Page 88 of The First Spark
“Will you, in your power, cause law and justice to be executed in all judgments?”
Kalie nodded. The Testament’s spine was damp under her fingertips, but she couldn’t wipe her clammy palms off.
“I will.”
The questions and answers droned on, and her mind switched to autopilot. The uneven stone platform pressed against her knees, sending sharp pain through her bones. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grimacing. The simple dress, the hard stone platform, the submission to Church officials—all more tradition, to remind her of her subservience to Azura.
To distract herself from the pain, she glanced at Mylis, whose navy blue uniform shone in the sun’s glow. She smiled. He smiled back.
Soon, it would be him kneeling to receive his coronet—the circlet of the Count of Oakwood. He didn’t know yet, but once she set the pieces in motion, she would tell him of her plan.
The High Priestess’s long question trailed off, and Kalie offeredthe appropriate response. Her stomach fluttered as the old woman asked the question she was waiting for:
“Princessa Kalista Hannover, Heredem of Queensborough and Princess of Etov, do you claim your birthright? Do you acknowledge the divine blood running through your veins, the blood of Queen Azura? Do you, as the heir of Duchissa Calida Amador, accept your throne?”
Kalie drew herself up to full height. Inhaling deeply, she took in the sweet aroma of blooming flowers and the earthy scent of the sprawling forest around Azura’s Cathedral. A breeze brushed against her skin, cooling the sweat on her brow. Birds chirped in the distance. Their sweet song soothed her racing pulse.
This was it.
“I do.”
But the High Priestess was staring over her shoulder. Her solemn expression had vanished, leaving in its place complete and utter confusion.
A deep sense of unease swept through Kalie as she turned.
Standing in the shadow of the Cathedral’s golden doors was a woman with hair the color of a raven’s wings. Her gaunt skin stretched tightly across her emaciated figure. She looked like one of the starving citizens from Sector Eight, except for her stunning ensemble: a long white gown, like Kalie’s, under an ermine cloak with distinctive, scandalous gold embroidery.
She was wearing Grandmother Madeleine’s coronation dress.
Kalie’s grip on the Testament tightened as the woman jutted her chin out.
“I’m afraid I must object to these proceedings.”
The clamor from the crowd rocked through Kalie. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t speak.
Up above, in the Cathedral’s gilded balconies, most of her nobles wore expressions of bewilderment. Most, but not all. A small smile curved at Hewlett’s lips.
Gathering all her courage, Kalie rose to her feet. “Who are you?”
Pressing a hand to her heart, the woman strode into the light. “Who am I?” Her voice was hoarse and scratchy, as if she hadn’tspoken in a long time. “Oh, my dear, I’m disappointed. Perhaps Uncle Jerran would care to enlighten you?”
Uncle Jerran looked like he’d seen a ghost. His mouth moved feebly, but nothing came out.
Kalie dug her fingers into the Testament’s worn cover. Uncle Jerran was never speechless.
“Pelala got your tongue, Jerran?”
The woman glided closer. Mylis and a few other guards dropped back and took protective stances in front of Kalie, but the rest of her guards didn’t move.
She gnawed on her lip. Why weren’t they moving?
Mylis’s hand drifted to his pulser, and the black-haired woman raised her hands.
“Call off your little guard dogs, Princessa. I want this to be a civil affair.” A bitter smile twisted her sunken features. “After all, we’re family.”
She spat the word like a curse, and shivers shot up Kalie’s spine.
“I don’t know you.”
