people, ringing bells and announcing that the carnival would present one more
performance, several more performances, until all the citizens of Sanctuary had
the opportunity to glimpse the carnival’s wonders. And the secret. Of course,
the secret. Still, no one even hinted at the secret’s nature.
Wess pulled her cloak closer. She knew the nature of the secret; she only hoped
the secret would see his friends and be ready for whatever they could do.
The sun touched the high wall around the palace grounds. Soon it would be dark.
Trumpets and cymbals: Wess looked towards the Processional gates, but a moment
later realized that all the citizens around her were straining for a view of the
palace entrance. The enormous doors swung open and a phalanx of guards marched
out, followed
by a group of nobles wearing jewels and cloth of gold. They strode across the
hard-packed ground. The young man at the head of the group, who wore a gold
coronet, acknowledged his people’s shouts and cries as if they all were
accolades – which, Wess thought, they were not. But above the mutters and
complaints, the loudest cry was, ‘The prince! Long live the prince!’
The phalanx marched straight from the palace to the new-built platform. Anyone
shortsighted enough to sit in that path had to snatch up their things and hurry
out of the way. The route cleared as swiftly as water parting around a stone.
Wess stood impulsively, about to sprint across the parade route to try once more
to speak to the prince.
‘Sit down!’
‘Out of the way!’