“What’s going on? We saw part of the outer city in flames, and we were stopped time and again by guards who reminded us of the curfew and demanded our papers. There’s a mage at the palace gate—”
“I know, Your Highness. Or should I say, Your Majesty,” Tice replied with a sigh, seeming not to notice when Kiara winced at the title. “I’m afraid that the letters you’ve received in the last months from your father, and even the most recent letter from Allestyr, dared not convey just how dire things have become.”
“The outer city looks as if a war has been fought there.”
Tice moved toward the fireplace, beckoning for them to take their seats. A table filled with breads, honey cakes, and dried fruit waited there, along with a decanter of brandy and a pitcher of warmed wine. “I’m afraid that ‘war’ is an apt description. Despite the valiant efforts that Cam and the Veigonn, along with the army, have made against the Divisionists, Isencroft is only a breath away from civil war.” Tice looked more tired and much older than Kiara remembered, and his shoulders slumped as he shared the news.
“In the weeks since your father’s death, there have been riots. With most of the army in the field to meet the enemy from the north, we had no choice but to enforce a curfew and restrict movement throughout the city.” He shrugged. “You can see from the fires in the north ward how well that’s working.”
“What purpose does burning down the city serve?” Kiara demanded as Balaren forced a hot cup of tea and a wedge of cheese into her hands.
“None at all, save as a message that frightened, angry people feel that events have gotten out of hand,” Allestyr replied. “This year’s harvest wasn’t enough to make up for the past several bad years. In fact, by normal standards, this was a poor harvest. That it looked good by comparison only tells you how bad it’s been lately.”
He sighed. “Few people are starving, but there’s little to go around in some parts of the kingdom, and not enough surplus elsewhere to make up for it. Margolan and the other kingdoms had poor enough harvests that there’s no relief to come from importing grain. People look to the king to make it right, but there’s little the crown can do. We’ve already stopped patrolling the kings’ forests, leaving them open for poachers who need to feed their families. By the end of the winter, I won’t be surprised if much of the kingdom is getting by on potatoes and rabbits.”
“And the war?”
Allestyr gave a bitter smile. “Which one? Even the Veigonn couldn’t keep peace in the city. The army scattered the Divisionists, but I don’t think they’re really gone. There’ve been fires throughout the city for weeks now, ever since the bulk of the army left for the war front. The guards say that there have been murders, down in the ginnels, in the worst sections of the city. Butchering is more like it. Not even the burial mounds are safe. Why someone would want to dig up the dead is beyond me, but then again, people snap when the fear and the anger get too bad.”
Kiara sipped the tea, welcoming its warmth and hoping that it would steady her as the weight of Allestyr’s revelations sank in. “How was the news received when father died?” she asked quietly.
Allestyr looked pained. “We waited to announce the death until Count Renate was sworn in and other… precautions… were taken. Most of the city reacted with mourning. In some quarters, however, the mood was more… triumphant.”
Kiara winced. “I’m assuming no public ceremony was held?”
Tice shook his head, taking a few steps closer. “We didn’t think a large gathering was prudent, given the circumstances. Bells were rung to call the city to mourning, but the body was burned on a pyre in the inner courtyard, with only the Council of Nobles and the palace staff as witnesses. Even then—” He hesitated, and Allestyr gave him a sharp warning glance.
“If I’m to be the queen in fact as well as name, you can’t hide unpleasant truths,” Kiara said evenly. “I’m not a child.”
Tice look a deep breath. “Apologies, Your Majesty. Those who care about you want only to protect you. But you’re right. You must know. Even with so small a crowd, one man came at Wilym with a butcher knife. The man was the father of the servant who set the mechanism in place that killed your father, the servant who was hanged for the murder of the king. The father was screaming about his child being bewitched, about avenging the family’s honor.”
Kiara looked at him, appalled. “What happened?”
Tice grimaced. “The man was struck down by one of the guard’s arrows. Count Renate came to no harm. The pity is, I wouldn’t doubt that the man’s story was true. It’s possible that the servant was bewitched, or at least didn’t fully understand the seriousness of what was being done.”
