From Under the Mountain

by Cait Spivey

  “Anxious, Evadine-ami?” asked Lord Warren.

  Eva tried to keep her face neutral; it was still strange to hear the honorific for council members applied to her name. And it was quite a mouthful. “Not at all, Theodor-ami.”

  The man nodded and bowed his head, a few strands of brown hair coming loose from the thin black ribbon that bound his hair at his nape. His white skin seemed very pale indeed, and she thought perhaps he was the anxious one.

  “And how was Guerline when you left her? I mean, Her Majesty?” he asked.

  “Still Her Highness,” Eva said, with a wry smile which Warren returned. She looked around to make sure no one was near, then lowered her voice. “She . . . was nervous. But rallying.”

  Warren nodded again, as though that was what he’d expected to hear. Evadine wouldn’t have told him anything, except that Guerline was fond of him. He was one of the only councilors who spent much time with her before the deaths of her parents, and he’d been very kind and supportive since then. Eva didn’t care much for him and his particular brand of northern conversation, but Guerline needed friends, and he was very clearly disposed to be one.

  “Vultures. I hope they’ll show the proper respect,” Warren said, indicating two councilors lurking in a corner together.

  Eva followed his gaze and frowned. Pearce Iszolda, the Lord Treasurer, and Lanyic Eoarn, the Lord Merchant. They had been pestering her for a meeting almost constantly for the past two months. After today, she would no longer be able to put them off. But she had a few more hours yet.

  She smirked at Warren and said, “Shall we open the doors? We’ll see then who flocks together.”

  Warren nodded gravely—northerners, such taciturn nodders. Eva gave the signal to the guards at the doors. They set themselves on the rings and pushed, the heavy metal bands scraping the stone. As the doors opened, the sounds of the crowd swelled. The fleet of guards at the door and at various points along the queue had been given specific instructions, and Eva was pleased that there was no mad rush. Instead, perhaps a dozen or so entered, glittering in the light from the floating Adenen lamps: the First Families.

  Warren glanced at her and she thought for a moment that he would offer her his arm, but he seemed to think better of it. She grinned at him, then strode forward to meet the nobles.

  “Esteemed families Branwyr, Pental, Croy, Arden, and Masa,” she said, bending the knee just slightly. “Welcome.”

  These five families were the wealthiest in Arido. Each had a home within the First Neighborhood, making them Guerline’s own neighbors; but they all had multiple properties. They had their pleasure estates, certainly, like lesser nobles, but these families were First because their duchies were as crucial to the empire’s survival as the witch clans. Some of their ancient homesteads were left to the management of sons, as in the case of Lord Branwyr and old Lady Pental. Lord Amiel Croy preferred to manage his own ancestral home, Arido’s largest beef ranch, and his displeasure at being required at the coronation was evident—or perhaps he was always that stiff. Lord Arden and Lady Masa left their estates in the hands of trusted servants and rarely left the capital, though each of them for very different reasons.

  “Lady Malise, it is a pleasure to see you again,” said Sampson Branwyr. Eva gave him a genuine smile and a full curtsy, and one to his son and daughter behind him. Branwyr-vidi’s condolences to Guerline at their luncheon had been both sincere and comforting, the only noble to achieve that combination.

  Eva exchanged pleasantries with each First Family head, and then handed them off to Lord Warren as the lesser nobles of the Second Neighborhood were allowed in. Some of these she greeted by name, but more were simply shuttled past her in the wake of their better-titled cousins. She kept her gaze forward so as to catch those she should greet. Some she could not avoid; these were the exceptionally wealthy merchants, those with little to no noble blood but who were yet rich enough to have got hold of one of the estates in the Second Neighborhood. They were very happy to present themselves to the Chief Adviser, and she was very happy to give them as icy a smile as she could muster.

