Page 103 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
They walked back into the throne room.
“The throne is cut from stone from the depths of the Deep,” Tiberius explained. “Inlaid with gems and gold, as per tradition. It was crafted by Stonemaster Albina, some three thousand years ago.”
Caer blinked.Nothingin Wales was that old—save the ground itself.
“She also crafted the first doors to the vault behind the throne—but that’s out of bounds to outsiders, I’m afraid. Our crypt, however, is not.”
He led them to a set of stairs at the corner of the room, which led to a monumental crypt beneath with tall, vaulted ceilings. It was every bit as opulent as the throne room above. “You keep your dead beneath the throne?” Caer queried.
Tiberius nodded. “They have earned their place here.”
He talked them through the kings and queens of old, their advisors, treasured servants and great generals. He spoke of funeral rites, of artwork and stonemasonry, drawing attention to detail and divulging interesting stories about damaged effigies and the tales of the resting bodies beneath. Crypts and graveyards had always given Caer a strange, unsettling feeling. He’d thought it perfectly normal, growing up, assumed that everyone felt that cold, pulsing ripple when stepping amongst the dead. It was only now he understood that that had always been his power, sleeping beneath the surface. Always there. Waiting.
He did not feel that here. Maybe it was the light-heartedness and reverence offered to the resting, but more likely it was simply the effect of the barrier.
He liked it. Heneededit.
He had to pass this test.
Tiberius paused beside a tomb in the centre of the room, dripping with crystals and flowers. It looked newer than the rest, judging by the quality of the stone. It was inlaid with gold and obsidian. Tiberius made a gesture with his hand, touching head to heart, before pressing his fingers to the effigy.
“My father,” he explained. “Clay Goldsbane. May the stone hold his spirit.”
“I’m sorry,” Caer said. “I lost my mother six months ago.”
Tiberius nodded in sympathy. “He has been gone some seven years now. My memories now are fond rather than sad. I hope you someday feel the same.”
Caer nodded, unable to speak. His chest tightened uncomfortably. He wondered what tomb Owen had ordered for his mother, and if he would ever get to see it. His mind flashed with the memory of her death, her head rolling across the floor—
Aislinn seized his arm. “You’re here,” she whispered, as Tiberius kindly turned away. “You’re here, and so am I. It happened, it’s over. It’s gone.”
He supposed, if she could say it, then it must be true.
An aide coughed from the staircase, and all thoughts—both good and bad—vanished completely. “We are ready for you, Your Highness.”
Outsideinthepalacegardens, a crate filled with wriggling, hairless rodents wobbled and writhed. Caer tried to focus on them, and not the dozens of people that had turned up for the event. He had not expected it would be such a spectacle, but Venus seemed to have dragged every noble in the city out for the day, and all the servants had been summoned too.
“Well?” she echoed from her seat in the stands. “Is there a problem?”
He wanted to tell her he was unused to an audience, but he didn’t like how that confession made him look. He was a prince, after all. This was his world—pageantry and display. He’d partaken in many a public event before.
But he didn’t feel like he waspartakinghere. He felt more like a creature on display, a great bear in a cage to be ogled at. He’d seen great animals in cages before, seen them forced to fight for the amusement of others. Caer had never been able to take enjoyment in something that caused pain.
Were the people here amused by this? Or were they here out of curiosity—or worse, fear?
He wasn’t sure he could do this.
But his eyes fell to Aislinn’s face, and somehow, after that, he knew he could.
“None, Your Majesty. Just give me a moment.”
He bent down and lifted one of the creatures from the box. He was glad they’d chosen an ugly, rat-like thing. It ought not to have made a difference, but it looked enough like a common pest that his guilt was assuaged somewhat. No one would mourn this wretched thing.
Unlike the men he’d killed.
His beads felt heavy against his neck. He was still missing one. He had not forgotten.
Caer took a deep breath, feeling down inside him for that power, that quiet, pulsing tug that had been muted within the walls of the palace.
