by Mira Zamin
I sat with General Niara in a darkly-paneled chamber following a meeting with the other general and emirs—we had just learned that an important fortress to the north of Bahart had fallen. The rest had departed, leaving Niara and me to enjoy the warm early morning breezes, heavy with the scent of fresh-turned earth and burgeoning grass.
“After I spent three months in prison for nearly knifing someone when I was fifteen, I came to the realization that perhaps I was heading down the wrong path in life. That and I could not bear to see my ma’s face so heartbroken.” Seeing my shocked look, she quickly elaborated, “He attacked me first, but without a weapon, so my response was deemed unwarranted. Well,” she chuckled, “joining the army wasn’t so much my decision but that they promised to reduce my sentence if I agreed to enlist and serve for a year. As fortune would have it, I showed some talent in that direction, and look, less than two decades later, one of Ghalain’s three generals. Miracles do happen, Seasons help us!”
Smirking, I responded, “Ah yes, the follies of youth. I myself ran away from home and set myself up as a governess right around that age.”
She laughed, revealing white, even teeth.
My answering smile was turned in a grimace by sharp twinge racked my lower torso.
“Your Majesty?” she asked, his voice full of concern. “Are you well? You must not exert yourself before your coronation. Should I call someone? Lady Avera? Perhaps you should wait…”
Bearing myself up, I said, “No, General, I am afraid I have lingered to long with you. The coronation is in three hours and I must go to my chambers to ready myself. Lady Avera will no doubt be impatient to ready me.”
We left the chamber and made our way to my room. Spying us along the way, servants bowed low. It was so unusual to see my presence elicit such a dramatic response and I did not think I would ever get used to the sight of figures so low to the ground they seemed almost prone. Once we arrived at my door, she smiled. “Good luck, your Majesty.”
I walked into my room…
…to be greeted by bouncing hullabaloo, servants darting around my chambers, running in and out of the door, being conducted by a calm Avera, who, even with the sleeves of her pansy pink dress rolled up and tendrils of hair falling before her face, looked like an artist’s representation of perfection. Sighting me, Avera bustled over, looking relieved. “I did not wish to interrupt you with the General, but I must say I was afraid you were going to be late. Come, come, sit. I have dictated to the dressers, the hairdressers, everyone, how to make you up.”
Laughing nervously, I thanked her and insisted, “Now, you get yourself ready. You can even ready yourself here and we can share people. In fact, if you wish to, I command it.” After all, she had thrown herself into the planning of this whole event—the least I could do was let her partake in the ritual dressing with me.
Telling a servant to fetch her gown, Avera also ordered a plain young woman to fetch my own dress. It was neither as grand, imposing, nor opulent as other coronation dresses before it. Or so it appeared. But the dress was of a fine, iridescent silver silk, which shimmered white, gold, or rose depending on how the light hit it, with shorter, fluttering sleeves and a train, which would follow me for yards and yards. As I was laced into my gown, I felt the tell-tale weight of encrusted diamonds, lending an impossible subtle shine of their own.
Half-dressed in her own sea foam green gown, Avera eyed me appraisingly. “You look radiant, Your Majesty.”
Grinning, I commented as I was gently pushed into my seat by the hairdresser, “Yes, somewhere between radiant and a cotton ball.”
The hairdresser left my hair falling in simple, dark waves, better to emphasize the crown. For this same reason I wore only the Khamad family signet ring of yellow gold with a large black gem set in the middle on my longest finger. It was not Pari-forged, but had been gifted to an ancestor long ago by the first King of Ghalain. It had been a symbol of our house since then. Despite its importance, it was rather ugly and thus very rarely worn. The hairdresser set to work making up my face, and subtly he created contours for my cheekbones, fuller lips, and luminous eyes. If I looked like this everyday… I thought wistfully.
The sun was perhaps an hour before its zenith when Kershid arrived with Liem. He goggled at me in surprise, but recovered himself swiftly. “Queen Selene, it is time to go to the Temple.”
Reaching across, Avera squeezed my hand comfortingly and followed me as we wound through the Palace. As I walked out into the sunlight, I was nearly blinded by my dress. I did not envy anyone the sight of me in the bright light. Late spring air, equal parts cold and hot, caressed my cheeks. Horns sounded as I stepped down the marble steps to the ribbon-festooned carriage to be pulled by a quartet of white horses, decked with merry jingling bells.
As we rolled onto the street, followed by a fleet of other carriages in which sat the other nobles, and flanked on all sides by a double row of soldiers, I felt…alone. Even as the crowd cheered and whistled, waving scarves and caps excitedly, throwing posies at my feet, as I bestowed coins upon them, I felt utterly alone. There was the obvious absence of Auralia and my family…but Gwydion? I had sent a message to him announcing my ascension and I had ordered that prisoners all around Ghalain be fed a good dinner tonight. In spite of the sheer sum of everything, a part of me wished he were sitting across from me, smirking and flicking coins from the open sides of the carriage. Whatever else, without him, I doubted I would be here.