  The ballroom was half-filled once the Second Neighborhood had all entered, and as the denizens of the Third came in, Eva retreated to the dais that had been erected at the head of the hall. The Third Neighborhood was home to lesser merchants and tradesmen, and they, unlike the First and Second citizens, had had to queue in the palace yard to get their place in the ballroom, for there was not space for all of them. Eva wouldn’t have been surprised if there were even some Fourth Neighborhood citizens mixed in, come early and dressed in their finest—which would be, for most, a clean tunic of good cloth that was brought out barely above once a year, and usually for this, High Summer’s Day.

  It didn’t take long for the hall to fill. The sound of the crowd was amplified by the high ceiling, too much even for the many hanging tapestries to counter. When the doors finally screeched shut, the people at the back appeared to Eva like one solid, many-headed mass. At least there were the First and Second Families, seated on benches that created an airy buffer between the dais and the standing Third Neighborhood people. She tried not to shiver. Eva hated crowds.

  She wished she could see Guerline once before the ceremony started . . . but she was trapped here on the dais, while Lina was being ushered into place on the other side of the doors now that everyone was inside. And while they waited, it was Eva’s duty to prepare them. She touched the witch-charm on her necklace, activating the dormant magic.

  “Welcome, Aridans, to the coronation of your empress!” she cried.

  Her voice boomed through the hall, making her own ears ring as silence fell and all eyes turned to her. She drew herself to her full height and stared out at the people, making eye contact where she could.

  “There has been a great deal of talk, I think, about the woman we crown today,” Eva said. “I’ve heard some cruel things, some strange things, and many, many foolish things. Talk . . . is harmless. But when truth is spoken, the gods of the forest take heed.”

  She paused for emphasis. “I speak the truth to you now. This woman knows what it means to be cast aside. She knows what it means to be ignored and dismissed. And she has learned, by necessity, to look within herself for strength and support. She has learned to decide what is best without being swayed by outside influence. She knows what is right, because she has seen so much that is wrong.”

  Another pause, and she did not wipe away the tear that fell from her eye. Those gathered in the hall probably couldn’t see it, at any rate. They were silent before her, almost breathless—the echoes of her words died slowly.

  “This is a strong woman. A good woman. And as your empress, she will not forget what she has learned,” Eva said.

  She stepped back to the line of councilors to signal the end of her speech, and deactivated her witch-charm. Applause thundered off the stone, almost covering up the sound of the screeching doors, and Eva allowed herself a small smile of triumph. She did not look down at the nobles who, hopefully, felt her censure of them; instead, she focused on the opening doors slowly revealing Guerline to them. She kept her eyes trained there even as she and the other councilors split to one side of the plinth where the crown and trident—the symbols of Guerline’s power—waited.

  First in line was Piron, the dark-skinned head priest of the Del Temples, including the palace’s own. He wore a great heavy robe of white wolf’s fur over the Temple’s standard leather tunic, and his brown hair was in a single tight braid to the base of his neck, with the excess pulled forward on either side. The sides of his head were smoothly shaven, reflecting the light as though they’d been oiled.

  Behind him were two more priests, in identical tunics and with heads shaven. As they crossed the threshold into the ballroom, they took up a wordless song, splitting into melody and harmony and filling the space with the music.

  After the singers came Guerline. Eva grinned, entranced; she could not have looked away for anything. The fr
ont portion of Guerline’s new red twists had been looped into a beautiful roll that hung over her forehead, and the rest had been braided along the center of her skull, then bound and left to hang loose; one had slipped forward over her shoulder and the rest swung gently as she walked. Her gown was dusky purple silk, beautifully embroidered and winking with thousands of crystals so that she seemed surrounded by starlight as she moved. As gentle and lovely as all that made her appear, though, it was balanced by a metallic waist cincher and a stiff brocade collar that added just enough structure to the ensemble.

  Guerline paused at the threshold, and everyone twisted to look at her. Eva heard audible gasps, even from the councilors behind her, and her heart swelled. This woman looked like an empress. She looked broad and solid, strong enough to carry the world, commanding the wide aisle as she stepped forward, even though she was dwarfed by the tall doorway behind her.

