Page 158 of The Stolen Throne
67
The Rites of
Xathena
“Why do we have to leave the palace, exactly?”
The others start putting on their masks, and Vos hands me mine. “The place is cleared of everyone but the king from the hours of sunset to midnight. And that includes us.”
“Again…why?”
“For King Panqui,” Reven says as he adjusts his own mask. “As far as we can tell, he’s locked away the entire week of the Rites, but at night when his power is released, they empty and lock down the palace for added protection.”
Once everyone is ready, with Tabra propped up between Cain and Horus, we make our way out of the building, through the gardened courtyard, and into the streets outside the main gate. The music has gotten louder since we were out here before, driving through my body in thumping bursts. Wilder. Fiercer.
I’ve never seen anything like this.
Aryd has celebrations, but this is unique. There’s an excitement driving the people—jubilation, revelry. But also, an odd sense of expectation that hangs heavy in the air.
Tropikis is lucky to have a king who wields such a precious power. I picture Aryd with its dwindling water supplies and lack of food and what a power like his might do for my own people. Then to know all the sick and injured will be healed…goddess. If it helps Vos and especially Tabra…
Meanwhile, all I can do is make sandcastles and glass flowers. The portals are handy, at least.
Suddenly, the metal gate clangs down behind us with a rattle of the thick metal chains, closing off the entrance to the palace. That’s followed swiftly by similar clangs circling the entire palace. As though every window and every entrance is being barricaded.
Whoa. They take protecting the king seriously around here. That should be a good thing. So why does it have such an ominous ring? My muscles tighten with each metal barrier dropping into place.
“I should not be here for this,” Bene announces abruptly in my head. Before I can ask him why not, he takes off running through the streets. I quickly lose sight of him.
What was that about?
“The people celebrating get more frenzied as the night goes on,” Horus warns me.
Pella chimes in. “Never go off by yourself.”
“I won’t.” I get a round of doubtful, searching, untrusting stares. Looks and doubts I’ve earned. I hold up a hand. “I promise.”
“Yeah,” Pella mutters. “We’ve heard that before.”
Cain shoots a warning glance at his sister that’s impossible to miss. “Leave her alone, Pella.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “All is forgiven already, hmmm?”
He ignores that, looking at Vos. “Back to the pub?”
Pub?
We make our way to a strip of shop buildings across from the guard gatehouse and right into a run-down-looking establishment. All woods and brick walls made of some rough red stone, it boasts mismatched wooden tables and chairs of all sizes, a long bar along one wall, and a small, raised platform where musicians bring the music from outside into the space. It’s packed.
Underneath wafts of roasted meat and foods I’ve never had before, the place smells of perfume and sweat and revelry. The heavy scents are overwhelming when bodies are pressed this close, much worse than outside in the open air.
By some miracle, we manage to commandeer a table big enough for all of us tucked into a back corner, and I find myself stuffed into the shadows of it. Reven sits opposite me, but I don’t mind this time. Not while I can sense him still.
A middle-aged barmaid wearing a revealing, skin-tight dress with a bodice that presses her impressive breasts up appears, and we place our orders. Not that there’s much to choose from.
“Don’t take your mask off,” Vos, who is sitting beside me, warns when my hand strays to the silken ties that hold it in place.
I drop my hands back into my lap. “So what happens now?” I ask no one in particular.
