The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3) (16 page)

In keeping with rules of rank, Suzenne fell several steps back so Maia could enter the room well before her. Designed as a half circle, the enormous room was dazzlingly appointed. Rings of stuffed leather-and-wood seats were arranged in concentric rows around a carved, polished throne chair stationed before several enormous stained-glass windows. The rich wainscoting on the walls was a buttery brown color that shimmered with bronze and gold touches. A large chandelier hung over the center, and Leerings for light had been fixed into pillars along the walls. The workmanship was more than fine—it almost assaulted the senses with its lavish detail. It reminded her of the Rood Screen of Muirwood, only more luxurious and costly.

The members of the Privy Council rose as she entered and made her way down the center aisle toward the throne. She received nods of attention from the Earl of Caspur, his graying hair and pointed beard dipping dramatically as he bowed to her, as well as the mayor of Comoros, Dodd Price, and several others whom Maia had appointed to the council. The first seat was taken by Richard Syon, of course, and she noticed that her old friend looked about as comfortable with the setting as she was.

She could feel their eyes on her, weighing her choice of gown, the simplicity of her style. They were all careful to guard their expressions, but she could sense a growing unease in the room. This was the first time a woman had ruled Comoros. She was intruding on a lair that had been dominated by men for centuries.

They were all watching her. They were all curious to know how she would react. She felt a flush start to rise on her cheeks, and her stomach clenched with nervousness.

Maia paused before the throne at the head of the room, unable to mount the steps to the seat. It would put her above everyone else around her. Her father had done that deliberately, she knew. She turned and faced them from the floor, feeling the strangeness of the moment as a physical weight. The others awaited her signal to sit. She acknowledged that by nodding for them to seat themselves.

Memories began to unwind in her mind. Years ago, Chancellor Walraven had arranged for her to be sent to the borders of Pry-Ree to settle land disputes. She had seen a functioning Privy Council before. She knew how to rule. But she also realized that what she did outside this chamber would have more meaning to the people than what she did inside it. It was how she chose to treat her servants, down to the lowliest ones, that would matter most. Still, she needed her councillors on her side. How best to approach the situation?

If Collier had been there, as Earl of Dieyre, it might have been different. People would have looked to him, a king in his own right, to lead the conversation.

She folded her hands in front of her, still standing before the throne chair without sitting in it. She looked at each of those assembled, one by one, gazing into their eyes and nodding to them. She tried on a smile, which felt a little forced. “There is a saying in Pry-Ree,” she began. “
Os nad iditch in gweebod forth, certheth in araf.
If you do not know the way, walk slowly.”

Some of them chuckled nervously.

Maia then sank to her knees before them. “I cannot walk slowly, so I must kneel and beg your help. I am here before you reluctantly. I am young and inexperienced with the ways of men. We have a foe who seeks our eternal destruction. A foe that is even now summoning their forces to crush us, to destroy our beliefs, to make the rest of the kingdoms cower in fear and obeisance.” She shook her head slowly. “I do not know how long the Medium will have me be your queen, but I know there are enemies in our realm that we must face together. There is distrust and rancor amongst our people. It is the duty of every leader to protect her people, even at the risk of her own life and comfort. It is my solemn intention to carry out the task the Medium has given me to the public good and to the benefit of all of my subjects.” She sighed deeply. “I have entrusted my affairs and myself to you, my councillors, and I urge you to be faithful to the oaths you have sworn. To be loyal to me as your queen. To follow the example I give you, I who am only following the examples of others greater than myself.”

When she looked up at their faces, she was surprised to see tears in their eyes, especially Lord Paget of Bridgestow, whom she remembered of old. Her Pry-rian words had touched his heart for certain. They were staring at her in amazement, as if they had never seen or heard such a thing before.

“I will give my last drop of blood to save our kingdom from the Naestors,” Maia vowed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Coronation Day

I
t felt to Maia as if the entire world had filled the streets of Comoros. The sound of the crowd was as deep and penetrating as the rush of wind in a storm. The noise of the congregation could be heard within the palace walls, and when the outer doors opened, it flooded into the bailey and made several of the servants gasp with shock.

The procession was long and solemn, its order and scope prescribed by the traditions of her people. The front was led by the gentlemen of the realm, or at least those who had left their Hundreds to support the anointing of the new queen. Hailing from obscure Families as well as famous ones, there were easily two hundred of them. They walked in rows, two by two, either flanked by a spouse or one of their fellows. They were followed by the knights of the realm; the city ealdermen of Comoros; and the mayor, who walked with his head held high and a jubilant smile on his face as he waved to the assembled crowds.

The streets had been shoveled, broomed, brushed, and scrubbed in preparation for this day, all of which had tamed the fetid odors. The windows had been cleaned and polished, besides, with fresh paint or lacquer applied to the beams and struts of the houses and gutters. Fragrant garlands hung from the maypoles, and the streamers shimmered in the air. There would be dancing after the coronation. The faces in the mob were eager, the short straining against the tall to get a better view. Every window was jammed with people on every floor, and some brave souls even strutted up on the rooftops for a better vantage point. They murmured and talked as the procession marched solemnly past, walking along a carpet of blue cloth that had been laid from the marble porch of Pent Tower all the way to Claredon Abbey.

Maia’s stomach twisted with nervousness, and though she tried to steady herself, to feel the subtle impressions of the Medium, she could not. Sabine stood at her elbow, her presence a comfort. Of course, it would be Aldermaston Wyrich, the newly appointed Aldermaston of Muirwood, who performed the ceremony, not her grandmother.

