A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  I shook my head as sadness flickered through me. It had been two days since Odetta had passed, and I’d caught myself heading to her floor to check in on her at least a dozen times before realizing there was no reason to do so. “I just have a bad headache, and my stomach feels a bit off.”

  “Does your jaw hurt?”

  I frowned. “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re rubbing your face,” he pointed out.

  Oh, I totally was. I stopped doing that. “My jaw hurts a little,” I admitted. “Maybe I caught something, or a tooth has gone bad.”

  “Maybe,” he murmured, and my frown increased. “Go ahead and take the rest of the day off. Get some rest.”

  Normally, I would’ve protested and trained through whatever discomfort I felt, but all I wanted to do was sit down. Or lay down. “I think I’ll do that.”

  Sir Holland nodded, and after giving him an awkward wave goodbye, I turned for the door. He spoke out. “I’ll bring something up for you that I think will help.”

  “I don’t want a sleeping potion,” I told him, reaching the door.

  “It won’t be that.”

  The throbbing and gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach had intensified by the time I made it back to my chambers. I barely managed to peel off my clothing and change into an old men’s shirt that had been left behind in the laundry. As oversized as it was, the hem reached my knees. It wasn’t as light as my night rail, but it was all I had the effort for.

  A knock sounded on my bedchamber door a little while later. It was Sir Holland, and as promised, he carried a tankard and a pouch.

  “What is this?” I asked as he handed the items to me, and I looked down at the steaming, dark liquid.

  “A little bit of chasteberry, chamomile, fennel, willow, and peppermint,” he said, lingering at the doorway. “It’ll help.”

  I sniffed the liquid, brows lifting as I sat at the foot of my bed. The scent was sweet, minty, and earthy. “It smells…unique.”

  “That it does. But you need to drink all of it, and you should drink it fast. Okay? You don’t want the potion to cool any more than it already has.”

  I nodded, taking a long drink. It didn’t taste bad but wasn’t particularly easy to swallow either.

  Sir Holland sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the sunlight drifting through the small window. “You know what I was thinking about? The conversation we had a while back when I asked you what you were.”

  “Yeah.” My brow scrunched. “You said I was a warrior.”

  Smiling faintly, he nodded. “I did. I’ve been thinking about that. About who you remind me of.”

  I was half afraid to hear this. “Who?”

  “Sotoria.”

  It took me a moment to remember who that was. “The girl so frightened by a god that she fell to her death from the Cliffs of Sorrow?” I wasn’t sure if Sotoria was more myth than reality, but I was kind of offended. “What about me makes you think I’d run off the side of a cliff?”

  “Sotoria wasn’t weak, Sera. Her being frightened by the god was only a part of her story.”

  “Wasn’t the other part her being dead?”

  Wry amusement settled into his features. “The young maiden’s story didn’t end with her death. You see, the one who ultimately caused her death believed that he was in love with her.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, relieved to feel the ache in my head already lessening, “but he only saw her picking flowers. He didn’t speak to her or anything. So, how did he believe that he was in love with her?”

  Sir Holland shrugged. “He saw her and fell in love.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “That is what he believed, but it was more like he fell into obsession.”

  “You mean after he…spoke to her?”

  He shook his head.

  I let out a choked laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know how you can become obsessed with someone by only seeing them pick flowers. I mean, love at first sight? I could maybe believe in that, but only if they’d actually spoken.” I frowned, rethinking that. “And even then, I would say they probably fell into lust. Not love.”

  He grinned, stretching out a leg. “Well, he was obsessed with bringing her back and being with her.”

  My breath caught. I had never heard this part of the legend. “Did he?”

  “He was warned that it wouldn’t be right. That her soul had crossed into the Vale and that she was at peace. But he…he found a way.”

  “Gods.” I closed my eyes, both saddened and horrified. If she were real, her life had already been taken from her. To learn that her peace had also been stripped away sickened me. It was an unconscionable violation.

  “Sotoria rose and wasn’t grateful for such an act. She was frightened and unhappy. The one responsible couldn’t understand why she was so morose. Nothing he did made her better or made her love him.” Several moments passed. “No one knows exactly how long Sotoria lived her second life, but she ended up dying. Some say she purposefully starved to death, but others say she began to live again, to fight against her captor despite how powerful he was. She was strong, Sera. She was the kind of warrior that fought back through the grief of losing her life at such a young age. Through the loss of peace and control, no matter how badly the odds were stacked against her. That’s why you remind me of her.”

  “Oh,” I whispered, finishing the last of the tea. “Well, that’s nice,” I said, hoping Sotoria’s story was just some old legend.