“Well, it’s just me and you, Baby,” I murmured, feeling another twinge. I was better at hiding the pain this time, quickly turning it into a smile as I rained more money onto the heads of my subjects.
“Queen Selene! Queen Selene! May you reign long and well!” they chanted in unison, and drawing my spirit from theirs, I summoned a genuine smile to my made-up lips. Being queen will be lonely work, but I will always have my people. “I love you!” I shouted to them spontaneously, however unorthodox that was. “I love you!”
The mass of faces, of all colors, sizes, and ages, roared with pleasure.
It was a rather heady bouquet.
The carriage rolled to a stop before the grand ziggurat where we had laid Erina to rest mere weeks before. Here, monarchs of Ghalain had been crowned since time immemorial and within an hour I would join their ranks. Heady indeed. The door of the carriage opened and a strong hand extended to aid me in my descent. “Well met, General,” I whispered, smiling as my heels clacked against the first granite step.
Ready to meet my fate, I entered the temple, dazzled by the aureate luster of the interior walls. Trumpeters lined the path into the temple and when I emerged, nearly deaf, through the doors, I saw the hundreds of men and women, dignitaries and nobles, Djinnat and Pari, who had arrived at short notice to attend my coronation. They rose from their seats and turned to watch me. I fancied I saw Gwydion’s lover, but firmly pushed down the thought of what had happened the last time the Khamads, the Djinnat, and the Pari had come together at a formal event.
A choir of children was singing in tones so unearthly beautiful, that I did a small double-take and realized that intermingling with humans were both young djinnat and pari. The jewel-tone glass windows let the light flood in, staining the whole temple ruby and gold, sapphire and emerald. Down the impossibly long aisle stood the Bronze Throne, carefully transported for the purpose of coronation. The bronze had been polished, and the gems, rubies and goldstones and amber and amethyst winked in the sunlight.
Kershid and Liem stood beside the throne, having entered through a back door. No doubt they had quickly run in after they were safely out of the crowd’s view. In Kershid’s hands rested the crown itself, a heavy piece, created much time after the throne. I knew by memory the intricate and delicate gold swoops, rising to delicate peaks frosted with diamonds.
And then I was before Kershid. Who stood before the throne. With the crown in his hand.
For me.
Careful that the diamonds studding my dress did not dig into my
knees, I knelt before Kershid. He looked princely and serious in his cobalt breeches and jacket, his hair smoothed down for the occasion. He gingerly handled the crown as if it would catch fire any instant.
“Emira Selene, you have been chosen by the Council to act as ruler of Ghalain. Do you vow to fulfill these duties to the best of your ability?”
“Yes,” I pronounced in a clear, bell-like voice, one that I had been practicing since my name had been pulled from the chalice.
“As the Arbiter of the Assembly and a direct living descendent of the previous queen, Her Majesty Erina Nizeran, I take this crown and with her blood flowing from my veins, crown you Queen Selene Lilah Khamad, Defender of Ghalain, Supreme Ruler of the Western Deserts, Empress of the East, and Protector of the Seas.”
As the sun crested to its zenith, light poured in through the ziggurat’s glass oculus, illuminating me and my shimmering dress, the crown hovering above me. There was a collective intake in breath, as at that perfect moment, the crown slipped onto my head.
And then Kershid was gone from before me, leaving me with the crown straining down on my neck. In his place stood the priest, with a beard so long it could have been tucked into his belt. I winced inwardly, thinking about just how terribly I had neglected my religious duties, and prayed that nothing would go wrong in a divine attempt to teach me a lesson. Standing over me, the priest declaimed words in the guttural language used for religious ritual. He waved incense before my eyes until they stung with tears.
“Queen Selene, dost thou vow to honor the Seasons and our traditions and the traditions of thy forefathers?” asked the pontiff, his sharp green eyes examining me as though determined to pry loose any indecency, any dishonor, any stain that would make me unworthy. “Dost thou promise to uphold the laws of Ghalain, to protect the innocent, punish wrongdoers, and preserve this great country so long as the Seasons turn and thou doth draw breath?”
I met his gaze boldly. “By my honor, I do,” I announced.
And like that it was done.
“The Seasons preserve you. Ghalain! I present to thee thy Queen, Selene Lilah Khamad!”
Cheers and clapping broke over me like thunder, like the crash of pummeling of waves, and I could not help but grin. The priest fell behind me as I stepped towards the Bronze Throne.
