Liam, Galen, and Gorse surprised me by replying as one: “We have brought such a person, great King of Andeluvia.”
“Then present the subject so that I may judge with mine own eyes.”
Gorse stepped forward and bowed before Fitzwilliam. “I present unto thee Dayna Chrissie of the Land of the Angels, she who unveiled the threat of the Darkness to my Aerie.”
Galen stepped forward next, bowed from his human waist, and then said, “I present unto thee Dayna Chrissie of the Land of the Angels, she who restored the Kingdoms of Centaur and Man to peace and friendship.”
Liam was the final one to step up. He made the same sweeping bow with his antlers that I found irresistibly cute. His voice echoed through the throne room on the heels of Galen’s. “I present unto thee Dayna Chrissie of the Land of the Angels, she who fought Sirrahon, the Stone Dragon, to save the Fey People.”
A nervous stir ran through the crowd at my back at that pronouncement. It reminded me of the griffins’ varied reactions to Belladonna’s wild prophecies. My guess was that the rumors of smashed forests and giant scaly beasts vanishing into thin air were starting to circulate beyond the court.
Fitzwilliam raised a hand for silence. He studied me intently, and though I knew it was just for the ceremony, the back of my neck prickled up. I felt waves of heat rise from my skin. Between his gaze from the front and those from the crowd at my back, I’d never felt more pinned in place, more exposed and under scrutiny in my life.
Finally, the King spoke. “I have seen into thy heart, Dayna Chrissie of the Land of the Angels, and I find thee worthy. Kneel before me so that thou may receive ascension to thy Damehood.”
I moved as if in slow-motion, and even then I almost fell to my knees. My legs shook as if they were made of soft rubber, but I managed to get into position. Fitzwilliam remained on the step above me. The window directly over his throne, complete with a stained glass depiction of a roaring dragon, allowed the sunlight to pour in. The King’s blond hair shone halo-bright as I looked up at him.
A shadow made the light flicker as the King raised his right arm straight up over his head. For a second, I thought that I spotted Albess Thea descending from the high rafters of the room. She had done so back when Fitzwilliam had been coronated, flying down from on high to place the crown upon his head.
But instead of the Albess, a trio of owls fluttered down, holding an object between them in their talons. I felt a chill as I realized that they were quite a bit different from the ones I’d seen before. The owls that ran Parliament were mottled brown-black on their bodies and their feathered ‘horns’. But these owls were the vivid color of butterscotch candy on their heads, horns, and backs, while their undersides were ivory-white.
The one in the middle bore a patch of dark brown feathers across its eyes and over its beak like a mask. The other two were simply huge, with wingspans that were almost double the size of the already large Parliamentarians. But all three had the flat, guileless eyes of predatory birds, without any of the warmth that shone through from, say, one of the griffins.
Instead of a crown, the three bore a sword. Wings flapping, they deposited the sword into the King’s hand then flew back up into the ceiling’s gloom. ‘Oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ came from the assembled crowd. I had to admit; it was an awesome bit of theatre.
Fitzwilliam brought the sword down and held it gently, handle resting in one hand, the flat side of the point in the other. Runes gleamed from deep inside the metal of the blade. He paused for a moment, and then spoke in a voice that rang through the entire room.
“I speak to thee now as monarch, Dayna of the Land of the Angels. If thou wouldst serve as Dame of this court, then thou must take the Oath of Fealty before all.”
I nodded silently, bobbing my head as if it was on a string. This was so much like something out of a medieval epic, it just didn’t feel real. And at the same time, it felt so crushingly real that I could hardly keep from trembling.
“Thou must promise to be ever faithful to thy lord,” King Fitzwilliam began. “Thou shalt observe homage to him and thy knightly order above all others in good faith. Swear it now.”
I swallowed, forcing spit down my parched throat, and croaked out, “I so swear.”
“Thou must mete out justice, but give mercy unto him that asks for mercy, and defend those of weaker countenance with honor. Swear it now.”
