Page 48 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

The acolytes laid the godsgrass at my feet as the priestess finally finished her sermon. She held a knife out to me. It was ornate, burnished gold and rubies—no doubt some ancient ceremonial blade.

I was surprised to see my hand was steady as I grasped it firmly. I felt the bite of the edge as I pulled my hand along it in a quick, smooth motion.

It was symbolic, of course, that I make the cut myself—that I sacrifice for the sake of the golden grains below me.

If I had been in the fields, my blood would have poured down onto the earth, an offering to water the godsgrass.

In the throne room, it only dripped onto the lifeless stalks in a parody of the rites of ascension.

I couldn't help but feel like it was an omen of what my reign would be—a farce, a spectacle, a half-hearted attempt at salvation forced upon us all by a faceless enemy. If war did not loom, these people would never have accepted me on my own on that dais.

The priests began to chant words in the old language. "Nefum calu Aelia, oan alva catka morgan."

I thought they were chanting, "Gods bless Aelia, our just and rightful queen," but my head was swimming from the amount of blood that was still pouring from my palm, so I couldn't be sure.

"Nefum calu Aelia, oan alva catka morgan."

I squeezed my hand, feeling the sharp pain of the deep cut and the sticky blood that had begun to congeal around the edges of my palm.

"Nefum calu Aelia, oan alva catka Morgan."

A boy knelt in front of me. I tried to pull him into focus as his pale skin and white-blonde hair wavered before me.

Withian, I realized. The boy was Withian. I could see his oddly perfect skin, irregular shaped pupils, and strange yellow eyes.

He wrapped my hand in a soft, white bandage and gave me a tentative smile.

"Nefum calu Aelia, oan alva catka morgan," they chanted.

The melodic voices, the smoke, and the red of my blood now soaking through the godsgrass and onto the stones of the dais in front of me, all coalesced to make me feel like I was in a fever dream.

I felt myself sway and had to blink my eyes furiously to clear my head.

The Withian boy was gone, but I could not remember him leaving.

And then the high priestess stepped before me. "I crown you Queen Aelia of Windemere, the First of Her Name, Protector of the Godsgrass Kingdom, and Guardian of the Realms of Men."

She lowered the crown onto my head. The weight of it was substantial. I felt it tip and slide to the side as she released it. I had to angle my head to keep it on.

"Long live Aelia of Windemere!" the eldermen and priests said in unison. "Long live the Queen!"

I felt hands clasp my arms gently on either side of me, and I awkwardly got to my feet.

I had to reach up to prevent the crown from falling off as I mounted the little step and strode across the godsgrass. The long robes swished around my feet, sliding over the dried stalks and scattering them across the floor.

Acolytes guided the long train of my robes around me as I took the last few remaining steps to the throne, dragging the godsgrass with me as I went.

I barely registered the tiny golden points of light reflected on the stones around me in between the scattered stalks. My thoughts were focused on keeping the gods blasted heavy crown on my head as I backed up to my mother's chair and sat.

I let my weight sink into the cushion beneath me, feeling a sense of finality and relief, drawing out the moment until I was forced to raise my eyes to meet the stares of my subjects.

I heard a gasp and then another, followed by several voices all at once, murmuring.

"Angels save us!"

I looked up, but the chamber was dimly lit, the smoke hanging heavy in the air. I could barely make out the faces in the crowd.

Another voice, rising above the others, cried, "Look at them!"

People began leaving the rows of benches as someone said, "Seeds! They're golden seeds!"

"It's a miracle!" another cried.

Someone scrambled toward the dais, falling to their hands and knees on the stones. It was the high priestess. She was pawing through the godsgrass stalks, fumbling for the shining points of light.

I felt frozen on the throne as others crowded the dais and began picking through the godsgrass.

"Nefum calu Aelia, oan alva catka morgan," came the high priestess' loud, dramatic cry. This time it was edged with a fanaticism that sent unease coursing through me.

The high priestess who so often looked at me with condescension and scorn, crawled her way across the dais, lowering her head to the stones.

"The angel bleeds red for gold!" she cried, taking turns prostrating herself and staring up at me with near reverence.

"Aelia! Aelia! Savior! Hope sprouts anew with a golden bounty laid at her feet! "

I stared at her with my mouth hanging open in shock. Tears streamed down her face, smearing the dark liner around her eyes. She looked utterly unstable.

