Page 62 of A Reign of Embers

Is it a little mad? Perhaps even a lot. But if it means Estera’s blessing goes with the princes on their journey, some madness is more than worth it.

I turn to Axius, who’s watching me as if he noticed my distraction. “We have one more trip to make today. But I need to retrieve something from the palace first.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aurelia

When I emerge in front of the Esteran temple’s weathered stone face, the green-robed cleric glides out to greet me. “What can I do for you, Your Imperial Highness?” she asks, her gaze piercing.

I hug the ancient volume I’ve brought from my bedroom—one originally from Lavira that I intend to hand off to Raul before he leaves—against my chest. A whiff of the aged leather fills my lungs along with the cooling late-afternoon breeze. “I have a message to convey to your godlen. I believe my gift has shown me the way she’ll be most receptive to it.”

As my guards gather around me, the cleric knits her brow. “Of course you’re more than welcome to present yourself in the worship room within.”

I shake my head, my pulse kicking up another notch. “I want her to see how serious I am about honoring herprinciples and earning her favor. In her confirmation rite, I navigated a maze high above the ground. Now I’ll ascend this building dedicated to her worship.”

“Ascend…?”

I motion to the wall next to us. “I’m going to climb to the roof and make my appeal to her there, raising myself up as I would raise up wisdom and knowledge throughout the empire.”

One of my guards makes a noise of protest. “Your Imperial Highness?—”

I shoot a glance toward them. “No help from any of your gifts. If I slip, then it’s my own failure of observation. I’ll remember Estera’s teachings and find the most secure way to scale the temple.”

It sounds absurd when I say it. Rather than linger in the discomfort, I push forward to walk along the base of the structure.

My position affords me with enough respect that no one hauls me away, though from the tension etched in my guards’ faces, it’s a near thing. I ignore their and the cleric’s stares as well as I can, focusing on the ridges of brick.

I know from my childhood studies that Estera likes her architecture to reflect her thoughtfulness—to allow necessary maintenance to be done even if no one with a useful gift is at hand and tools are lacking. There should be…

Here. Toward the back of the temple, one line of the stones juts out a few inches farther than the rest at the level of my knees.

Clamping the book securely in my armpit, I reach for the window ledge higher above and clamber onto the ridge.

Someone behind me sucks in a breath. For a second, my balance wavers, and a jitter runs through my nerves.

But I can do this. I navigated Estera’s maze in the rain. Iled my court and my parents through twisting caves. I survived being buried alive and attacked by my husband.

For once, I’m carrying out my own trials for my chosen goals rather than being dragged into someone else’s idea of a test.

I will make it to the top.

There’s another ridge near my thigh. I set one foot on it and heave myself upward, grasping the side of the window to steady myself. My lungs hitch as the effort burns through my muscles, but gravity doesn’t claim me.

All right. Two pieces of the ascent made, at least a dozen more to go.

It’s a slow, careful process, especially when I also need to make sure I don’t drop the book. By the time I’ve reached the level of the building’s second story, sweat is dampening my forehead and the back of my dress. An ache is spreading through my shoulders like when I scrambled up the obelisk in Creaden’s confirmation rite.

I completed that task too. I’ve never let any difficulty hold me back before.

The murmur of voices beneath me suggests I’ve gained a larger audience, but I don’t risk glancing down. The sight of how far I’ve come might dizzy me.

I ease along another window ledge and step higher onto the next ridge. They’re barely large enough to hold my toes, not proper footholds like in the climbing challenges I’ve faced before.

If maintenance workers could survive this route, then an empress should manage it too.

The wind whips past me, tossing my hair and ruffling my dress. Someone below lets out a brief shriek as if she thinks I’m about to be blown off the building with my garment. My fingers skitter in surprise, and I lurch before firming my hold.

I’m all right. I’m on my way. Maybe half the journey already over.

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