The buildings are the same color as the sand they’re surrounded by, yet with pops of bright yellow and blue paint. The streets look like copper rivers woven through, and there are flags with their yellow sun emblem, as well as the official sigil of Second Kingdom—two concentric circles, one inside another, representing the great Divine overlapping all of life.
But the building nearest us, the one this path leads to, is surrounded by a sea of people collected beneath giant canvases stretched between pillars. Just in front is a circular building, and from my vantage point up here, I can see a short wall that circles around it all, its joined architecture clearly reminiscent of the kingdom’s sigil.
I can’t go a single step now without grimacing and hissing out breath. The oil and sand is no match for the brutal heat of the sunbaked tiles. I can’t even rush, because the Matrons are setting the pace, and they either don’t care about my feet or it’s all part of my burning walk of shame.
By the time I make it to the bottom steps, I don’t even care about the people who are staring and shouting incomprehensible words. It feels as if layers of skin have scalded right off my feet, leaving them raw and agonizing, as if I’ve been walking over a mile of fiery coals.
And the queen’s pain continues. Steady. Punishing. So constant that I can’t take in a full breath, my heart feeling like it can’t complete a full beat.
I’m sweating buckets. Everything inside of me shakes and reverberates with echoing agony that’s sapped all my strength as I’m led down a narrow path. The bodies of the Matrons close in on me as we get closer to the building. I can see a sea of people gathered, shouting, hands in the air as if this is some kind of frenzied event.
Then I’m led up the charring steps of the domed building. When I get to the top, the women part like waves, and I see I’m on some kind of outdoor stage. The building is at my back and the canvas-covered city square in front, so full of people that I can’t even see the ends of the crowd. They’re not wasting any time. There will be no waiting in my room, no other ritualistic Cleansing.
This is it.
I’m shoved inside a circle of thin pillars on the stage, and as soon as I am, the queen’s magic is suddenly removed. In their haste to shove me inside, my shoulder and arm smack against the poles, and the gold ball drops from my hand. I don’t dare draw attention to it though.
I can’t enjoy the release of the queen’s pinched pain, because I’m trapped. Trapped and on display, reeling from pain and forcing myself not to pass out.
I try to shake the poles that surround me, but they don’t move a bit, and I’m far too weakened anyway. They stretch up at least ten feet, and they’re no thicker than my wrist, leaving the same measure of gap between them. The space inside the enclosure is a small circle, the same pillared door slammed shut at my back. The only relief I have is the fact that I’m in the shade now from the building’s overhang, so the tile floor of the stage is blessedly cool against my scorched feet.
But then I look up and see the seven chairs set just beyond me, facing both the crowd and my enclosure, all filled with the monarchs of Orea.
They must be in order, from First to Sixth Kingdom.
The chair for Fourth is noticeably empty.
At the end, in First Kingdom’s chair, sits King Euden Thold, a man with dark skin and a serpent crown on his head that glitters with gems of green and black. The moment I see him, I remember his power, because it’s wrapped all over him, tame under his control. There’s a viper draped around his shoulders. A cobra coiling the length of his arm. Another snake with a rattle at his ankle, and a bright green snake looped in his lap.
As if she’s not bothered in the slightest by their serpentine presence, Queen Isolte sits poised beside him, while another man who must be her mustached and blotchy-faced husband sits at her other side. King Neale Merewen.
And to the right of him sits Queen Kaila.
My stomach twists like I’ve grabbed it with two fists and wrung it out like a rag. Beside her is the empty chair meant for Slade, which makes my stomach twist in an entirely different way.
Where is he?
Next to that, in Fifth Kingdom’s spot, sits a man I’ve never seen before. He looks far too young and nervous to be in charge of an entire kingdom. But I suppose that’s the point. This is the newly crowned King Hagan Fulke.
One of King Thold’s snakes is on the new king’s armrest. Hagan tries and fails to hold in his grimace, clearly uncomfortable with the serpent’s presence, though too nervous to do anything about it.