I took a sharp breath and strode forward as my brother stepped back. A strange buzzing filled my ears as I scanned hundreds of eager faces. My heart pounded, fingers trembling as my shawl was removed, exposing my shoulders to the chilled air.
With my chin held high, I locked eyes with the distant statue of Togamar. Her wavy hair caught in a breeze, her scarf draped over head, wrapping around her.
A heavy cape settled on my back, the pauldrons pressing down with unexpected weight. I braced myself against their burden.
The goddess held my gaze, as if challenging me.
I was chosen—marked. This would work.
The stones slid into their sockets, white on my right shoulder, black on my left.
I trembled, anxiety knotting in my chest. After clearing my throat, I crossed my arms, palms resting on the cold stones, their smooth surface chilling my skin. “I, Elspeth of Wynterborne, Second Born of Veiled King Vardis seek the Favor of the Gods.
“Today, I ask the gods to proclaim me as their chosen, mark me as a true victor among my rivals. I seek to rule their people with a strong but gentle hand.” My eyes drifted shut, as an unspoken plea formed within my thoughts—begging, as my brother instructed.
Nellie’s words echoed in my head,‘You’ve got my papa in you, chicken!’
“Will my father, Nothar, give me his blessing?”
Tense silence gripped the chamber. No sound, no breath, no movement. Every soul awaited a sign, an answer to my plea.
Then gasps rippled through the crowd.
I opened my eyes, fear striking a note in my heart. Hands covered mouths in horror, expressions wide with shock, heads shaking in disappointment.
I jerked my touch away from my shoulders and looked to the right. The white stone maintained its form. No change.
A sick sensation thrashed in my stomach as I peered to my left. The black stone glowed blue, that same eerie hue as the pool in the Temple of Togamar.
“Dear sister, it seems the gods have answered your plea.”
His tone, that haughty smug arrogance, sent a chill through me as the priests removed the stones, then the cape.
The Wolf’s note itched against my chest, a constant, irritating reminder of my position. Sainte’s mouth pressed into an angry line, his frustration evident. Anderz’s eyes darted over the priests behind me, searching their faces as if they held the answers to our plight. They returned the shawl over my shoulders, and I stepped back.
Numb.
The cape draped over him, and the stones settled into their sockets. His words drowned in the roaring in my ears as he reached toward the ceiling, making his plea. He crossed his arms, hands resting over the stones.
Heavy silence fell, broken only by my pounding heart and the rush of blood in my veins.
The white stone lit—a bright blue glow spread under Adastrus’ hand, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
The gods had spoken. And I was not their chosen.
Chapter 27
Irushed back to my rooms with Sainte and Counselor Dyre trailing behind, using the excuse of needing to prepare for the celebratory feast. It was meant to mark my victory, the third win affirming my status as the Gods’ Chosen.
Instead, it would become a gathering for gossip, centered on Adastrus’ clear favor. There would be endless questions about what I’d done to earn the divines’ ire, and doubts voiced about the legitimacy of theindicationsI received during the first two rites.
Once in the safety of my rooms, anger, frustration, and confusion brewed like a chaotic storm within me. This was meant to be a divine message, but what did it signify? If the gods were involved, why lead me on only to drown me at the end as if it were all some cosmic joke?
“What was that?” I asked, striving to keep the accusation from my tone.
This situation wasn’t of my choosing. They forced this path on me. They paraded me in front of the people, instilling hope that Adastrus might not be their destined leader, only for it all to come crashing down, leaving their faith shattered while I struggled to stay afloat.
Anderz held up his hands in a placating gesture. “You have won two rites–”
