Page 139 of North Is the Night
The witch’s hand stills.
“Tell me her name, Loviatar. I’ll trust you only when you prove you trust me.”
“Trust no one tonight,” she says, determined to keep her secrets. “They will ask you questions. It is a mistake to think they seek to know you. They seek to know only your weaknesses. Give them none.”
With that, the witch leaves me alone with the maids. It takes a moment for me to realize she left with my crown.
An hour later, I stand in the receiving hall in my new gown. It fits me perfectly. The skirt falls in folds to the floor, while the white cape at my shoulders trails behind me. Kukka arranged my hair in artful braids that frame my face. I lift a hand, the bangles on my wrist jangling softly as I brush my fingers over the necklace at my throat. I’ve never worn so much ornamentation before. It feels strange... and heavy.
Perhaps I merely feel the weight of this moment.
Kukka is joined by three more dead maids who wear the sigil of the Sun Raven on their chests. They flank me, ready to help me take my next steps. At least I won’t be alone. I glance around this room that now holds so many memories for me. I think of the night I met the other girls. We were huddled here in this spot, with tears in our eyes we were too afraid to let fall. Now it glows with the warmth of two dozen candles.
Beyond the doors, a feast—laughter and cheers, the rattle of plates, the stomp of feet. And music, joyous, riotous music—drumming and flutes. Two dead guards step past me, taking up their place at the double doors. Turning as one, they raise their fists and knock. The music changes as the doors swing open from the inside.
I’m greeted with a swirl of color and sound. The hall is full of long tables set with a great feast. All those within stop and turn, eager to watch as I enter the room. It feels eerily similar to the first time. That story ended with bruised shins and my dinner hopping out of my hand, overturning a tray of maggots.
“This is a new story,” I whisper to myself.
To either side of the door, the guards nod.
“Be upstanding,” a voice calls from inside the room. “Come forth, Ainatar, Bride of Tuoni!”
Hearing my new regnal name gives me strength. Holding my head up high, I sweep into the hall. All eyes watch me as I make my way down the open central aisle. I focus my gaze ahead, looking only to the dais where Tuoni waits for me. He sits on his golden throne, a simple iron circlet on his head. Next to him is an empty chair of silver.
My chair.
My throne.
He smiles at me as I approach, holding out his hand. As he stands, the rest of the hall drops to their knees. I fight my trembling as I finish my walk, pausing at the steps of the dais.
Along the top table, his daughters sit. Loviatar waits to my immediate right, with Kalma seated on the end beside her. Vammatar sits to her father’s left and—
Oh gods.
Tuonetar is here. She’s dressed in her finest robes, her magnificent silver hair piled high on her head. But she looks as haggard in face as ever... and she wears no crown. Her robes are artfully draped to conceal the manacles on her wrists. She clutches her goblet, giving me a look like she hopes I sink into the floor.
Tuoni steps forward, coming to the edge of the dais, his hand still outstretched. Lifting the bottom of my heavy dress with one hand, I ascend the steps, reaching for him with my other hand. His fingers clasp possessively around mine and he reels me in, placing a chaste kiss on my forehead.
“You look beautiful, wife,” he says under his breath.
I’m too nervous to reply as he steps back, gesturing for me to kneel. Everyone watches as I sink to my knees before Tuoni. Loviatar appears at his shoulder, my crown in her hands. Tuoni opens the box. Reaching in, he lifts out the driftwood crown, holding it aloft before the assembly.
I can feel every eye in the room. I feel Tuonetar most of all. I don’t dare glance to my left to see her glare as Tuoni slowly lowers his hands, placing the driftwood crown upon my head. For a moment, I wait for the crown to declare me unworthy and slip down around my neck, but it doesn’t. I gaze up, trying not to move my head.
Tuoni smiles down at me, his mismatched eyes radiant with pride. Then he looks to the crowd, hands splayed wide, and intones in his deep voice, “From the Manala underground, from underneath the blackest soil, rises one of peace and beauty, fairest of the death-land maidens. Behold, Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela!”
“We behold,” chants the room.
Chills run down my spine as a kind of claiming magic simmers in the air, settling around my shoulders.
“Rise,” says Tuoni, holding out his hand.
I place my hand in his and let him lift me from the floor.
“That is the last time you ever bow to me,” he says for only my ears. “A queen does not bow, even to her king.”
He leads me back the three steps to our chairs. Slowly, we turn. Following his lead, I sit when he sits. From around the room, all our guests call out, “All hail King Tuoni! All hail Queen Ainatar!”
