Those Who Would Not Be Gods

26. Ascension: Cecile

It was hot in the grand hall. Cecile fanned herself gently with her golden fan and tried to keep her attention on Matteo as he prattled on. The two enormous fires that took up either end of the stage they'd set up at the end of the hall were a mysterious choice. Most of the nobles sitting in their finery in the front rows looked like they were melting, and Cecile was sure she didn't look much better. Her dress was a lovely piece in reds, yellows, and oranges, but even the thin silk and the plunging neckline couldn't cool the full heat of the dual bonfires. Her hair was off the back of her neck, a gods-send. But the gorgeous golden ornament Nadia had selected weighed a ton. Between the heat and the weight, she could already feel a headache brewing.

"...atop the mountain, did Rosita hesitate? I tell you, no. She did not hesitate. Her duties as High Priest were laid plain before her, and she did not flinch from them. Rosita sacrificed everything to silence Mt. Racando. The binding spell cost her life, but even so, she took on that price. A High Priest's duties are first with their people and their land. Even if the most is asked of our High Priest, she must be willing to take on that price."

Matteo turned toward Cecile. She blinked at him, then realized after a moment that he was waiting for her. She nodded vaguely. It was too hot to pay attention to a long lecture. What did Matteo think she was, surrounding her with all this fire? A dragon? Besides, she'd heard the story of the Silenziamento del Racando a hundred times in her youth. Hugo might have had a severe distaste for the Shrine, but he'd taught her all the children's stories even so. She wasn't that uncultured.

Hugo. She glared at Matteo for just a moment before she hid behind a neutral expression again. He'd all but confessed to falsely accusing Hugo to steal her away to the Shrine. She hadn't forgotten. He'll be the first up for demotion, she decided. High Priest had that much power, right? She wasn't going to have someone willing to stoop to such dishonesty so close to her.

At the far end of the hall, the doors all thumped at once, as if a storm was passing overhead or a strong wind had blown. Cecile turned slightly towards it, frowning. What was that? It wasn't the heat driving her to hallucinations, either. The townsfolk who'd packed into the back, in the standing room behind the benches, turned to look at the doors as well. Beyond the roar of the fires and the constant drone of Matteo's voice, anything else was drowned out, but the people at the back of the room milled around, whispering amongst themselves. Something was going on outside. She glanced around her. Maybe some of the lovely nobility in Shrineguard uniforms or priest's robes in the front rows should go take a look?

No one moved. The nervous motion in the back of the room quieted. Matteo kept on preaching. Shifting an inch to unstick sweaty silk from her back, Cecile sighed out. Guess it wasn't a problem, then. She tipped her head back and watched the draperies that hung from the ceiling shift slightly, back and forth, back and forth. The reds, oranges, and yellows were meant to mimic flames, but they stood so still with the windows closed that the effect fell flat. She fanned herself a little harder. How much more of this would she have to put up with before Matteo finally got tired?

Motion flickered in the corner of her eye. Cecile followed it, moving her head the bare minimum possible. Two Shrineguards were talking out the window, just past the albero d'ambra. Amber branches obscured her view of them, the crystalline shapes distorting the Shrineguards' faces. Then they stepped forward, and her eyebrows raised. Was that—Raff? And his friend, Sab. What were they up to?

"Step forward, Cecile," Matteo intoned.

It took a moment for Cecile to register that he'd ordered her to do something; he'd droned on for so long that she'd completely blocked out his voice. She stepped forward.

Nadia materialized from one of the nearby doors. She strode out onto the stage. In her hands was a small lacquer box, black coating shining reddish in the firelight. Matteo retreated, and it was only the two of them.