  Eva felt ashamed she had been worried; Guerline even seemed to carry herself differently, her neck long and her chin parallel to the floor as she walked. Guerline was so short, she usually had to look slightly up. Eva was pleased to see that she wasn’t doing that now, and willed her silently to maintain that posture even when the tall priest was ministering the ceremony. She had never seen her friend look so glorious.

  The priests mounted the dais and split to the far side, leaving the center open for Guerline and her voluminous gown. The singers continued their song as the princess walked slowly down the aisle, her pace consistent. Eva felt sure she would burst with pride, and with satisfaction at the twitching faces of those nobles who had been so obnoxious when Guerline had granted them private meals. Watching Guerline become an empress even as she walked toward her crown made part of Eva’s heart ache, though. You never wanted this life. . . . We were going to escape, weren’t we? Is it too late?

  Guerline made it to the steps of the dais, and Eva held out a hand to her. Their eyes met, and Guerline’s stern face broke into a bright smile that Eva could not help returning. Guerline’s hand was clammy when she placed it into Eva’s, though it took that touch for even her to discern the anxiety in her friend. She squeezed Lina’s hand for comfort and held her steady while she joined them above her gathered subjects. With a deep curtsy, Eva released Guerline’s hand; Guerline spun to face the hall, her skirt sparkling.

  The singers ended their tune, and those assembled broke out once more in roaring applause. Guerline raised her hands to them, and whoops rang out from the Third Neighborhood citizens who perceived she waved to them. Guerline smiled, and though Eva had not thought it possible, the cheering and applause got louder.

  They loved her. How could they not? She was a vision, a mysterious and forgotten princess revealed to be a beautiful young woman, wrapped in starlight, with a smile that could make a mountain swoon.

  Guerline’s waving only brought more cheering, so after what felt like an age, Priest Piron raised his arms and brought silence down. Eva bit her lip to keep from laughing, such was her giddiness. But the coronation had only just begun, and though Eva could see relief in Guerline’s face, the true ritual had yet to be performed.

  Piron said, “Peace for the soul of His Imperial Majesty, Johan Hevya. Peace for the soul of Her Imperial Majesty, Maribel Hevya. Peace for the soul of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Alcander Hevya. Peace for their souls.”

  “Peace for their souls,” echoed the hall.

  “Rejoice, people of Arido, that Lisyne our Mother has given us a land in which to thrive,” Piron said. His voice was low, rumbling; it was almost as though Eva felt it in her bones, though she saw no witch-charm on his person.

  “Rejoice,” he continued, “that Lisyne our Mother has given us dominion of the earth, and molded the elements of our protection: Gwanen, Adenen, Sitosen, Thiymen.”

  “We rejoice,” said the hall, emphatic voices balancing the half-hearted ones.

  Piron went down the stairs of the dais and held his arms out to each side, splaying his robe like a lizard splays its hood. “Rejoice that the maw of Lisyne will greet our enemies, and that the claw of Lisyne will rend those who would oppose us!” he said.

  “We rejoice!” said the hall again.

  A few devotees took it up as a chant, and Piron mounted the dais once more with a smirk that made Eva uneasy; but she schooled her features better than the priest, and gave him a neutral face when he glanced over at the councilors. She returned her attention, as he did, to Guerline.

  “Rejoice,” Piron said, and Eva was sure now that he had a witch-charm to be heard over the chanting, and to marshal them to silence again even while facing away from them. “Rejoice that Lisyne, the Great Wolf, has sent us this, her daughter, to guide us all.”

  The hall rejoiced again and Eva resisted the powerful urge to roll her eyes. A script like that could undoubtedly go on for hours, and she hoped, for Guerline’s sake, that Piron would proceed to the next phase, no matter how enthusiastic the believers at the back of the ballroom were.

  Guerline held steady while Piron stared at her and the Third Neighborhood continued to rejoice—did Eva see an attempt at a dance circle?—and at last, Piron turned around. Eva braced herself for him to say “rejoice” again, but luckily, he did not. Instead, he took the crown that was handed to him by one of the singer-priests. This crown was different than the ones Guerline’s parents had worn; she’d felt both were too ostentatious, and so they had been relegated to the vaults while this delicate thing was crafted for her. It was a pair of silver combs with smoky white crystals jutting up from it; the combs were bound on one side by a thin silver chain. Eva smiled as Guerline’s face lit up—she hadn’t seen the completed crown before that moment.

