Page 96 of A Pact of Blood

He speaks carefully, but I can hear the genuine concern in his tone. My throat constricts.

He was shadowing me when I argued with Marclinus at the residence near Ubetta—he no doubt overheard the disparaging remarks my husband aimed at me over my participation in the rites. And it isn’t as if I had an easy time with either of the previous confirmations to begin with.

As much as it warms me that the guard cares for my well-being now, I hate that he thinks he needs to worry. That he’s afraid I might be making the wrong decision, one I’ll be too weak to see through.

That’s exactly why I have to continue demonstrating how much strength I can bring to bear, isn’t it?

I keep my own voice gracious. “I trust that the gods see my faith and will support me through whatever may be required of me.”

Kassun doesn’t speak again. Even asking the first question was an unusual imposition from the figures who are supposed to fade into the background when they’re unneeded.

Marclinus is already waiting in the carriage. He simply nods at me before leaning toward one of the gilded windows.

As we lead the procession around the palace, through the city, and beyond it to the Temple of Stalwart Crowns, he raises his hand high to the people gathered along the roads and beams at the praise they holler. I offer my own more subdued waves and smiles, my sharpened eyes picking up every detail.

Some smile wider at the sight of me. Others’ mouths tense as if in suspicion or uncertainty. I catch a few furtive gestures of warding.

I still have many more folk to win over here.

It’s impossible to know if word of my exact deeds has spread this far from the locations of the other rites. I’m sure travelers and news-bearing messengers have reported that the new empress carried out the rites after Marclinus, but those stories might not have been conveyed with much detail.

They certainly all know that I married their current emperor on the same day the previous one died.

Some of my attention veers to the elaborate buildings behind our spectators. Creaden oversees the art of construction as well as leadership, and his influence shows throughout the city.

Balconies emerge from second and third floors in feats of balance so delicate they look as if they’re floating. Rooftopsarch and curve in ways that must channel rain to useful purposes.

The colors and materials are more varied than I’ve seen anywhere else in Dariu, from the reddish-brown of fired clay to shining gray stone to creamy yellow blocks I believe are made from a sand-based mixture. I get the impression the city’s builders like to stretch their abilities and welcome a challenge.

Beyond the last of the city buildings, the largest temple of Creaden in the country comes into view. Its structure is a patchwork of materials and a spectacle of architecture merged into one. Swaths of clay blocks merge with others of stone, sand, wood, and colored glass. Turrets veer off at seemingly impossible angles. One staircase winds along the outer wall rather than remaining inside.

Yet as chaotic as it should feel, it gives a sense of cohesion, as if all those parts were placed in exactly the right way to have the most impressive effect. As if no building not made of so many disparate parts brought together could ever function so well.

I suppose it represents Creaden’s attitudes about ruling as well as his constructive skills. There’s been ample proof of the validity of both.

Supposedly, this structure has stood for hundreds of years on its sturdy foundation. It’s said that the first emperor prayed here for the means to build Dariu’s authority before he led his victorious campaign to claim a large piece of Lavira for his new empire.

Beyond the temple, a structure made of a darker material than any part of the temple stretches up toward the sky, perhaps twice the temple’s height. The glossy black surface gleams with spots of sunlight but mostly absorbs the beams into its depths.

What in the realms is that? Some sort of monument?

It appears to be part of the rite. Our procession veers around the temple toward the black obelisk.

Marclinus and I emerge from our carriage at the edge of a ring of soldiers. They stand about twenty feet back from the sloping stone tower on all sides. A throng of civilians crowd close behind them, staring up at the dark structure.

There’s no need for a hollow to allow easy viewing of this rite. I assume we’ll be clambering up that tower where everyone on the ground can see us.

I swallow past the dryness of my mouth and glance at my husband. Marclinus has changed into a fresh suit of the typical imperial purple and dark gray, gold embroidery gleaming along the jacket’s trim. Nothing about his attire looks different from usual, but then, his clothing didn’t offer any clues about the first rite either.

I won’t know exactly what awaits me until he launches himself into the ceremony with all his exclusive foreknowledge and preparation.

The temple’s cleric moves to greet us, her steel-gray hair pulled tightly back from her square-jawed face. Her violet robes ripple around her robust frame as she gives Marclinus a small bow.

Her amplification charm projects her voice across our audience. “Your Imperial Majesty, it is an honor to host your third confirmation rite. Creaden wishes to witness how you will guide our people and our empire to greater heights.”

She holds up a harness of leather straps and a small purple banner imprinted with the imperial crest. “Choosing your handholds wisely, you will lead one of your people all the way to the top of this tower, where you will claim it for the empire with this banner. Both you and your subject must complete the climb without significant injury.”

But insignificant injuries are all right?

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