Page 57 of An Archer's Redemption

Nobles stood before benches in ascending rank, those highest in the order of succession standing nearest the dais. Most of the men wore powdered wigs, another tradition I had never understood or appreciated. Women wore gowns, outlandish hats, and jewelry designed to match every other woman in sight.

Rows of soldiers formed ranks along the aisle facing inward.

As the procession reached the far end where the throne had been installed for this day, I noticed foreign representatives standing before pews to my right. Tribal leaders from the islands of Vint wore brightly colored blouses with wicker hats adorned by even brighter plumes. Clan leaders from Baz were covered in dark fur from head to toe. The continent’s easternmost nations of Amnel, Pantrel, Orn, and Drea had also sent delegations.

The ancient isle of Rea Utu sent only one representative, a bent old crone who leaned on a gnarled staff and smiled at me through gapped teeth. I couldn’t turn to view the woman with the procession moving forward but felt a keen intelligence in her ancient gaze.

Last among the foreign dignitaries stood a lone Melucian.

At least a head taller than any of the other representatives, Keelan was a beacon in the night. The Palace staff had worked miracles with his uniform, and the golden Lieutenant’s chevron on his shoulder glittered nearly as brightly as my own trim. Conscious of the hundreds of eyes anticipating his reaction to the young Queen, he did not turn his head, but I caught a slight widening of his eyes as I passed.

My lips rebelled and curled a bit.

Before the final seat in the final row, the seat traditionally reserved for the Crown Prince or Princess, stood a terrified-looking Kendall. I shattered protocol of the tightly scripted ceremony and stopped to face my brother. His wide eyes rose to meet mine, and the loneliness I saw in his gaze pierced my heart.

I bent and cupped his cheek, then whispered, “I love you, baby brother. I’msoproud of you.”

Kendall gripped my hand with his own, kissed it, and eyed the impatient High Priest, who struggled to get my attention. I squeezed the boy’s hand one last time, then turned toward my duty.

We stopped before the first step of the dais, staring eye level at the Throne of Spires: a gaudy, gilded monstrosity that bruised the bums of kings and queens for generations. It was an impressive piece of furniture, but no monarch had ever admired it for its comfort. My father certainly hadn’t.

I groaned.

The back is padded, why not the seat?

The randomness of my thoughts kept some of the nerves at bay but nearly caused me to laugh aloud as the chamber reached a moment of utter stillness.

That moment passed with the rap of the High Priest’s staff, a whip-crack that brought me back to the present. I bent to rest my knees on the pleasantlycushionedfaldstool and continued gazing at the throne.

Minister of Justice Willa Parto, the first woman to ever serve on the Privy Council, appeared from behind the throne. Unlike the High Priest’s simple garb, Minister Parto’s robes billowed with splendor. Seven hues of green representing the seven forested regions of the Kingdom ebbed and flowed throughout her gold-trimmed gown, while three ancient chains of office dangled from her neck. A saucer-sized silver pendent depicting the scales of justice beneath a crown consumed the center of her chest.

Minister Parto looked down and offered a comforting smile.

“Your Majesty,” she bellowed for all to hear. “Your Royal Highness, Lords and Ladies, Honored Dignitaries, and guests, the King is dead. Now comes your Queen. Rise and face her.”

As one, the assembled nobles and dignitaries turned from facing the opposite benches toward the throne. I rose and, with a guiding hand from the High Priest, ascended the four steps, turned to face the crowd, and sat.

In that moment, looking out at the nobles,mynobles, the entire world settled onto my shoulders. I suddenly felt its weight pressing against my chest. I placed a calming hand to my stomach and sat up straight, just as my mother had taught me, breathing slowly and deeply.

The High Priest rose, stepped around the throne, and lifted the crown from its velvet pillow with both hands. He turned toward the east and bowed with the crown raised above his head. “I present to you Queen Jessia, your undoubted Queen. All you who come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?”

Those now facing the vicar cried aloud with one voice, “Aye, we will serve. HAIL, QUEEN JESSIA!”

He turned toward the south and repeated his call, then the west, and finally the north, each time receiving an even louderreply, as if each set of nobles sought to outdo the others in their public pledge to their new sovereign.

The High Priest bowed to Minister Parto and stepped back to allow her to step forward. Parto faced me from the side, bowed, then spoke.

“Madam, is Your Majesty willing to take the Oath?”

“I am willing.”

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Spires according to our laws and ancient customs?”

“I will.”

“By the Spirits, and before these witnesses, I beg Your Majesty, rise and make your pledge.”

I stood and drew one final breath of freedom, then spoke in a clear, unwavering voice.

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