CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      Icarals

      The next morning our ride to church is uncomfortably silent, our carriage surrounded by Aunt Vyvian’s personal guard. Dark clouds loom above Valgard and threaten a storm. I peer up at them, my cheek pressed against the cool glass of the carriage’s window, wishing I was with my brothers and Gareth.

      Aunt Vyvian is studying me icily, perhaps considering how best to bend my will. She’s been trying to convince me to wandfast for every one of the fifteen days we’ve been together, and that pressure, after yesterday’s wandfasting offer, has now turned markedly oppressive. She’s keeping me with her until the last possible moment, desperate to have me buckle and wandfast to Lukas Grey before going off to University.

      We’re to arrive at Valgard’s Grand Cathedral hours before morning service so that Aunt Vyvian can discuss some government business with Priest Vogel. Then she’s insisting I attend service with her—where, I suspect, we’ll conveniently run into Lukas and his family. I flush uncomfortably at the thought of seeing him again.

      Later, after the service, I’m to make the carriage journey to University alone. Rafe, Trystan and Gareth are long gone, having left together early this morning on horseback.

      I long to be with them. I don’t want to be in these fancy, restrictive clothes that necessitate slower carriage travel anymore. And I long to break free of Aunt Vyvian’s unforgiving watch. I want to be on horseback with my brothers and Gareth, riding to Verpacia and the bustling University.

      Soon, I remind myself. You’ll be out of here soon enough.

      The dark forest of buildings ahead gives way to an expansive, circular plaza, a larger-than-life marble statue of my grandmother dominating its middle. I focus right in on it, wondering if I’ll be able to make out my own features in the marble face, but it’s too far away.

      Approaching the plaza, we make a sharp turn to the right, and I almost gasp as Valgard’s Cathedral bursts into view, even grander than I remembered it.

      * * *

      Broad, sweeping columns rise skyward, eventually coalescing to form one, narrowing spire that supports a silver Erthia sphere at its zenith. The whole structure is wrought from Ironwood the color of wet earth. A mammoth central arch with two smaller, adjacent arches frames the entrance, the huge front doors richly carved with images from The Book of the Ancients.

      The carriage halts just in front of the cathedral, and I almost trip down its steps as I disembark, my gaze riveted on the immense, vertigo-inducing structure. I crane my neck to take it all in, the silver sphere highlighted by the darkening sky.

      My aunt ushers me into the cathedral and toward one of the countless, intricately carved pews.

      “Sit here,” she directs sternly.

      I obey as her heels click down an aisle that leads to the broad dais and altar. Two priests in dark, flowing robes circle the altar, lighting candles and waving incense, the white bird symbol of the Ancient One emblazoned on their chests. Above the altar hangs another Erthia sphere.

      My aunt approaches the priests, then launches into hushed conversation with them. They take turns surreptitiously glaring in my direction as my stomach twists itself into uncomfortable knots. And then they’re gone, having exited together through a side door, leaving me all alone in the vast space.

      I am bereft, my palms flat on the wood of my seat.

      But soon the wood of the cathedral begins to lull me into a calmer state. Numerous columns, some straight, some diagonal and curving, rise toward an irregular ceiling covered with crisscrossing arches. It’s like being underneath the root system of an enormous, otherworldly tree.

      I close my eyes, slide my palms against the wood and breathe in its amber scent.

      Soothed, I open my eyes to find a copy of The Book of the Ancients sitting beside me.

      I pick up the black, leather-bound tome and run my finger along its gilded title. I know this book well. Unbeknownst to my uncle, who seems to disapprove of religion in general, I keep my grandmother’s old copy under my pillow, the gilded holy book passed down to me by Aunt Vyvian when I was a small child. Sometimes, in the dark of night, when sadness comes, when the void left by my parents’ deaths seems too painful to bear, The Book’s many prayers for strength in times of hardship and sorrow are of great comfort to me.

      Just as the first rumble of thunder sounds in the distance, I open to the first page and read.

      The Creation

      In the beginning, there was only the Ancient One. The universe was vast and empty. And out of the great, unfathomable nothingness, the Ancient One brought forth the planets and the stars, the sun and the moon and Erthia, the Great Sphere.

      And on this Great Sphere, the Ancient One separated the land from the water and brought forth all manner of living things: the green plants, the birds of the air, the beasts of the field and forest and water.

      And the Ancient One looked down upon it all and was pleased.

      But the Ancient One was not finished. The breath of life was sent out over the Great Sphere, and from the seeds of the sacred Ironwood Tree sprang the First Children, who were to dwell on the Great Sphere; and the Angelic Ones, who were to dwell in the Heavens.

      At first, all dwelled in harmony.

      All of creation joined together to worship, glorify and obey the Ancient One.

      But it came to pass that the Angelic Ones, winged as they were, began to feel that they did not need to obey. They began to feel that they were better than the Ancient One, and that they owned the Heavens.

      And it came to pass that the Angelic Ones flew down to the First Children and pleaded with them to turn away from the Ancient One and to worship them instead. The First Children were angered by this betrayal and refused. The First Children told the Angelic Ones that they would worship and glorify none other than the Ancient One. The