“I so swear.”
“Thou must observe all laws of the nobility, respect those who rightfully bear their coat of arms and sigils, and join in fasts, feasts, and offerings of the court. Swear it now.”
“I so swear.”
“And finally: if thou must place thy fortune, thy demesnes, or thy body in harm’s way to protect thy lord or to prosecute his cause in war or peace, thou must do so dutifully and without hesitation. Swear it now.”
My heart beat hard enough that my ears felt as if to burst. “I so swear!”
“Then I, King Fitzwilliam, son of the Good King Benedict and line of Julian the Conqueror, shall do my duty as ruler of Andeluvia!”
With that, the King changed the grip on his weapon. I expected him to give me a pair of light taps between the shoulder and the neck, the way Hollywood portrayed it. Instead, he struck each shoulder hard with the flat side of the sword, sending jolts of pain down the sides of my body.
Fitzwilliam’s voice rose to a booming roar.
“I dub thee DAME CHRISSIE!”
And for the grand finale, the King gave me a whack along the side of my head that nearly knocked me over. I didn’t just see stars. I witnessed entire planetary clusters bursting before my eyes. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
I felt Fitzwilliam’s hand on one of my bruised shoulders, steadying me. I didn’t know who to thank at the moment – him, or Lady Behnaz for giving me the pair of ankle-high booties. If I’d stuck with my high heels, then I would have been sprawled out on the floor like a party girl who’d taken one too many shots of tequila.
I was still blinking back tears of joy and pain as the King gently raised me to my feet and turned me to face the crowd. Well, there was one benefit of the headache that was starting to blossom behind my temples – I didn’t really care so much about being on display anymore. Though I’d have happily cut the ceremony short for a couple of extra-strength aspirin.
And then something occurred to me.
I’d put my butt on the line for the kingdom more than once now. I’d tried to help my friends as best I could, and at times it had felt incredibly frustrating. But now…it felt good, damned good, to be recognized for my efforts. King Fitzwilliam hadn’t put me through the Human Resources Department wringer. He hadn’t asked to see my resume, have me fill out application forms in triplicate, or told me to pee in a cup so that I could be tested for whatever substance I might have smoked back in college.
He just recognized my abilities. He recognized, and appreciated, what I had done for him and his father.
Given the way my luck ran, I’d probably regret it later on.
But for this one shining moment, I rather liked the way that Andeluvia handled things.
Chapter Seven
I was Dame Chrissie now.
Dame Chrissie.
Mentally, I took off the label and tried it on again, like I would if I put a sweater on backwards. No matter what I did, it still didn’t feel like a comfortable fit. I sighed to myself. I suppose, just like with that theoretical sweater, I would learn to ‘grow into it’.
At the King’s gentle urging, I stood to the right of his throne. Fitzwilliam took his seat and, looking appropriately regal, nodded or otherwise indicated recognition to each of the lords and ladies that came up to bow, first before him, and then to me.
Naturally, the monarch had the easier job. I still hadn’t mastered the version of the curtsey used in this world, and besides, it just didn’t feel appropriate for a knighting ceremony. So when someone did their bow or curtsey before me, I bowed back.
This
went fine for the first two dozen nobles and their retinues of the highest-ranked knights. When we’d gotten to the next dozen, I started to get a twinge in my lower back. By the time everyone had presented themselves before the throne, I was ready to quaff some Andeluvian ale and commiserate with Gorse about our aches and pains.
The whole ‘You bow to me, I bow to you’ thing had had its highlights as well. I’d spotted Grimshaw’s dignified eagle head, a new scar prominent at the brow, looming over the crowd in the third row. He was the first in line to pay homage, and he was practically kittenish in his excitement.
“So proud I am to address thee as Dame Chrissie!” he said, in the middle of his bow. His lion’s tail flicked back and forth like a golden switch as he did so. “Now, should we fall in battle, it shall always be as part of a royal mission. Thus our honor shall be doubled.”
