Page 51 of A Reign of Embers

A giddy wobble runs through my pulse. I press my hand to my godlen mark.

Elox is watching over me, just as openly right now as his fellow godlen is acting against me.

The murmurs rise, punctuated by a few gasps. I can’t imagine any of these people has seen a divine spectacle quite like this before. I certainly haven’t.

I glance at Pierus. “Is there any past precedent for a display like this?”

The imperial cleric’s jaw has gone slack. “I… I don’t believe so. You truly have caught the attention of the deities, it’s clear.”

Another carriage draws up behind ours, with more soldiers following behind it. All four of the princes spill out into the street, keeping a careful distance from me but obviously intent on witnessing this event for themselves. Several more soldiers from the palace fall in around us, including Captain Evando, who catches my gaze with a tip of his head.

Axius strides ahead of me and pitches his voice to carry over the growing crowd of city folk. “I know this is a tremendous event, but let’s all keep our heads and simply contemplate what our godlen are showing us.”

As if in response, more reddish light flares across the front of the temple. It traces a line like the rooftop of the palace… and then drains away in a bloody gush.

The crimson glow has barely faded when another flash of white draws everyone’s gazes to one of the neighboring buildings. A shimmering crowned figure I have to assume represents me opens her arms to the crowd as if welcoming them all into an embrace.

It’s a battle of omens, the only way our divine figures can express their disagreements to us directly. What will the city folk make of the holy chaos?

As I wait for another symbol to form, Neven pushes over to my ring of guards. “Aurelia!” He drops his voice to a lower but no less urgent tone. “I think you should get back to the palace.”

Kassun grunts, looking displeased—possibly because of the familiarity with which the young prince addressed me, but that only shows how worried Neven is.

My body tenses. “Why? What’s the matter?”

“I’m just getting the impression… She’s pushing her influence harder. Trying to stir people up. I don’t think you’ll be safe.”

Marc doesn’t question the prince’s statement. He wavesto the people who’ve gathered behind the carriage. “Clear a path through the street!”

Captain Evando joins us, with a sideways glance toward Neven. “I’m not sure there’s any benefit in panicking when?—”

A thump and a cry carry from the other end of the small square. A tussle has broken out between a few of the civilians and one of the palace soldiers.

“Might should rule!” someone yells. “We can’t leave an imposter on the throne.”

The current of aggression races through the crowd. Civilians and soldiers shove against each other. Someone throws a pot that shatters on a wall. Shouts collide, filling the air with a jumble of words.

Kassun all but heaves me back into the carriage. “We need to get you out of here, Your Imperial Highness.”

Captain Evando is staring at Neven, wide-eyed. “I stand corrected,” he says, and spins to brace himself against any rioters heading our way.

The other princes have pushed forward too. Axius is hollering for everyone to stand down and calm themselves, but I can’t see that anyone is listening.

More light glimmers all around us: splashes of angry red and soothing white clashing. When I blink, a spiral of shimmering orange butterflies seems to be drifting down over the crowd as if trying to divert them to more joyful ends.

Despite the violence, a tingle of hope shoots up through my chest. Is that Inganne lending me her support too?

Some of the civilians stop and point, but more hostile figures keep pouring in front the streets. Perhaps Sabrelle has propelled them to this spot.

The road is too clogged with pedestrians for the carriage to retreat. As I watch from the window, Raul shoves aside a woman who lunges toward the vehicle. Even Lorenzo wadesinto the fray, holding up his hands as if appealing for peace but aiming a swift punch at the nose of a man who leaps at him.

Another man charges at the prince of Rione from behind, carrying a jagged hunk of wood like a club. A cry lurches out of me.

Lorenzo whirls, an instant too late. The club is already whipping toward his head?—

And Marc hurtles into the attacker, sending him tumbling to the ground with his makeshift weapon only glancing off Lorenzo’s shoulder.

The former emperor wallops the man’s skull against the cobblestones hard enough to knock him unconscious and hefts himself back up. His posture stiffens slightly when he locks eyes with Lorenzo, but they share a brief nod of acknowledgment. The prince offers a flicker of a smile.

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