“How is Count Renate adapting to his regency?”
Allestyr chuckled. “Well enough. But he has asked every day if we’d heard when you were due to arrive. He’d like nothing better, I wager, than to quit the city with its fires and riots and leave for his country home.”
“And yet, with war coming, even that’s not assured to be a haven, is it?” Kiara mused, watching the tea leaves swirl in the bottom of her cup.
“No, m’lady. I’m afraid not.”
They were silent for a moment. Kiara finally set aside her cup. “Well, I’m here. What must be done?”
Tice and Allestyr exchanged glances. “We’ve crowned you by proxy, but now that you’re here, it’s best to waste no time to make everything completely official. Tonight, we’ll convey the crown. By law, you must make a public appearance as the new queen a day after accepting the crown to show that power has transferred from the regent to you as the rightful ruler. You can make your appearance from a palace balcony, far away from the crowd.”
Kiara shuddered. “Tris was nearly killed from an archer in the palace crowd.”
Tice nodded. “Brother Felix will construct a warding between you and the public. That lesson was not lost on us.”
Kiara frowned, going over Tice’s words in her mind. “You said I had been crowned ‘by proxy.’ What exactly did you mean? I’ve felt the regent magic stir for several weeks now, as if it’s grown more powerful. Would naming Renate as regent cause that?”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Allestyr began to pace. “I’d prefer to have Brother Felix explain it. He should be joining us soon. Since we weren’t sure exactly when you would arrive, there are some final preparations to be made.” He paused. “We’ll need to explain the ritual and coach you on your part. While Brother Felix attends to the magic elements down in the necropolis, Tice and I can help you prepare.” Allestyr glanced over to Royster, who was doing his best not to look like he was eavesdropping.
“As the Head Keeper at the Library of Westmarch, Royster’s spent his life studying and archiving scrolls and other magical items,” Kiara said. “Perhaps he can be with us while I prepare. He might have some insights into how the regent magic is tied into all of this.” At her words, Royster beamed and practically danced over to join them.
“As you wish,” Allestyr replied. “It will take about a candlemark to have the ceremony ready. In the meantime, rest and eat, and then we’ll begin your preparations.”
There was a knock, and one of the guards opened the door for Count Renate to enter. “Your Majesty!” Renate hurried over. He was in his middle years, with dark hair touched by gray at the crown and temples. The man made a low bow and knelt to kiss Kiara’s hand. “Welcome home, Kiara.”
“Count Renate,” Kiara murmured, motioning for the man to rise. Renate had been one of her father’s favorites among the nobility. He was plain-spoken and without the affectation of some of the lords. Renate was an intelligent man with a quick wit, deep loyalty, and, to Donelan’s great admiration, a sixth sense about where to find deer in the forest. Now, as Kiara met Renate’s gaze, the man looked much older and more worn than she remembered.
“Thank you for all that you’ve done for Isencroft, safeguarding the crown in my absence.”
Renate made a d
ismissive gesture. “I appreciate your thanks, m’lady, but it was the least I could do for such a friend as your father has been to me over the years.”
“You don’t look well,” Allestyr said with concern.
“Just a poor night’s sleep,” Renate replied. “Dark dreams. They look ridiculous by day, but in the middle of the night, such visions are troubling.”
Kiara met his eyes. “Please tell me, what were your dreams?”
“Nothing to trouble you about, my dear. Just an old man’s indigestion.”
Kiara took his hand. “My husband is a powerful mage. I’ve learned that things like dreams are not to be dismissed lightly.”
Renate sighed. “Very well. I dreamed that there was a dark, swift river running under the palace. I saw a bridge, swept away on a flood swell and carried along the river’s course. Beside the river, where the bridge had been moored, I found a small rag doll, a poppet like children play with. That’s the strangest thing. It was warm in my hand, and I swear that I saw it breathe.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Then I awoke. As I told you, m’lady, I’m sure it was no more than the legacy of last night’s dinner, returned to haunt me.”