“You always manage to find the bright side,” I said, as I made my own bow. In truth, nothing made me happier than to see him returning to his original ‘oh, ‘tis a marvelous time to perish gloriously’ attitude.
Other people kept their gloriously sour attitudes as well. Lord Behnaz bowed to me without comment, but he had an expression on his face as if he’d chugged a quart of spoiled milk and chased it down with a splash of castor oil. The young knight Sir Ivor couldn’t match the sourness, but he made up for it with a sneer. As for his father, Lord Ivor? I’d gotten warmer looks from a cop who’d just pulled me over for speeding.
After the lords and ladies finally finished parading by the throne, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open. The invited commoners exited noisily to the palace’s outer courtyards. Just as with Fitzwilliam’s coronation, the royal stewards had seen fit to throw a banquet with stations providing food and drink throughout the palace grounds. Around half the trumpeters swapped out their horns for other instruments and struck up a merry tune.
I still lacked the ear for my adopted world’s music. The melody played by the royal band was probably part of the Andeluvian Hit Parade, but to me it sounded like a bunch of people using out of tune bagpipes to butcher the Beer Barrel Polka.
The sound of someone clearing their throat knocked me out of my reverie. To my surprise, it had come from King Fitzwilliam. Now that even the nobility had dispersed to enjoy the music and fine repast, we were left attended only by a pair of royal pages.
He pointed at the pair. “Precede me,” he ordered.
The two young boys left hurriedly. The King sat back in his throne, looking at up me curiously for a moment before he spoke again.
“A crown for your notions.”
I’d heard both the King and Galen the centaur use this turn of phrase, which referred to the standard gold coin used for payment throughout the realm. The best I could figure, it meant ‘a penny for your thoughts’. I took a deep breath. There didn’t seem to be anything I could say of consequence after all the high ceremony I’d just been through.
“I don’t know that I have any notions in my head right now, your Majesty,” I said honestly. “Except…well, thank you. For all of this.”
“You need not thank me,” Fitzwilliam pronounced, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “There are many reasons I wished you raised above the salt. Some noble, some perhaps less so, but just as important.”
“Ah,” I replied cleverly. “Those reasons being?”
Fitzwilliam’s lips twitched into his uniquely catlike grin. “Wheels run within wheels, Dame Chrissie. I shall reveal more to you in time. And since we are speaking of wheels, I would like you to see about jamming yourself into one particular set of spokes for me.”
Oh boy, I found myself thinking. What was that I just swore? Something about putting my body in harm’s way without hesitation?
Aloud, I said: “Of course, Sire.”
“A knight or dame who has been newly dubbed is expected to see and be seen at the following banquet, should they be fortunate to have one. Most do not.”
“They don’t?”
“Many are knighted upon the field of battle, or immediately after the bloody contest is concluded. I suppose that it might be possible to hold a feast of some sort amidst the devastation and piles of the dead, but I think it would be in bad form.”
“No doubt, your Majesty.”
“But that is neither fish nor fowl to the matter at hand. I take it you noticed our new representatives from Parliament?”
I nodded. “They looked…formidable.”
“Well said. I would wager a sizable purse that they are too ‘formidable’ for the task of tax legislation. I don’t like or trust it one bit.”
“Neither do I. Who are they? A new species of owl?”
“Not that I can tell. Their coloration is more in line with Albess Thea’s, though not their military bearing. The two big ones are named ‘Nix’ and ‘Nox’. They are male, or at least sound as such to my ear. And the one with the mask-like markings is called ‘Raisah’. She is currently running Parliament in Thea’s unfortunate absence. And she claims to be the new leader of the owls’ Holy Order of the Sepulcher.”
I rolled that one around my head for a moment. Frankly, this Holy Order didn’t sound particularly warm and fuzzy. I shook my head before I found my voice again.
“Sire, surely the Albess wouldn’t appoint these owls if she had–”
“You strike in the gold. The Albess wouldn’t. And the Albess has been ‘indisposed’ and unavailable for me to visit for much too long.”