  “Finished?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. It may make you a little drowsy, but nothing like a sleeping potion,” he explained, rising. “There’s extra in the pouch in case you need more. Just make sure you steep the herbs in boiling water for about twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you,” I said, finding the words strange to speak.

  “No problem.” He started for the door and then stopped. “Everything will be okay, Sera. Get some rest.”

  As soon as he left, I did what he’d said to do. I closed my eyes. The drumming in my entire head and the churning had almost completely gone away, and as Sir Holland had warned, the potion did make me tired—or at least relaxed enough to drift off.

  I wasn’t sure exactly when I had fallen asleep, but quite some time later, there was no ache—not in my temples nor in my jaw—and my stomach felt steady enough for me to put on pants and scrounge up something to eat.

  How Sir Holland had come across such a potion, I didn’t know. But it was a miracle, and I just might hug the man when next I saw him.

  With food in my belly, I felt mostly normal. I entered the bathing chamber to brush my teeth and bent over the small basin to rinse out my mouth. As I placed the pitcher on the narrow shelf above the basin, I looked down.

  “What the…?” I whispered, staring at the streaks of red among the foamy paste.

  Blood.

  I knew very little about the Chosen, whether this one was male or female, but either curiosity or restlessness had drawn me to the Sun Temple on the afternoon of the Rite.

  Nobles, wealthy merchants, and landowners already filled the Sun Temple, but dressed as I was in the pale blush gown that I wore on the rare occasion my mother wanted me seen, I was recognized as one of the Queen’s handmaidens. I moved easily among the crowd as the people climbed the wide steps. Like the entire courtyard, the Temple was constructed of crushed diamond and limestone. Sunlight poured off the walls and spires, reflecting off the specks of diamond. Two large torches jutted out from the pillars at the top of the steps. Silvery-white flames flickered gently in the hot breeze. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I pressed on, weaving in and out of the masses to enter the main hall of the Sun Temple. The corridor was long and narrow, full of closed doors, and I could imagine the whisper of robes behind them. A shudder worked its way through me as I thought about what Ash had said about what filled the Priests’ insides.

  Gods, that was the last thing I needed to thin
k about. As I came to the entrance to the cella, the main chamber of the Temple, sunlight streamed in through the glass ceiling, streaking the ivory and gold floors. The hair continued to rise on the nape of my neck and under the gauzy hood of my gown as I entered the cella. They’d only lit a few dozen or so of the hundreds of candelabras staggered along the walls. It wasn’t often that I entered the Sun Temple or any Temple for that matter, but the cella had a unique energy, one that coated the very air I breathed and often crackled over my skin, reminding me of the jolt of energy I had felt when my skin came into contact with Ash’s.

  The pews and benches were already packed, and as I made my way to one of the pillared alcoves, I lowered my hood. To keep it up in the Sun Temple would not only be seen as an act of great disrespect, but it would also draw far too much attention.

  I stopped near the golden sheen of a column, my gaze tracking to the dais. White peonies had been scattered across the floor and at the foot of a throne constructed from the same crushed diamonds and limestone used to build the Temple. The back of the throne had been carved into the shape of a sun, absorbing the powerful rays streaming in from the ceiling. Two Sun Priests stood on either side of the throne, their white robes pristine. They appeared just as gaunt as the Shadow Priests as they stared out into the crowd.

  Dragging my gaze from them, I searched the front pews for the glimmer of crowns, quickly finding the Queen and King. They were seated up front and to the right of the dais. My lip curled as the many tiny pearls on my mother’s gown glittered in the sunlight.

  I supposed she was lucky that the gown had been finished when it was.

  Crossing my arms, I shifted my attention to where Ezra sat stiffly beside her brother. She didn’t even look like she breathed. I imagined it took nearly everything in her to remain there. Tavius sat in the kind of sprawl only a man could accomplish, his legs spread wide, taking up at least two spaces worth of room.

  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.

  The Primal of Life stared directly into the alcove I knelt in, and I could no longer keep my eyes open. Wetness gathered against my lashes as they lowered, but I still felt his stare, as hot as the sun itself—as warm as the gift throbbing in my chest.

  By nightfall the day of the Rite, a faint ache had started in my jaw again. Nothing like before, but restlessness still invaded me. I moved aimlessly through the Primal Gardens, not feeling up to traveling beyond Wayfair, even though the Great Hall was chock-full of nobles and others celebrating the Rite. I had managed to avoid my mother, an act that would be harder once the guests left. Then, she was sure to summon me.