Page 35 of A Pact of Blood

I don’t have much time before the walls move again. I stride forward, inhaling deep into my lungs. What association would Estera say matters more?

Having the material to construct a message is more important than what you place it on.

I swerve to the left. The second both of my feet have hit the tile, the wall I just left lurches away.

But the one I moved to remains in place. I choose correctly again.

All right, Aurelia. You’ve got the hang of this now. Just keep moving toward the end.

As I walk on, I summon all the stories of Estera I can remember from my childhood reading and sermons in the temples back home. I step from a tortoise to a waterlily, from a monocle to a vase, and from a sprig of sage to a lit candle.

The rain pelts down harder, blurring my vision. The tiles are growing slick beneath my leather slippers.

My forward foot comes down on a thin puddle and skids farther without warning.

I stifle a yelp, my whole body swaying within the confines of my now-drenched gown. The muscles in my inner thighs twinge with strain, but I manage to catch my balance, braced as if I’m halfway to doing the splits.

Dragging my legs back together, I peer ahead. The racing of my heart fades.

I’m almost at the end.

I hurry forward more cautiously, coming to a stop at animage of an iris. Either of the walls branching out beside it could lead me to the final staircase, depending on how the slabs around them move in turn.

To my left, there’s a carving of an open book. To my right, a winding snake.

The book seems like the obvious answer. What clearer symbol could there be of Estera’s dedication to learning?

Which means it could be too obvious.

What stories are told about her and irises? Are there any specifically about a book as well?

I draw my posture straighter, delving into the well of calm in the center of me.

An image swims up from my memory: a painting that decorated one side of Estera’s alcove in a smaller Temple of the All-Giver in Accasy, one near our secondary palace farther north.

A banded asp slithering through a field of irises. A lesson she taught about the danger that can lurk if you focus only on superficial appearances rather than studying deeply enough to get the full picture.

Breath held, I step to the right.

The slabs around me heave and rasp. A wall clicks into place right beside me, leading to the outer wall with the stairs descending from the maze.

I scramble through the rain with as much grace as I’m still capable of. Cleric Nellia grasps my hand to lead me to the dais, where servants have erected a canopy to shield Marclinus from the rain.

As I clamber up to join him beneath it, he brushes my damp hair back from my forehead, his hard-edged face beaming with satisfaction. “There’s my empress.”

He raises my hand before the audience that’s stayed throughout the thundershower. Cleric Nellia declares Estera’sapproval for all to hear. This time, the surge of cheers is nearly as emphatic as it was for Marclinus.

I smile, water still trickling cold down my back from my drenched hair.

I’ve made my first real stand, but there are still three more rites to go. And I intend to complete every one of them, no matter what I have to do to convince my husband and his advisors to agree.

Chapter Twelve

Aurelia

Lanterns glow throughout the dusk-draped palace gardens. Some shine a natural fiery amber, while others gleam imperial purple or Esterean green.

The illumination catches on the multi-colored finery of the court nobles, turning the gardens into a rainbow of both flowers and fabric. Music winds around the hedges and fountains as feet prance and skirts swirl.

---