That sent a little dagger of ice into my chest. I’d thought that the Parliamentarians were being particularly pissy with me by playing ‘keep away’ with the Albess. But if they were denying access to the King himself? Whatever they were up to had to be serious.
“What is it you wish me to do to, Sire?” I asked.
Fitzwilliam got up from the throne. “When you are done mingling with the nobles, I want you to introduce yourself to Raisah and her twin guardians. I want you to begin by asking her a little about the Albess’ extended disappearance from my court.”
“And then?”
The catlike grin appeared on his face again. “Why, just do what seems to come naturally to you, Dame Chrissie.”
With that, Fitzwilliam made his way down from the royal platform and rejoined his pages, standing at attention by the far set of doors. I remained where I stood, dull aches radiating from the side of my skull, each shoulder, and the lower lumbar region of my spine. Maybe I’d taken that blow to the head too hard, as it took me a moment to figure out what I had to do.
What came naturally to me, so naturally that Fitzwilliam seemed to view it as a kind of weapon?
It came to me so suddenly that I had to suppress a snort of mirth. What Dayna Chrissie had been good at from Day One in this world was a single thing.
I was very good at digging out the truth of the matter at hand.
Yeah, that’s one half of it, my brain said, with a mental shake of the finger.
That was true. Looked at another way, I had a different gift.
I was very good at getting under people’s skins, no matter if they had armor, hooves, or feathers on top of it.
Chapter Eight
I’d been to more than a few parties before, especially in college. There were times I got to be the flirty one with the guys. Other times I was the ‘responsible’ one who held the keys so that other people could get smashed. This time was different, though. This time I just hoped that no one would think I was an insufferable snob.
I wandered through the palace halls and outside on the green, doing my best to look noble. Mostly that involved my nodding at people as I walked by with a confident-yet-serene look on my face. Getting into random conversations wasn’t a problem, however. Anyone dressed remotely like one of the nobles broke eye contact with me as soon as possible. And anyone dressed like someone outside the nobility never really made eye contact with me at all. They just stopped their conversation and inclined their heads towards me until I moved on.
Sociall
y, this ‘Dame’ thing was proving trickier than I’d thought it would be.
While the Andeluvians didn’t go in for the strict class separation that one might have found, say, in my own world’s Middle Ages, they didn’t exactly rub elbows. As with the coronation, I found that mixing was very limited. The tables lining the palace halls had been piled high with roast meats, fine wine, and pastries. Somehow, they were marked for the upper classes only.
Outside, the well-to-do common folk quaffed beer while making do with sausages and grilled vegetables. They raucously cheered as performers juggled the odd set of flaming torches and mummers in bright red masks did a mixture of mime and dance. I wasn’t sure that the music was much better. But at least the blatting of the horns mixed with the twang of lutes and the tap-tom-tap of drums that the musicians wore mounted in shoulder slings.
I walked past the rose gardens and then turned the corner of one of the palace’s wings until I spotted the Parliament building. As I’d guessed, the three owls that had dropped the sword Fitzwilliam used to rap me on the head waited there. They perched atop a T-shaped iron bar set into the turf, looking imperiously aloof as they scanned the rest of the partygoers. I’d taken only a few steps in their direction before I heard Liam’s voice call out to me.
“Pardon, Dame Chrissie.” Both Liam and Shaw came up to bow deeply before me. “We have been seeking your company.”
“Or at least thy greetings, if thou hast business elsewhere,” Shaw added. “Far be it from us to impose upon a Dame’s errands of the day.”
Galen quickly trotted over, his freshly polished hooves throwing up the occasional clod of turf. “I too wish to extend my congratulations, if by chance it is acceptable to you, Dame Chrissie.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on. Enough with the ‘Dame’ nonsense. Among us, I’ll always be Dayna, okay?”
“See?” Liam canted his head in Galen’s direction. “I told you what she would say, wizard.”
A Perjury of Owls Page 4