Ally of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “Haran taught that with faith, all things are possible,” Hien said. “The Jaoine Stones contain the distilled wisdom of Haran. In the challenge of faith, each candidate chooses a stone and interprets its meaning. Gizane of the Araton, Lady Fiona North, choose now.” She untied the mouth of the bag and held it out toward Fiona and Gizane, who now stood beside Fiona, her beautiful eyes sparkling with anticipatory glee.

  Fiona hesitated. Gizane reached for the bag. And Hien, swiftly moving it away from Gizane, upended the bag over the fire. Forty-nine ceramic chips cascaded over the pyramid to lie within the fire.

  “Choose,” Hien said.

  Gizane recoiled. “This is madness!”

  “Fiona,” Sebastian said.

  Fiona held up a hand to silence him. Her heart once more hammered in her chest. Hien couldn’t possibly know her secret. If this was some deep-laid plan to prove the North family tainted by inherent magic…no, that, too, was impossible. But Fiona absolutely could not put her hand into that fire. All her hiding, all her careful secrecy, gone in a moment.

  She looked at Hien, whose expression was as remote as ever. “Have faith in the purity of your intent, Fiona North,” she said quietly. “Have faith.”

  Fiona swallowed. She looked once more at the pyre, whose flames hadn’t died down after consuming the flammable liquid. It crackled a welcome at her, beckoning her.

  Fiona stripped off her robe and thrust it into Sebastian’s hands. She stepped up to the altar and examined it. None of the stones had fallen where they might easily be twitched free of the fire. Of course heaven wouldn’t have let that happen. Fiona took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and thrust her hand into the heart of the fire.

  The flames tickled her skin and curled the fabric of her cuff, browning it instantly. She scrabbled about trying to get her fingers around one of the slick round tiles, which was harder than she’d guessed. By the time she had a firm grip on one, her sleeve had caught fire, and she withdrew her arm and beat at the flames to put them out.

  The room had gone deathly silent. Gizane stared at Fiona with undisguised fear. Hien held out a hand. “The stone,” she said. Fiona dropped it into Hien’s outstretched hand, realizing too late that it would be searing hot from its time in the fire. But Hien didn’t react as if it hurt. She turned it over, examining the rune, which was orange and shaped like a curved triangle.

  “Honesty,” she said, then repeated herself in Tremontanese. “What do you say it means, Fiona North?”

  Fiona dusted off her burned sleeve, making a charred bit fall onto the pristine marble. “I think I just showed everyone what it means.”

  “Well said,” Hien said. “Gizane of the Araton, choose.”

  Gizane licked her lips, a swift, darting motion that didn’t seem to calm her. She, too, removed her over-robe, but dropped it on the floor when no one came forward to hold it. She approached the altar sideways, recoiling from the heat as if the fire were a poisonous snake, coiled to spring. Haltingly, she reached toward the fire. Fiona saw her assessing the altar, looking for a stone close to the edge and, as Fiona had done, finding nothing. Gizane closed her eyes, extended her arm—

  “No!” she shouted, yanking her hand back. “It’s impossible! There was some trickery—”

  Hien grasped Fiona’s burned sleeve, making more charred flakes fall. “No trickery,” she said. “Gizane of the Araton, heaven judges you guilty of the theft of the Jaoine Stones. Take her into custody pending execution.”

  Gizane didn’t resist as hands closed on her arms. As she stumbled away, Sebastian said, “I swear to watchful heaven I will learn to speak Veriboldan. What the hell just happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona said. “Gizane was found guilty. They’re going to execute her. She can’t become Queen. But—”

  “Extinguish the fire,” Hien commanded. “We will continue with the challenge of faith. And may you all witness, this day, that heaven’s miracles continue.” She looked directly at Fiona, and Fiona was sure she was the only one in the room who saw Hien’s left eyelid twitch in a faint but definite wink.

  She watched the rest of the challenge in a haze, translating for Sebastian absentmindedly, her thoughts circling round and round on what had happened. Hien couldn’t possibly have known Fiona could not be burned. She must believe a miracle had occurred. That thought made Fiona feel even worse than before. It was one thing to attend the Irantzen Festival under false pretenses, but to take credit for a miracle—no, Fiona couldn’t bear to lie to anyone about that, least of all Hien. But then, why did Hien wink? Maybe that meant she had known, after all—she was a priestess, and in favor with heaven, so maybe she’d had a revelation. But— Her thoughts went spiraling off again.

