 

Part of me wishes I could go up in flames, right here, right now.

It takes only moments for the entire Theater to fall silent. I may not be catching fire, but it feels as though the eyes of the kingdom are enough to burn a hole right through me. This is the first time they've seen their queen, and many of them appear to be awestruck.

My eyes flit from face to face as I step to the edge of the box with Margret, only slightly elevated from the floor of the Theater. The ones who are close enough for me to make out their features are obviously of high station.

The Ceannte are further away, spread out across the wide expanse of the ground ring. Tier after tier of seating stacks high into the sky in all directions, so high that I can't begin to estimate how many people this space holds. Those who were unable to fit are lined for blocks outside.

Margret raises her arms to address the kingdom. "May I present to you, your queen! Queen Diem Roma, daughter of the line of Valore!" The acoustics of the Theater allow her voice to carry even to the farthest edges of the stands. Thousands of people drop to their knees, and I raise my right hand, palm up as I was instructed, allowing them to stand again. As soon as Margret drops her arms the cheers begin.

I feel Adair's light touch as he leads me to one of the two thrones. Margret and I take our seats simultaneously, Adair taking the seat to my right and Thane taking the one to Margret's left. Their chairs sit lower than ours, far less ornate than the gilded thrones we occupy.

The crowd quiets once more as the royal Ancients enter the ground ring. They are a procession of thirty, led by the designated Speaker. This honor was selected during yesterday's Sanctuary, as the role is given to a different Ancient at every Rite. He will speak the words of the Arch, who remains concealed.

I spot Landon near the back of the group with a few of the other Novitiates. He looks toward the box and I smile at him, although he's probably too far away to see.

Eron, one of the older Ancients, has been selected as this season's Speaker of the Rite. "Good day to you all!" he shouts, his voice echoing far and wide. "Welcome to our most sacred of all ceremonies, the Ivory Rite!" The crowd erupts with a massive collective cry, and Eron waits for it to subside before continuing.

"Before there was the Great Freeze, the very same freeze we celebrate this season of Samhain, there was the heat. This season of warmth enveloped the land and took away all that is cool and pure. The ground was brown and dank with no snow to blanket the hills, the once clean and pristine landscape of our home soiled with hot filth. Dreaded fearthainn fell from the sky and rivers of wet earth rushed past where our frozen roads now lie."

Dreaded fearthainn. 

Warm, wet water that falls from the sky. I can't even imagine such a thing.

"Buildings were made of crude stone and the city was devoid of beauty without the ice sculptures that stand as the landmarks of our precious streets. People labored to keep cool and grew sick, often dying young of the unnatural strain the temperature placed on their fragile bodies. Purity prevailed with the first Ivory Rite, the cold returning to embrace us with welcomed salvation."