Page 62 of Revealing Fate

The entire rear wall had been constructed of the largest single slab of statuario marble in all of Ilistaar. And from it, as though unearthed from the crystalline surface, a carving of the Goddess emerged. Her eyes shone with holy light, silken hair splayed about her as though lifted by an eternal breeze. Her gown flowed over her curving form, pooling at her bare feet. In her upraised hands, she held a sun and a scepter.

Imogen stopped before the sculpture, unable to deny its ethereal quality. Though the temple itself had been built after the founding of the capital, this marvel was ages older, its artisan long-dead. Imogen’s gaze lifted to the scepter, the tip of which was fitted with an enormous diamond. The priceless jewel had cracked the night of Felíne’s birth, the result of an improbable lightning strike that lit an impossible flame. The undying flame, they called it. Its flickering tendrils engulfed the diamond, dancing and waving with a supernatural touch.

The undying flame had always filled Imogen with a mixture of confusion and awe. It served as proof that their gods were real, if absent. Now, it filled her with a small hope. Felíne, wherever she might be, was alive. As long as that flame lived, there was still a chance the curse could be broken.

Imogen passed the statue and approached a side door. Two royal guards in their black armor and concealing cloaks stood out like ink stains on fresh parchment among all of the temple’s ivory. Her escort eyed the two of them with wary regard.

“I am here to see the queen,” Imogen said. She didn’t introduce herself. Her elder vestments with their lavender lapels and intricate gold stitching were proclamation enough.

The guard on the left disappeared through the door. She did not wait long. A priest, garbed head to toe in ivory robes sewn with brilliant golden suns, appeared.

He bowed. “This way, Elder. Her Majesty awaits.”

She made to follow the priest through the door, but one of the black-clad guards stepped forward. The priest paused, glancing back. “I am sorry, Elder,” he said. “Your guard is not permitted.”

Prestyn’s expression darkened, posture rigid as he prepared for confrontation. Imogen placed a hand on his armored forearm. “Thank you, Lieutenant. It’s alright. Please wait for me here.”

He pegged the royal guards with a glare unique to a young man’s ire. “As you wish, Elder Imogen.”

Imogen gathered the front of her robes and followed the priest through the doorway and into the belly of the temple.

The innards of the Temple of the Rising Dawn were not what Imogen had been expecting. The entryway had been so vibrant, so full of light and color, she imagined the rest would follow suit. Not so. The deeper Imogen followed the priest into the temple’s interior, the more sinister the atmosphere grew.

Once more, I descend, she thought with a shudder.

The walls here were no longer marble, like the grand entryway above. Once-ivory stone, now mottled with age, lined either side of the hallway. Minimal light lived here—the barest flickering of amber flames cast a tentative glow to guide their steps. The smell of mildew and musky rodents permeated the air. This was where Queen Serebine had been sequestered?

The priest paused before an unmarked iron door. He produced a key, opened the entry, and ushered her inside.

The windowless room before her was utterly bare. Not a single piece of furniture existed in the space. Just four walls of molding stone and an iron door. One which Imogen suddenly dreaded closing.

“You plan to imprison me, priest?” she asked just before the threshold.

“Of course not, Elder,” he said. “Her Majesty will be with you shortly.”

“I’m not waiting in that room alone.”

The priest steepled thick fingers. “Many balk at the unexpected nature of the temple’s underside. Our Goddess is one of light and love, and yet our curse was born of darkness. This lightless room is one of penance, Elder. Minutes alone in the stillness to cleanse one’s spirit so that reemergence into the light is fully appreciated.”

Fear gripped Imogen at the thought of that iron door closing her into full black. She should have insisted that Lieutenant Gore accompany her.

“I assure you, Elder. No harm shall come to you.”

Imogen remained unconvinced. “Must I?”

He nodded sagely. “Her Majesty insists that anyone who visits her in this state be clean of spirit.”

This is fucking ludicrous, she thought miserably. “Very well.”

Imogen forced her feet to carry her through the doorway. She turned and watched with a sense of dread as the priest heaved the heavy door, shutting her in with the absolute lightless silence.

The only sounds were the turn of a key in the iron lock and her own erratic heartbeat.

Imogen blinked at the sudden light that invaded her prison of stone. She had no idea whether she’d been locked in the temple’s so-called cleansing room for five minutes or five hours. All she knew was the sound of that lock releasing and the glare of the torch that entered were the sweetest things she’d heard and seen in what felt like forever.

“Her Majesty will see you now, Elder,” the priest announced.

She damn well had better. Imogen couldn’t follow him out quickly enough. The priest led her down another dank hall, through a gaping archway, and into a circular room.