  Finally, Luken completed his challenge, and the three candidates left the room, followed by a trail of Veriboldan landholders. All of them cast sidelong glances at Fiona as they went. Hien wasn’t the only one who thought she’d seen a miracle.

  Fiona was about to follow the crowd when a hand took hold of her upper arm. “You will wait,” Hien said. Her grip wasn’t tight, but Fiona felt unequal to pulling free of her.

  When the chamber was empty except for Hien, Fiona, and Sebastian, Fiona said, “Why did you do that?”

  Hien shrugged. “I knew you would not remain silent. You had the Stones and you knew the right thing to do.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How did you know I wouldn’t burn?”

  She shrugged again. “Miracles happen.”

  Fiona bit her lip, fighting with herself. Sebastian startled her by saying, “You know that was no miracle.”

  Hien eyed Fiona. “No. I imagine you have inherent magic.”

  She said it so calmly Fiona felt numb. “What are…what will you tell people?”

  “Nothing,” Hien said. “You want it kept secret. I see no reason to change that.”

  “You know it’s a dangerous secret,” Sebastian said. “If people found out the Norths—”

  “You mean to ask if I will blackmail you,” Hien said. “That would be wrong. You need not fear me.”

  Fiona, unable to keep still, said, “But everyone thinks it was a miracle! You can’t let them go on believing that.”

  “And why not?” Hien fixed her eyes on Fiona, freezing her in place. “Heaven revealed to me what I should do to regain the Stones and prove Gizane’s guilt. That was a miracle. What does it matter if everyone believes the miracle was something else?”

  She clasped Fiona’s hand in hers. “Fiona North, you have a great gift,” she said. “It is unfortunate we live in a world where you must keep it hidden. But do not hide from yourself. Your vision was of change. Embrace that change. Stop being afraid—of your gift, or of your future.”

  Fiona couldn’t help it; she looked at Sebastian and as swiftly looked away. “I don’t know how,” she admitted. “I dream—”

  “You dream of fire. I know.” Hien gripped her hand more tightly. “But you just revealed your secret to the world and walked away unscathed. You will not dream that dream again.”

  Her absolute certainty touched Fiona to the heart. In that moment, she knew it was true. The bands around her heart loosened and broke free, dispelling some of the fear she’d lived with for years. “You’re right,” she said wonderingly. “How do you know?”

  “That you dream, or that the dream is over?” Hien smiled. “I do not share all my secrets with you. Now, go. I am afraid your miracle will overshadow the Election, but it is a small price to pay to have the Stones restored. And…thank you.” She bowed. Fiona bowed back.

  As they hurried through the corridors of the Irantzen Temple, Fiona said, “I’m not supposed to exert myself, remember? Slow down, please.”

  “Sorry.” Sebastian slowed to a walking pace. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Gizane is no longer a threat. We—you—returned the Jaoine Stones without getting killed. You just stuck your hand into a fire in front of dozens of Veriboldans, none of whom have any idea of your true s
ecret. And it’s not even noon.”

  “It should feel like a dream, but I’ve never felt more awake.” Awake, and light enough to float away. “I almost don’t care who ends up ruling Veribold.”

  “Neither do I,” Sebastian said. “I’ll leave that worry to Mother. We just have to witness the crowning of the new king or queen tonight, and then—”

  He fell silent. Fiona’s light, airy feeling vanished, leaving her cold and miserable. It wasn’t a few more days; tomorrow the Election would be over, and they would return to Tremontane, or not. And that would be the end. Despite her resolve, her heart ached.

  She walked beside him in silence through the Jaixante until they reached their carriage. When they were seated inside, Sebastian said, “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. I’m tired of traveling. I was thinking of staying in Haizea for a while. It feels so familiar now.”

  Sebastian’s lips quirked in a smile. “After being chased across it?”

  Despite her aching heart, Fiona smiled back. “Maybe because of that.”