  Piron held the combs aloft, where the crystals seemed to absorb the light and glow. As he lowered them, he said, “To wear a crown is no easy thing. As fragile as peace may be, the weight of it is immense.” He faced Guerline again. “Guerline of house Hevya, you must stand above us all, to bear with fortitude the power given to you this day. Do you accept this crown?”

  “I do,” Guerline said. A weight seemed to lift from Eva’s own heart as Guerline’s voice rang out, clear and steady.

  While the hall cheered, Piron placed the combs gingerly into Guerline’s braid, one on either side of her head, so that the chain went across her forehead and the crystals spiked just behind the knot of red twists. When he stepped aside to reveal her, crowned, more gasps filled the hall—those simple crystals, with the light in them, reaching for the sky, made Guerline look like a goddess.

  Piron, smiling, raised a hand for silence as he returned to the center of the dais. When he received it, he lifted the glittering trident, the light glinting off the three prongs, sharp where the light off the crystals had been soft.

  “The trident represents the might of Arido, uncontested in all the world, devastating where it is directed in rage and enlightening where it is directed in compassion,” Piron said. Again, he faced Guerline. “Guerline of house Hevya, you must stand before us all, to direct in good conscience the power given to you this day. Do you accept this trident?”

  Guerline took a deep breath and said again, “I do.”

  He handed the trident to her, and she took it in both hands. The priest stepped aside. Guerline looked out over the crowd, holding the trident at an angle in front of her, shoulders back and her face serious.

  “On this day, with all of you to witness, I vow that I will defend and honor all the people of Arido, that my every action as your empress will be made with the sincere intent of bettering your lives,” she said. “I vow that I will do so out of love, for this land and for my subjects, from now until my death.”

  Piron slipped off his great robe and held it high, and then walked in a circle around Guerline, intoning: “Lisyne, Great Wolf, O Mother of Arido, take her form and shield her from evil.”

  The singer-priests echoed the recitative while Piron lowered the robe onto Guerline’s shoulders, symbolizing Lisyne’s protection of her, just as
the crown and trident symbolized Guerline’s protection and defense of Arido. Evadine held her breath. It was almost over.

  “Good people of Arido, rejoice! I declare you are in the presence of Her Imperial Majesty, Guerline the first of House Hevya, Ruler of Arido, Keeper of the Altecs and the Lansing and the Loti, Commander of Magic, Mother of the Realm!” Piron roared.

  Eva’s hands soon numbed with clapping, but she did not stop; nor did anyone in the hall, who clapped and cheered as though it was the first time they had been called upon to do so that day. Guerline’s face cracked into a wide, giddy grin. She waved once, then looked over at Eva. It was as though Eva had been struck by lightning—she felt electrified and desperate to get out of that crowded, roaring hall. She went to Guerline’s side and took her hand, which Lina squeezed tightly.

  Eva escorted Guerline off the dais and down the aisle, setting an excruciatingly slow pace that Guerline luckily kept to; they walked out of the ballroom and down the hall, until they reached the Sitosen lift that would carry them high into the palace’s upper levels, back to Guerline’s tower chambers.

  “It’s over,” Guerline said, again and again, as they hovered near the doors of the lift. Somehow, they had outpaced the councilors and priests that had followed them out, and were now coming toward them.

  “Yes, Lina, it’s over,” Eva said.

  She pulled Guerline into her arms, and Lina returned the embrace with enthusiasm, holding Eva tight against her. Eva didn’t mind at all; she could feel the trembling in Guerline’s hands against her back, like she too was alive with a current that demanded motion. Eva looked back down the hall at the approaching councilors. There would be feasting the rest of the day on the shores of Lake Duveau, the High Summer’s Day festival, at which Guerline must make an appearance.