Ember
Page 31
I shut my eyes and breathe. No. These are the very people for whom I need to be a voice. That is the base of the oath I am about to take.
I feel in my pocket for the pendant and come away with a few of the flowers from Alain's wreath. The rest of it now adorns Navigator's bridle. He's too proud to pull the carriage, but he is happy enough to parade alongside it. One friendly face, at least.
I have enough time to push the petals back down into the pocket when Riley jumps from his seat to get the door and extends his arm to help me. Without thinking, I hop to the ground without taking it and make another face. Then I realize where I am.
The cathedral courtyard is absolutely ringed with spectators, some in green, some in blue, others in whatever they have. And it is silent. I hadn't expected cheers, but a murmur, something. With damp palms, I fold my hands in front of me, and calling to mind etiquette lessons of old and so many hours with a book balanced on my head, I lift my head and walk.
The silence ends with a synchronized shuffle as everyone in the cathedral rises to watch me walk in. Every pair of eyes. Get used to it, Caelin. It was easier to break up the wedding.
The choir takes up the island hymn. The attendants have all been thoroughly checked for any enchantments this time. I find my way to the archpriest of Elyssia, who gives me a wink. I've not seen him much since I was a child, but I remember him refraining from chastising me from playing with the walls of water. He begins, his voice grand and booming. I remember to kneel as instructed.
I don't hear much of it, but I know the words by heart by now. Elyssia commits itself to your care. Do you swear to nurture it?
"I so swear," I manage.
Elyssia seeks your comfort in times of conflict and your guidance in times of peace. Do you give it?
"I give it gladly."
Elyssia begs your voice so that it may be heard by all the world. Do you speak for it?
"I speak with its many voices for the world to hear."
The archpriest steps aside. A pair of black dress trousers approach, one leg dragging behind the other. I glance up, even though I am not supposed to. Alain is already smiling. He knew I would look. With his hair trimmed, his bluish ears stick out, and his body seems bony with his shoulders so padded and crowned with gold epaulets. I try not to laugh, and he gives the slightest nod, as though giving me permission. I can't hold onto it, though. The oath of fealty is usually reserved for a husband, a wife, a mother, a brother, but I wanted Alain, and I have been up for nights wondering what he might say.
"I did not choose you," he begins at last. "In fact, I was sworn against you, but you had other thoughts, as usual. You listened to a dirty, ragged, broken slave against all advice and judgment—especially mine—and freed him. You have doused the fires of war, no matter whose ember sparked it. You have spoken to the world, and it has heard—in Elyssia, the fallen can be laid to rest in dignity, the hobbled can be healed, and the sullied made clean, no matter which color they wore. In Elyssia, we will be heard. In Elyssia, no one is infallible, but all deserve a chance at forgiveness. You demand this knowledge of your people, but most of all of yourself. We may have not chosen you, but you have chosen all of us. May we prove worthy."
My face is wet with tears again, damn it all, but this time, I turn my eyes upward and let him see. He smiles again, no different from that weary lopsided grin he gave me in the tunnel. He turns to Riley, who proffers the pillow which holds the tangle of vines, curled around sapphire buds, the sister to my armor. Alain lifts the crown. "Caelin Aurelia Geraldine Lightholder," he says, unable to hold the smile at bay, as much as he seems to be fighting. "I offer you this crown in fealty and in love."
"I accept your love and this crown," I blurt.
Shit. I've mangled it. It was supposed to be crown, fealty, love. I never liked that second word. Also, I'm pretty sure queens don't say shit, even in their heads. The archpriest waits patiently for Alain to struggle to his knee, takes up the crown, and places it on my head. "Rise, Caelin, Queen Regnant of Elyssia. Long live the Queen."
My ears are absolutely drowning in shouts, but there's one voice that sticks out, because it's directly in my head. Made it, Alain adds.
The recessional breezes by. At the exit, Alain is allowed to take my arm, though not before making a bow. A prince consort does not enjoy the same liberties as a king. Not yet. We have this courtship rubbish to handle first. I do give his arm a squeeze to let him know what I think of this fealty business, which is not much.
The veil is lifted from the glass of the carriage, and we are ushered in. The crowd falls strangely silent. It would be customary to keep shouting wishes for my long life, but I won't command words that they don't want to give.
And then a stranger thing happens. It starts with a few, but slowly, it grows. I've heard it in the taverns and in schools and under the breaths of workers before. It's a song, a praise of the kings and queens of Elyssia. And it's not just the workers or the merrymakers. Many of those in Legion green add their voices, too, without irony, without threat. It's raucous and loud and out of tune, but I wouldn't trade it for the choir lifting their song to the very top of the cathedral.
Alain leans forward. "They've chosen you after all," he says.
May I prove worthy.
Acknowledgements
He already got the dedication, but I still owe about a billion and a half thanks to my husband, Jason, who did almost everything except type the manuscript: a good chunk of the editing, the publicity, the formatting, manning the numerous accounts necessary to self-publishing, and countless hours of ego-bolstering, comforting, and talking through the plot holes. (Also, thanks for not being mad at me for writing the first draft of this on our honeymoon.)
Jason Nguyen, whose beautiful art was already a topic of conversation in our household, deserves several million thanks for his stunning cover artwork. Thanks also to Maria for her fetching design work for the cover text.
To Stephanie, whose advice, editing, historic footnotes, and sarcastic marginalia got me through the long slog of revisions, thank you (and for that gorgeous stick figure of Caelin you drew me once). To Emily and Michael for their enthusiasm and hard work on the upcoming serial podcast. Matt for his helpful marketing advice. Christopher for his appropriately painful critique, Paul for his amiable and thoughtful input, and the pair of you for constantly giving my imagination a workout.
To Dana and Kelsey and Amanda, whose encouragement and support has always meant so much, but never more than now. To my parents, who didn’t disown me for wanting to get a degree in creative writing. To my Dungeons and Dragons players who’ve cheerfully endured weeks of alternate games while I scrambled to get this thing out, and to my amazing coworkers who have cheered me on and up and sideways through the whole process.
And to you, reader, for letting me tell you a story for a little while.
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Table of Contents
Section 1
Section 2