  Sebastian looked out the window, and his smile fell away. “I’ll make sure you have enough to support yourself for a while. I owe you that much.”

  It was a kick to the chest. “This stopped being a business transaction weeks ago,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean owing you because you worked for me. I meant—damn it, Fiona, I can’t let you go without knowing you’ll be safe.”

  “I understand.” The ache in her chest threatened to overwhelm her. “Thank you.”

  “We should go on playing the part of the married couple. Anything else would expose you to criticism and mockery.” Sebastian turned to look at her. “We’ll stop in Haizea tomorrow after leaving the embassy and find you a place to stay. Then…”

  “Thank you.” She thought about telling him it wasn’t necessary, but she knew in her heart he wouldn’t forgive himself for simply leaving her on a street corner. This was the last gift she could give him.

  When they reached the embassy, Sebastian helped her out of the carriage and escorted her inside, just as if they were actually married. She went to her bedroom without saying anything and stripped off the robe, then stepped out of the ruined bodysuit and wadded it up and tossed it in a corner. Putting on a comfortable shirt and trousers, she lay back on her bed and let her mind wander. Just one more day. She didn’t know if that was too soon or far, far too long.

  39

  The grand pavilion looked even grander in the light of dozens of lanterns, whose golden light reflected off the black pillars surrounding it to reveal specks of glittering mica that hadn’t been visible the first time Fiona had been there. The overgrown garden, by contrast, was virtually invisible in the darkness. The golden flowers were indistinct, no more than dim, fuzzy spots of paleness against the dark vines and leaves. Fiona looked up at the evening sky, bright with stars as if heaven knew how momentous this evening was. Or maybe it was just luck. Either way, the night was beautiful, and the assembled people were silent, as if speech would ruin the beauty.

  Beside her, Sebastian stood still enough that he might have been a statue, once again clad in his archaic Tremontanan costume as she was. The gold satin gleamed like a living thing, warm and vibrant, and she thought about taking his arm and decided that was a terrible idea. Directly across from them Stannin stood, for once not looking about him with a puppyish eagerness. His eye fell on Fiona, making her feel embarrassed about having been staring at him.

  Stannin looked from Fiona to Sebastian and back again. A frown wrinkled his forehead briefly. Then he smiled and tilted his head in Sebastian’s direction, raising his eyebrows slightly. It was so clear an indication that he felt she should take Sebastian’s hand that she did so without thinking. Sebastian, startled, glanced her way, then looked down at their joined hands. Fiona blushed, but didn’t let go. It might be wrong, it might even be cruel, but she was about to lose him forever and her heart didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

  Sebastian smiled. His hand closed over hers more firmly. He said nothing, merely went back to watching the crowds, and for a moment the ache that had gripped Fiona all day retreated. When it returned, it was bearable, something she could ignore, and she was grateful for the touch of Sebastian’s hand.

  The gong at the far end of the pavilion sounded, and Fiona turned to watch the gauzy curtains pulled back. The Queen of Veribold, Ibarhe, stood framed by the curtains, this time clad in a long white robe whose hem trailed several inches behind her. She wore a toan jade around her neck, but this one had its edges gilded so it shone in the lamplight. Fiona bowed, mimicking Sebastian, as the Veriboldans all sank to their knees in respect. Ibarhe paused a little longer, then strode across the pavilion to stand in front of the gong. “Rise,” she said, and the Veriboldans stood.

  “My time is over, and a new beginning rises,” she said in a voice that carried the length and breadth of the pavilion. “You who would be One among Many, come forward.”

  The curtains parted again, and three figures clad in white robes like Ibarhe’s entered, side by side as they had done the first day and not single file like that morning. Alazne, Bixhor, and Luken walked forward until they stood at the center of the pavilion. There was no sign that Gizane had ever been meant to take part in this ceremony. Fiona shivered, feeling superstitiously as if Gizane had already been erased from Veriboldan memory. Maybe she had. Fiona didn’t know how soon the sentence of execution for theft of the Jaoine Stones had to be carried out. She was just as happy not knowing.

  Ibarhe regarded the three dispassionately. It made Fiona wonder if she had a favorite candidate. Surely the ruling Queen had some opinion on who a worthy successor should be.

