Page 76 of An Archer's Redemption

“How many are we up to now?”

“Four have been eliminated, though that number may have increased since I received my last report. In some of the larger towns, that still leaves vocal detractors, but we followed your instructions to limit the Five to one incident per town . . . for the moment.”

“Make sure our people remain true to the plan. The Constables are likely comparing notes and searching for a pattern. As long as we keep things limited, their trail will run cold.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Good.” I stood. “What of the capital?”

Danym’s brow furrowed. “Fontaine is . . . a challenge. The coronation was well received, and the new Queen rides a wave of popularity. This will change as her reign ages, but for the moment, the people flock to her whenever she leaves the Palace. They hang on her every word and gesture.”

“What else? I can tell you hold back.”

“It is the Temple, Excellency. Despite Irina going up in flames, adherents to the old religion remain strident in their beliefs. Our Priests have been welcomed with wary eyes, even when carrying blankets and food for the poorest in the city. It will take some time for the people to accept our presence and good intentions.”

“Press the Priests. I want Temples built in every city and town. Spring will be here in four or five weeks, and I want a toehold in each location by summer’s end. If we had more Gifted, this would go much faster, but use what we have.” I paused and thought a moment, then looked at Danym. “You have done well. Get some rest. I want you back in Fontaine as soon as possible. Our brothers in that city need your guidance, now more than ever—and I believe you have a date planned, do you not?”

Danym grinned as he nodded. “Oh, I do, Excellency. Your most generous offer should make for an interesting first audience with our young Queen.”

Chapter 33

Jess

Iadjusted the cushion, shifting from one tingling cheek to the other, wishing I had even more padding.

When a new monarch was crowned, every vassal and village presented letters offering their service to the new ruler. It was as if the Crown had been reinvented, and everyone was required to bend the knee all over again. I understood the significance of the tradition, as it forced even the most upturned of noble noses to lower themselves and pledge their fealty once more. They weren’t exactly making a new promise, more renewing the lifelong one they made when accepting whatever appointment or office they held.

I sighed.

It was an important step, if a long and boring one.

“Guildmaster Devon Weaver, head of the Merchants’ Guild of Featherstone,” the page called out as the doors swung open once again. I straightened and tried to rub the weariness from my eyes. I hoped the man entering the audience chamber hadn’tseen me rolling my neck to ease the stiffness, but I really didn’t care at this point.

The stork of a man in his pale blue doublet and brown breeches stopped when he reached a mark on the floor some twenty paces from the base of the dais. He bowed, then continued forward to the final mark, lowering his eyes beneath his new Queen’s gaze.

“Guildmaster Weaver. It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been, what, four years?”

The man’s head snapped up. “Majesty? You remember?”

I smiled. “Of course I remember. It was a wonderful visit. I recall your kindness most fondly, though you might not say the same of my own . . . unfortunate behavior.”

Weaver’s eyes lowered once more, but I saw a grin pull at one corner of his mouth. “You were . . . young, Majesty. A little precociousness is to be expected of a child, royal or common, would you not say?”

“Precociousness?” I chuckled. “Yes, well, you are again generous with that description. Nonetheless, it is good to see you again. For what purpose do you seek audience with us?”

The shift in formality snapped him back into form, and Weaver dropped to one knee. “I come to congratulate Her Majesty and give my Oath, such that this humble servant of the Crown may offer.”

“Your humility is refreshing in a chamber so often filled with blustery wind.” Another grin tugged at the man’s mouth. “Guildmaster Weaver, what is your pledge?”

“I, Devon Weaver, do swear that I will well and truly serve our Sovereign Lady Queen Jessia Vester and her heirs and successors. I will do right to all manner of people after the laws and usages of this Kingdom, without fear or favor, affection or ill will. By the Spirits and the Spires, I do swear.”

I rose and placed a palm on Weaver’s shoulder.

This was the only ceremony in which tradition required the monarch to touch one of her subjects, but doing so carried significant symbolism. I also knew the magic of the crown flowed through me and into my new vasal, binding their promises in a virtually unbreakable pact. My father never told me if the nobles comprehended this Gift, but he attributed much of his reign’s longevity on the protections it afforded him.

As my hand contacted Weaver, a faint glow flared from my crown, and the familiar tingle of magic trickled down until it vanished from my palm into Weaver. He looked up, and his eyes widened as I spoke.

“Guildmaster Devon Weaver, the Crown accepts your fealty. In return, we offer you and yours our hearth and home, protection and provision, justice and righteous vengeance, without fear or favor, affection or ill will. By the Spirits and the Spires, we do swear.”

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