The Prime Klerick gestures toward them.
“One of these brides calls herselfprincess,” the loud voice booms.
The crowd boos and jeers.
“Fear not, my people.”
I glance around backstage, trying to discover who’s speaking. It must be the Prime Klerick.
He raises his arms to silence the masses. “Before her wedding, she will be suitably punished for the blasphemy of putting herself above others.”
Panic grabs my chest. It’s possible my efforts last night didn’t save Rosomon from a brutal punishment today. I start to climb down the scaffolding.
The hypocrisy of the last statement, seeming to come from the Prime Klerick, is absurd. He’sliterallyputting himself above others at the moment. I need to find some way to make the audience see that.
Whatever happens, I won’t let anyone hurt Rosomon.
“And,” the loud voice booms, “there will be another, even more auspicious wedding to celebrate today.”
I stop climbing down and brace my foot on a wooden rail. Below and in front of me, Father appears, wearing his best regalia. His presence on the altar reinforces my assumption that I’m the one meant to marry in front of this crowd today.
I don’t see Glorya, but she must be here somewhere. Father must wonder why he hasn’t yet seen me. But after turning up in the Wives of Othrix den last night, I expect my presence at the Temple is known. I need to carefully gauge my moves, but it’s hard to plan with so many unknown variables.
“In addition,” the voice continues, “several heretics will face tribunals today, then the wrath—or mercy—of Othrix.”
Fire shoots from the mouth of the metal effigy, and a large, barbed tail swings forward. The crowd cries out as they shift back from the stage.
From the other side of the massive altar, Saxon, Surath and Xendus are dragged forward, their hands still bound in copper chains, and still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Surath is still disguised as a man, and the three are forced to their knees, not far from the kneeling women. Zogar isn’t with them.
“The royal wedding will come first.” The voice echoes through the space. “So that even these poor souls may witness some beauty and happiness before facing the judgement of Othrix.”
The crowd cheers, and the ones who cowered away from the stage return to its lip.
“Also, today the face of our Holy Leader, the Prime Klerick, will be revealed.”
The Prime Klerick raises his arms, and the crowd cheers even louder.
I can’t cower on the scaffolding any longer. I have no real plan to avoid my wedding—no plan to do any of the things that must be done—but I must at least face my father and tell him I won’t marry the woman he picked out for me. I can’t have Glorya take the blame.
I climb down another few sections of scaffolding, then drop to the floor, and come up behind Father.
He turns, and his eyes widen. “What are you doing here?” he frowns.
Bowing my head slightly, I step toward him. “Is the wedding not today?”
“How did you know about my wedding?” he asks. Then he shakes his head. “What’s done is done. You may stand up for me.”
Blinking, I take a step back. “You’reto marry today?”
He gestures me closer. “This marriage will solidify our family’s position in the Light for all eternity.”
IsFathermarrying Glorya? “Who?—”
“Behold!” The booming voice shouts, and the Prime Klerick again spreads his arms to the side.
His hooded robe is removed, as if by magic. But from this proximity I can see the workers responsible for pulling at least some of the translucent strings used to do it.
But my smugness at recognizing this trickery dissolves, when I see who is under the cloak.