Kiara saw Tice and Allestyr glance sharply at each other, though they said nothing. “I’m sorry that your sleep was troubled,” Kiara replied. “I hope that your rest tonight will be unbroken.”
“And yours as well, m’lady. Although I wish it were under happier circumstances, welcome home.” Renate bowed and took his leave.
Tice looked to Kiara. “There’s much to be done. Let’s go to the library so that you can prepare for tonight’s ritual without being disturbed. There’s a litany you’ll need to learn, and we’ll talk you through what you’ll need to know when you go before the Oracle—and the spirits of your Ancestors.” He glanced around. “You left Jae in your room?”
Kiara nodded. “He was happy by the fire.”
“Very well then. If you’ll follow me, Your Majesty.” Tice motioned for Kiara, Cerise, and Royster to follow him up the stairs. Balaren and Antoin fell into step behind them. Patov, one of the vayash moru guards from Margolan, and Jorven, a vyrkin, walked a few paces behind.
Within a candlemark they had completed their preparations. Tice led them from the library into the necropolis. Kiara repressed a shiver. The necropolis seemed different than the last time she had visited these dark passageways, more than two years before. Now, Kiara was aware of the presence of silent figures in the shadows, as if the ghosts whose bones rested in neat piles along the corridors gathered along the walkways, watching. The air seemed heavy with power, making it difficult to breathe. Magic, old and powerful, clung to the passageways. It reached out to her, as if it were looking for a sign, a confirmation.
Brother Felix awaited them in the room where the ritual would be performed. Antoin and Captain Remir stood guard next to the doorway. Tice, Allestyr, Kiara, Cerise, Balaren, Royster, and the vyrkin, Jorven, filed into the room, and Antoin pulled the heavy, iron-bound oak door shut behind them, locking it. Torches flared in sconces around the walls, casting the room in a play of light and shadows. Kiara glanced toward the ceiling. The line of runes marked at the top of the walls were shifting and growing brighter and darker; it was no trick of the light or her imagination. Beneath the runes, a row of skulls stared down into the room, and Kiara could hear whispers, as if the spirits of the skulls awaited the night’s working. Around the walls were intricate mosaics in the heraldic patterns of the eight clan lords, the warlords who had forged a kingdom out of warring tribes centuries ago.
Brother Felix bade them take their places in a circle around the room. He moved behind them, chanting a warding. Kiara could hear only snatches of his words, but she knew that he invoked the spirits of the fallen kings of old and asked for the protection of the ancient clan lords on the night’s working. She looked at the faces of those who had accompanied her, both witnesses and guardians. In every face, she saw a flicker of apprehension that mirrored her own.
A stone pedestal stood in the center of the chamber. On it was an ornate silver chalice and wooden box. The box was covered with Noorish inlay, and the complex parquetry formed an intricate design. Next to the chalice lay a golden crown set with jewels.
“Welcome, Your Majesty.” Brother Felix knelt in front of Kiara and kissed her signet ring. “I’m sorry that Cam and the others can’t join us for this ceremony,” he said. “They were present for the working that crowned you by proxy, but they’ve gone to the battlefront.”
“Let’s get started,” Kiara said, hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt.
Brother Felix motioned toward the items on the pedestal. “Tonight, we activate your full regent magic and convey the crown in both power and law. The public coronation ceremonies are for show; they carry on the tradition in front of the people, but the real conveyance takes place here, as it always has.”
He picked up the goblet, which was filled with red wine. “In many ways, the ceremony is similar to a ritual wedding. Your blood and the blood of witnesses are mingled in the wine, which you drink. Some of the wine will be sprinkled on the crown, sharing your life force with it, as it were. We hold the ceremony here in the necropolis so that the transfer of power from one generation to the next is witnessed by both the living and the dead.
“As we’ve discussed, after the ceremony, you will spend the night in the mausoleum room, where the kings of Isencroft and their most trusted seers have been laid to rest for hundreds of years. It’s then that the regent magic is activated, and you stand among the bones and ashes of your forefathers, who give you counsel.”
