The Ivory Rite

Chapter 23

I bolt upright in my bed, gasping for air. Bringing a hand to my chest, I feel my heart pounding out a frantic rhythm under my palm. My little horse is clutched in my other hand and I look down to inspect it. Made of glass, one of the legs still missing, just as it was last night when I fell asleep holding it.

It must be close to dawn by now. The sky is still dark, but it holds a haze as light begins to peak over the horizon. I don't move for a few minutes, waiting for my body to normalize—my breath, my pulse, my mind.

As my thoughts become more coherent, I realize I've slept through most of the night for the first time in weeks. Every time I close my eyes I'm haunted by something, or more accurately, someone. I hear Heath Angler's wife screaming, or I see the disappointment in Margret's face, meant for me, moments before her death. Sometimes I feel the ceiling crashing down on me.

I play the dream over in my mind in an attempt to banish my usual thoughts. Colter said such strange things.

We need your position, he said. We need your power.

But who is we? He and I? Somehow I didn't get that impression.

The Thaw. It's coming.

Of course none of it means anything, as they weren't his words. It was my dream.

My words.

My eyes flit to the window as I hear wheels on the stone path that passes underneath it. Disoriented by the darkness, I get up and move over to the pane to squint out into the shadows. Torches positioned on the castle wall cast a dim glow on a passing wagon, bouncing off all of the glass it carries.

Unbelievable. The sun hasn't even shown its face and Colter's pieces have already arrived.

I'm so mesmerized by the light reflecting off the contents of the wagon that I almost miss the flash of copper hair. I can barely make out the driver's profile in the darkness, but somehow I know it's him. It's a feeling that comes from my very bones.

He's delivering the pieces personally.

I feel my jaw drop a few inches as I squint out the window at him, unable to hide my surprise. Usually a trade master delegates deliveries to apprentices or other workers. Either Colter didn't trust anyone else with the transport, or he's itching to get on castle grounds as soon as possible.

Toryn, I remind myself sharply. Nothing has been proven. Even if somehow my old friend has evaded death and made his way back to me, I should not be in the habit of addressing him with an incriminating name.

Last night I informed the White Watch on gate duty that they were to allow such a delivery to pass, so long as proper identification was provided. I didn't anticipate such a swift execution of my request for samples, but I also didn't want to take any chances. Now I'm thankful for my impatient foresight.

Before I can think better of it, I'm throwing on my robe and yanking open my heavy bedroom door. I get exactly one step into the hallway before I'm faced with no less than a dozen heavily armed Watchmen.

They turn toward me as a unit, each sinking to one knee, some of them taking their time with the gesture. My eyes flit from one to the next as I take note of those who are slow in their show of respect. Crossing my arms over the chest of my thin sleep garment, I pull my robe tighter around me.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." I incline my head to the right, the way I wish to pass them, and take a step forward. They move into formation, further blocking my path.

"Majesty." Liefteanant Bryant Dillon steps out of the line and bends down to address me, causing suspicion to creep up my spine.

"Liefteanant Dillon, I'm surprised to see you here. I should think someone of your rank would have paid their night shift dues a long time ago." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Dara Belmont requested I make a change in my schedule for the time being." He makes steady eye contact, making it clear that he is not intimidated by me.

None of them seem to be.

"I see." My tone is cold. "I'd like to go and take a look at the shipment that just arrived."

"Surely that can wait until morning, Majesty." It's not a question, and his presumption irritates me.

"Surely I'm not obligated to take suggestions from you, Liefteanant." I don't miss the smirk that pulls at his lips.

"Of course, your Majesty. Shall I send someone to wake your ladies?" There's condescension in his eyes, further fueling my impatience. I'm about to throw him a retort when the meaning of his words sinks in and just as in my dream, my hand flies instinctively to my hair.

I'm unadorned, I realize, barely able to silence the curse on my lips.

I can't go anywhere.

The unfairness of it simmers inside me just below the surface. It threatens to boil over in the form of a verbal assault, but I will myself to be reasonable. Berating this man for stating the obvious won't change anything.

"No," I say instead. "That won't be necessary." I spin on my heel and try to slam the door behind me, but it's too heavy. I grit my teeth as it creaks back into place without the desired effect.

Leaning back against the door, my heart pounds once again, this time out of anger. The sound of the wagon has ceased, and I rush back to the window to check its progress.

It has stopped by a side entrance, still visible from my window. Toryn is no longer sitting at the reins, having disappeared from sight. I crane my neck until I can see him standing closer to the castle wall, face to face with someone taller and broader than him. Someone with careless blonde hair, dressed in the black of the White Watch.

Adair's stance is intimidating, but Toryn doesn't shy away from him. I can't hear any of what appears to be a heated exchange, with Toryn gesturing back to the wagon several times. I curse richly, my palm slapping against the thick ice wall. The window is fastened straight through—there's no way to open it. I crush my face against the cool glass, trying to get a better look.

The argument lasts for what can't be more than another minute, but it feels like much longer. After wordlessly glaring at Adair for a few beats, Toryn stalks over to his horse, tugging on its harnessing with unnecessary force. He detaches the mare from the wagon and mounts her with ease, kicking into a gallop toward the castle gates.

He doesn't look back.

Adair watches him go, fists clenched.