My vision tunneled, the light from the oculus, the crowds, the strains of choir music that had begun again, filtered away, drowned out by an otherworldly hum. The hair on my arms prickled. I lowered myself into the throne and when I touched the seat, I felt something, ephemeral threads, which slipped and glittered, brush my skin. Magic, I knew intuitively, but this was not something I had been led to expect. I had an innate suspicion of the stuff—who could help that, given what I had just experienced? I did not let my worry show on my face. Warmth flooded through me and I felt myself being bound to the throne. The once-warm threads flashed ice, tying me tightly. As quickly as they had crystallized cold, they disappeared. I was the only one who knew what had happened, the only one who knew that I was now united inexorably with Ghalain and the Bronze Throne.
Then came the swell of nobles and dignitaries. I saw the Pari slip out, apparently believing their political duty had been done. One by one, from Kershid to Corrine, they swore their fealty to me. Each time they intoned the sacred words, hot and cold threads flashed between my hand and theirs, and this time they felt it too.
Calenda approached, followed by the rest of the Thirds Council, offering me their congratulations and promise of support in these difficult times ahead. “Nasty, affected woman, Quenela,” Calenda remarked. “Never liked her.” The dignitaries congratulated me on behalf of their masters, presenting me with small tokens. The Ambassador of Hademer offered me a blocky ring set with starry diamonds, which he explained King Aedrian had taken from his own finger and had, in turn, belonged to one of their most revered ancient leaders. The representative of Xanjo presented me with a tiger cub, offspring of Emperor Diljar’s own beloved tigress. My guards bore the mewling cub away to the menagerie after I had cooed over the present appropriately and slipped King Aedrian’s offering on my finger.
As I offered my deepest thanks to them, a tall figure took their place. Lithe as a blade and dusky, he grasped my hand and his skin was almost like fire to the touch and for a moment, I was transported to a place where the wind blew dry and hot and the sun glared blindingly. The crowd of well-wishers melted away.
“Djinn,” I whispered.
He inclined his long face gravely.
“You honor me and Ghalain with your presence, milord.”
His eyes, light as the desert sky and striking against his swarthy complexion, sought mine. “You and I and your clan and mine are tied, do you know that?”
“It was your people who averted the curse. You have my and my family’s everlasting thanks.”
He made a gesture as if eradicating my debt. “The Pari and Djinn have ancient animosities. To thwart the other is among our chief pleasures. And in lives as long as ours, such pleasures are few and far between.” He grinned slightly, revealing bright teeth. From the gesturing hand, which had been empty before, he produced a chain from the end of which dangled a gold pendant.
It was still hot from his touch when I took it into my palm. I looked up at him quizzically. “A pitcher?” It was rather squat, but, with a spout like that, I could not see what else it could be.
“A lamp. Within this, you have the power for three wishes. Rub it whenever you have need; put your will into your desire for a wish and I will appear to grant you your request. Be warned though: while the scope of our power is vast, we are not omnipotent. My congratulations and my people’s congratulations on your ascension.” With a nod, he stepped back into the light and vanished. Blinking dazedly at where he had stood, I did not even notice the next woman who had jostled up, wringing my hand.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Do you recognize us? It is I, Madame. I have brought Corec, his wife, and your little friend Oelphie insisted on joining us. I came as soon as I heard. And I told him, I told Corec, that when I took you on, I knew that there was something noble to your bearing, that you would make something of yourself. Oh, we have had a rough time coming to you! The roads between Viziéra and Nyneveh were heavily patrolled, but I would not let that come in the way of seeing you, my Queen!” She nearly toppled over with excitement.
Laughter bubbled in my chest. The sight of Madame toadying up to me, after two years of ambivalence was humorous. I tried exchanging a familiar look with Oelphie, but her eyes were downcast. Keeping a straight face, I beckoned a guard and announced, “This family housed me while I was in Viziéra. Provide them accommodations in the Alhazar for the duration of the festivities. Madame, Corec, Sarine, Oelphie, I would be honored by your presence at the ball tonight.”
As an afterthought I added to the guard, “If Mistress Oelphie consents, please send her to my rooms after I am done here.” I saw Madame’s eyes dart sharply between us, no doubt trying to consider how to inveigle further favors. I made a mental note to grant Corec a knighthood with a fair-sized tract of land. Whatever her quirks, I had been treated kindly paid well while acting as Corec’s governess.
Their arrival was the last notable event of my coronation. Absently, I fingered the chain around my neck, feeling the comforting warmth of the lamp pendant at my throat as the crowds slowly dwindled away. Finally, I accepted the last kitchen boy’s thanks with utmost gravity.
Kershid appeared at my side, offering his hand to help me descend from the throne. He grinned. “Congratulations, your Majesty. Now, we must make haste! The feast and ball begin at sunset.”
The redder than usual hues of the stained glass shadows told me that sunset was not far off. Finding myself more tired than I had thought to be, I leaned heavily, if imperceptibly, against Kershid. Trailed by the queen’s honor guard, I felt my babe move within me.
“It is done,” I whispered.
He smiled at me, somewhat sadly. “Y
our Majesty, it has only begun.”
Chapter Twenty-Five