  “The challenges are over,” Ibarhe said. “One has proven worthy above all others, worthy to rule Our Lady Veribold.” She paused, Fiona thought for dramatic effect, and said, “Bixhor of the Triminon, step forward.”

  The hulking Bixhor walked across the pavilion to kneel before Ibarhe, his arms slightly akimbo as if he wanted to wrestle her. Ibarhe said, “Do you swear to give the next seven years of your life in service to your country, to defend her against all comers, and to prove every day your worthiness to rule?”

  “I so swear,” Bixhor said. Fiona had never heard him speak before and was astonished at how beautiful his voice was.

  Movement caught her eye, and she turned to see two rows of Irantzen priestesses enter the pavilion, led by Hien. Hien walked forward until she was standing behind Bixhor, and the two priestesses at the head of the lines came to stand immediately behind and to either side of her. One bore a brass bowl wider than her arms were long, the other a length of undyed linen cloth.

  From his position, Bixhor couldn’t see Hien, but when she held out her hands, he took off his robe and held it up for her to take. Beneath the robe he wore a plain white singlet, and his body was as muscular as Fiona had imagined. Hien handed the robe to the priestess who held the cloth and accepted the cloth from her in exchange.

  “Bixhor of the Triminon,” Hien said, “we name you King of Veribold and wash you clean of your mortal concerns, that you may accept the burdens of the country without prior obligations.” The other priestess came forward and tipped the brass bowl over Bixhor’s head. Water poured out in a thin stream, cascading over his dark hair to spill across his face and shoulders and back. Bixhor stared straight ahead without flinching. When the bowl was empty, the priestess stepped back, and Hien draped the linen cloth around Bixhor’s shoulders in a gesture like robing a king.

  “Wash away your family commitments. Wash away the ties of blood. Wash away old promises,” Hien said. Bixhor took the cloth from around his neck and wiped the water from his face and arms. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and Fiona felt certain they were ritual. When he was finished, Hien accepted the cloth from him and traded it to the priestess for the robe, which she settled around his shoulders.

  “For seven years you are no more Bixhor of the T
riminon but Bixhor, King of Veribold,” Hien said. She nodded to Ibarhe, who removed the toan jade from around her neck and placed it around Bixhor’s. A sighing sound rose up from the audience as every Veriboldan once more went to their knees, making their silken robes whisper in quiet tribute. Fiona bowed as Sebastian was doing.

  Bixhor stood and turned to face the audience. “I will serve Our Lady Veribold with knowledge, wisdom, cunning, charisma, and faith,” he said in that beautiful voice. “We are one.”

  “We are one,” the assembled Veriboldans said.

  “Rise, and depart with my blessing,” Bixhor said.

  The Veriboldans stood raggedly, some more agile than others, and made their way through the entrance to the grand reception chamber. Fiona and Sebastian, at the back of the crowd, hung back. Fiona cast a glance at Hien, who was speaking to the new King as Ibarhe listened in. The mystique was gone; the three Veriboldans looked like ordinary people having a chat after some musical performance. Hien looked away and saw Fiona watching. The corners of her mouth twitched, and she nodded, the barest of movements. Fiona nodded back. It was the perfect farewell.

  “And so it is over,” Dekerian Nikani said, drawing Fiona’s attention. Nikani and Salena had also hung back, though Morten and Venelda were already gone. “It was intriguing. Though I think we will not choose to return for the next Election. I am not fond of being an outsider. What do you think, your Highness?”

  “I suppose it will be up to Mother who she sends,” Sebastian said. His hand closed more tightly on Fiona’s. “But I think not. I’m going to recommend she send someone who speaks Veriboldan.”

  “Ah, but you have such a lovely translator,” Salena said with a smile. “I understand, though. It is hard being at a disadvantage.”

  “Exactly,” Sebastian said. He let go of Fiona to offer his hand to Nikani, then Salena. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  Fiona, too, shook hands, then was startled by Stannin’s booming voice, saying, “Is good to here come again. Next we speak Veribold, yes?” He slapped Sebastian on the shoulder, making him stagger. “You husband, he good. Much love,” he added with a grin at Fiona. Fiona blushed.