Page 100 of A Reign of Embers
I nick the skin deeper with the corner of the chisel. A few scarlet beads well up in the hollow of my hand.
A rough sound from behind me tells me that Marc has noticed the harm I’ve done to myself. I can imagine him stiffening against his urge to rush in and bandage my palm.
But the former emperor trusts me enough to leave me be, even if he doesn’t approve of my current methods.
I let the blood drip onto the sigil and meld it into the stone with the tip of the chisel. The gray surface turns faintly pink.
How appropriate. The color of love, when I’m enduring this discomfort out of a love for all the downtrodden people of the empire.
I do wrap my hand after I’m satisfied with my first effort, to better get to work on the second of the five blocks. Now that I’ve found my rhythm, the process goes faster. I fall into a meditative state, imagining the conferences that could be held at the imperial palace with all the countries’ royals speaking as equals. A pinnacle of leadership.
If we can reach that future. Please, Creaden, help me see the way through to it.
Why wouldn’t he want to share my dream?
Perhaps the godlen Dariu has claimed as one of their two patrons celebrated the empire’s victories when its forces first swept across the continent, bringing order and authority in the wake of the devastating Great Retribution. But now, aftercenturies of that authority devolving into bullying and torment? How many recent emperors and empresses have been admirable leaders to anyone except the people of Dariu itself?
They haven’t served even the Darium citizens all that well, considering the animosities they’ve provoked against their home country.
By the time I finish the fifth block, both of my hands are aching, as is my back. Crimson droplets splatter the tiled floor.
Gritting my teeth, I straighten up and carry the blocks out to our carriage despite the guards hovering around me eager to help.
These stones will be the first laid in the foundations workers are already preparing on the grounds around Vivencia’s palace.
Marc can’t keep totally quiet. “We can see about calling a healer?—”
I cut him off with a shake of my head. “The bandage will serve well enough. I’m not making this gesture for it to be easy.”
I turn toward the temple, nodding to the cleric watching us go before tapping my fingers down my front in acknowledgment of the higher power whose attention I hope I’ve caught.
Cleric Pierus insisted on joining me for this venture as well. He makes his own gesture to the divinities and follows me into the carriage.
As he sits down on the bench across from me, he dips his head. “Your commitment to the gods does you immense credit, Your Imperial Highness. It’s been fascinating to watch, but I don’t know how much farther I can advise you.”
I smile in return. “I’m grateful for your support all the same.”
The carriage rattles down the road back to Vivencia. I didn’t have time to venture all the way out to the country’s most massive temple of Creaden, where I participated in the dedication ceremony a year ago, but this one a couple of hours from the city is nearly as prominent.
We aren’t heading straight back to the palace, though. I’ve already instructed the driver on our next stop.
Partway through the city, we stop outside a different temple, this one tall and narrow and built of the palest limestone. Devouts of my patron godlen slip in and out of the doors, carrying satchels slung over their shoulders.
The Eloxian cleric emerges to meet me by the carriage. She hands me a satchel of my own, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You don’t need to exert yourself any more than you already have, Your Imperial Highness. I understand you were quite ill just a few days ago.”
“I’m fully recovered now,” I assure her, though the truth is my skin still pinches a little at the brush of the cool breeze. “It’s my job more than anyone else’s to look after this city.”
I want the people who’ve suffered because of Sabrelle’s wrath against me to see how much I’m on their side.
Two of the devouts join me and my guards, directing us through the streets to one they haven’t traversed yet. We knock on each house’s door and ask whether anyone within is ill and needs the cure I concocted—at its full vitality now that fresh persinam blossoms have been coaxed into blooming.
Many of the civilians gape at me in open awe, recognizing me even though I’ve left my crown in the palace and dressed for traveling rather than a formal event. I hand over vials of the potion with murmurs of encouraging words.
“We’ll see the whole city well again, as soon as possible. I would never leave you to suffer alone.”
In the past couple of days, the new strain of camp poxhas spread throughout Vivencia and started to trickle into the surrounding countryside. It swept through the literal camps of the Darium soldiers who’ve been recalled to defend the capital if need be. I visited some of the ill men and women at arms yesterday in an attempt to raise their spirits as well as cure them.
More than half Valerisse’s army now squats just south of the Lavirian border. I don’t know what she’s waiting for. Perhaps she thought the disease would hit us harder, and now she’s re-evaluating her approach.