“It is normal to be nervous,” Sabine whispered in her ear. “I would entreat you to enjoy the moment, but I know you will not. I am always uneasy in crowds.”

“I did not know so many people could even fit in the city,” Maia answered, her voice strained.

Sabine smiled. “They have come from all the Hundreds, dear one. All who wanted to come. Some have been walking for days. A coronation does not happen often in a lifetime. The coronation of a woman to rule? Never.”

Maia sighed as she watched the Privy Council join the procession next, led by Richard Syon. He looked grave and dutiful, a sharp contrast to the flamboyant mayor, Justin, who had worn his finest tunic, cape, and gloves. The Privy Council was followed by three knights who carried the naked blades of their maston swords, representing justice, the Medium, and mercy. They were followed by Captain Carew, who bore the sword of state. He too wore his most outlandish fashions, and she noticed an earring in his ear.

Maia swallowed—it was nearly her turn. She pursed her lips, trying not to be sick.

She dreaded what was coming. Part of the ritual involved her removing her gown down to her chaen. A canopy would be held around her to preserve her modesty, so only a few select individuals—those closest to her in the procession, meaning all those who were currently a part of her Privy Council—would witness the moment when the Aldermaston anointed her with the Chrism oil. Those few would see the brand on her shoulder; they would see the kystrel’s stain on her breastbone.

“What if they reject me?” she whispered to Sabine, her voice throbbing with suffering.

“I removed the binding sigil,” her grandmother replied, “so we can explain the situation to those who do not know. You are a maston, Maia. You made your oaths to uphold the Medium’s will. The symbol of the chaen is a more sure witness to who you are than the hetaera’s marks. If we sought to change the ceremony, to conceal the truth, it would only create more suspicion and doubt. Aldermaston Wyrich already knows the truth. So will the Privy Council. They
must
know it, and they
will
support you.”

Maia felt a little faint as she watched Dodd begin to march. As the new Earl of Forshee, Dodd carried the velvet pillow with her crown. Richard Syon’s wife, Joanna, carried the Cruciger orb on another pillow. The Earl of Caspur bore the scepter, which was made of solid gold, wreathed with ornate designs, and topped with enormous sapphire gems.

And finally it was her turn. Sabine squeezed her arm one last time and let her go. She would follow in the crowd behind. The High Seer was not part of the ceremony, her position being dominant over all the rulers of the realms.

Maia sucked in her breath and started to walk. Her royal gown was simple and beautiful, but it would be changed once the anointing was complete. Another gown awaited her at the abbey. Her train was carried by Suzenne, the Countess of Forshee, and they were followed by the other ladies-in-waiting whom Maia had chosen to serve her.

As she trod on the rumpled blue cloth, gazing straight ahead with as much dignity as she could muster, there was an audible sigh from the crowd, and a hush quickly fell across those who had assembled to watch the auspicious occasion. She saw men doff their hats and crush them against their shirts. Women bowed and curtsied as she passed by them. Though she longed to stare at her people, Maia maintained the tradition and kept her eyes fixed on the abbey spire. There was a tradition that queens be carried in a litter—that was the way Lady Deorwynn had insisted upon—but there was also another tradition for going on foot, which Maia preferred. Her hair was down and full, decorated with no braids or ornaments.

The procession to the abbey was not long, but to Maia it lasted an almost unendurable time. She had never been the focus of so many eyes. She wondered, darkly, if the kishion was among those who watched her. She did not doubt that he was, and the thought caused a chill to seep into her bones. She wished Collier had been able to attend the occasion. She knew from Simon that he had landed safely in Dahomey, but that was all she had heard.

The abbey grounds had been decorated for the occasion, but her heart was beating hard in her chest and she barely paid attention to her surroundings as she entered the main gates, glancing up at the tall archway and blinking back at the bright sunlight. A large platform had been erected in the middle of the courtyard where the ceremony would take place. She saw the canopy screen being held in the ready. On each side of the courtyard, benches had been constructed, and the choir from Assinica had assembled, a group of at least a hundred men, women, and even children.

She saw Aldermaston Wyrich awaiting her at the head of the platform, a tall, stately figure. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he stared at her with a peaceful, reassuring look, as if he saw her fears and concerns and hoped to soothe them.

The constant regret of what had happened to her in the lost abbey pressed down on her more than ever. But she marched forward, determined to face her humiliation with as much dignity as possible.

The inner courtyard was teeming with the nobles of the realm. Flags fluttered in a small breeze. Those bearing the royal regalia mounted the steps in front of her and arranged themselves around the Aldermaston. Maia came forward and then knelt on a cushion in front of him. He gave her a warm smile and winked affectionately, a final attempt to calm her.

The Aldermaston turned to those assembled. “My friends, here present is Marciana, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of maston and man to the Crown and royal dignity of this realm of Comoros. This day she is appointed by the peers of this land for the consecration, inunction, and coronation of said most excellent Princess Maia.” He smiled benevolently, his voice easy and unpretentious, his accent only adding to the richness. He was an excellent speaker. “Will you serve, at this time, and give your will and assent to the same?”

Maia trembled on her knees, waiting to hear her people’s pledges. They came in a rush of sound, filled with enthusiasm and forcefulness.

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

The sound sent shudders jolting through her, and she felt, for the first time that day, the whispering of the Medium. It brought a feeling of warmth, of approval, and most importantly, of peacefulness. Within the grounds of Claredon Abbey, she had found the reassurance she had not felt in the palace. She closed her eyes as the Aldermaston laid his hand on her head.