Kiara nodded. “And the box?”
“A magical item was used as a proxy for you, so that we could assure that nothing could challenge your claim to the throne. When the full regent magic activates, the power will pass from the proxy to you.”
Kiara took a deep breath. “All right then. I’m ready.”
Chapter Twelve
Brother Felix removed a coil from his belt. What Kiara had at first glance taken to be rope, she now recognized as a sorcerer’s cord, used to create a second circle of warding. Tice, Allestyr, Kiara, Cerise, Balaren, Royster, and Jorven stood in a circle, close enough to touch each other, with the pedestal in the center. Antoin and Captain Remir remained outside, on guard. Felix chanted in a low voice as he moved slowly around the small group, letting the coil slip to the ground to form a circle as he walked. Kiara felt the tingle of strong magic and thought she glimpsed a faint iridescence in the air when Felix had closed the circle.
Next, Brother Felix withdrew a jeweled ceremonial dagger from his belt. It glinted in the torchlight. A large ruby, a gem sacred to the Aspect Chenne, gleamed in the handle. Taking the chalice in one hand and holding the dagger in the other, he moved to Tice first. Tice held out his right hand, palm up. Felix made a cut on Tice’s palm deep enough to coat the edge of the blade in blood and then let the blood drip from the blade into the chalice so that it mingled with the wine. Slowly, Tice moved from person to person repeating the ritual, until he stood before Kiara.
Tice took Kiara’s hand. She steeled herself as the blade bit into her palm, cutting a thin line from the base of her longest finger to the heel of her hand. Blood welled up from the cut, and Brother Felix used the gleaming blade to flick drops of it into the goblet of wine.
“In the name of the kings and queens who came before,” he intoned, “we recognize Kiara Sharsequin as the true Queen of Isencroft.” More drops slipped down the blade into the wine. “The blood of her forefathers and foremothers runs through her veins, tying what is to what went before. Spirits of the fallen kings, hear me! Open your daughter to the magic that is hers by birthright. Let power flow through her like her sacred blood. Anoint her with the regent magic, and let what once was proxy now be fact.”
Felix passed the goblet to Kiara, who began to drink. Power crackled in the dusty air of the crypt. The wardings flared golden, plainly visible. Though the chalice was cool aga
inst her skin, the wine burned as it flowed down her throat, taking her breath like the strongest whiskey, sending a tingling sensation from her scalp to her feet that had nothing to do with alcohol. She tilted the goblet back and let the last drop of wine drip from its rim.
The box on the pedestal began to rock back and forth wildly.
Everyone startled and stared at the inlaid box, which continued to tremble. “What in the name of the Sacred Lady was that?” Kiara asked, her voice rough with the strong elixir.
“Don’t break the circle!” Felix warned. “We must complete the ceremony and then deal with the box.” The others stayed where they were, though they continued to stare at the trembling box.
Felix took the golden crown from the pedestal and nodded for Kiara to kneel. She bowed her head to receive the crown. “In the names of your forefathers and foremothers, in honor of the blood of kings and queens that flows through your veins, and by the power of Chenne, our Warrior and Protector, I crown you Queen of Isencroft.”
Felix ran his finger across the inside of the chalice. It emerged red with wine and blood. Reverently, Felix touched his bloody finger to the crown of Kiara’s head, and then to her forehead, throat, and breastbone. He wiped more bloody wine from the chalice and touched four gems on the crown, in front and back and on each side. He began to chant, swaying from side to side, as he lifted the crown into the air above Kiara’s head. The words were unfamiliar, but Kiara thought she recognized the language as the ancient form of Croft, used on rare ritual occasions.
Felix lowered the crown to hover just above Kiara’s head and made a pronouncement in the ancient language. “With this circlet, the power of the throne and the regent magic of your blood become yours, Kiara Sharsequin, Queen of Isencroft.”
The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two Page 17