The others, eldermen, priests, and nobles, were still crowding the dais, picking up the godsgrass seeds that were strewn all around. Even Markus was on one knee, kneeling down to retrieve them.

I moved from the throne and picked up one of the little golden orbs. Stepping to the lantern on the wall, I held it up to study it. There were faint lines running down the surface and a rough round dot at one end of the sphere, proving it was a real seed.

I scraped it with my fingernail to be sure it wasn't painted gold. Nothing flaked away, but I dared not break it to look inside.

If these were the first godsgrass seeds to ever be harvested from the grain, even a single one would be more precious than anything else in the whole of Alterra.

The din of voices behind me continued. Excited whispers and loud exclamations came from the eldermen and the priests as nearly everyone prostrated themselves on the floor at my newly crowned feet.

I walked back to my chambers feeling completely numb inside. When I got there, I found that my things were being moved to the tower. The Queen's Tower now, I realized.

I am the Queen, I told myself, but it didn't seem to make any difference to the horror that was happening inside me.

I continued into my sitting room and sank into a chair. People were streaming by, carrying my clothes and other belongings.

And then I heard the city bells begin their long, horrible cacophony.

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

I put my face in my hands and rubbed my temples. My head ached fiercely. All I wanted to do was get away from those fucking bells.

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

Tatana stepped in front of me. I heard her distantly asking me if I was okay. But all I could think about were the bells.

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

She leaned down, and I noticed another set of feet standing at her side. Franca, I thought.

"Can you make them all leave," I said, my voice breaking on the last word.

"Of course," Tatana said, and rose to her feet. "Everyone, out, please. The Queen would like a moment to herself. Thank you. You can finish later." I heard feet shuffling to the door as the servants left.

Franca knelt in front of me. I looked up to see her expression, full of concern. "I'll be close if you need me, Aelia. I am always here for you, you know."

I tried to smile at her as she rose and laid a hand on the back of my head, but my scalp was sore from the weight of the crown, and I was so incredibly tired.

I watched her feet retreating across the room toward the door as Tatana stepped back in front of me.

"Would you like for me to go as well, Aelia?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," I said, and I knew it would hurt her feelings, but I just had no capacity for human interaction. I was on the verge of screaming.

When she started for the door, I remembered.

"Wait," I said, reaching into the pocket of my coronation robes and pulling out a parchment with my first official seal. I looked up as I handed it to her and saw that my hands were shaking. "This is for you, Lady of Aracet," I forced a smile. I knew what this moment would mean for her.

'Thank you, Aelia," she said, and I heard the tears in her voice. But true to form, knowing what I needed, she left quickly.

I rose from the chair and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. One of the finest Tatana and I had collected over the years—one we saved for special occasions.

The bells had stopped clanging, but I knew they would start up again in an hour. They would ring every hour for a full day to signal the crowning of a new monarch.

I went to my balcony and climbed to the roof, still wearing my coronation robes, minus the long, unwieldy train. The sun had set, and the city was bathed in bright moonlight.

I leaned back against the sloping tiles and took several long swallows of the liquor, willing it to ease the ache inside me.

I looked up at the night sky and allowed the tears to finally come.

I cried for all the moments we had together and the ones we never would.

I cried for the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, and the way I knew he felt something for me that was more than just a passing attraction.

I cried because I had left him in such a hurry that morning I could not remember the last thing I said to him.

And when I had no more tears left for that, I cried for the war that was coming just as I began my reign, for the people who would die, the men who would fight, and the kingdom that would suffer.

And as I lay under the beautiful star-strewn sky, feeling the gentlest of warm breezes ruffle my hair, I thought of the ridiculous song about the fairy singing to her frozen human lover. The words were old Withian, and they were some of the very few I knew.

I sing for you until the world burns and our ashes drift away in the wind.

They will land on a new world and mix with the soil where the moonflower grows.

We will live as two flowers on a vine, and when the summer winds blow, I will feel your touch again.

The fairy sang so long that her breath melted the ice where she lay atop the barrow. When winter came again, the lovers were frozen together in an endless embrace.

It was said that on a warm day, when the barrows thawed enough to glimpse the ancient heart of the icy tombs, the fairy and her mate could be seen. They waited, arms entwined, for some world-ending fire to come and burn them away so that they could be reborn together as flowers.

I was more than a little drunk, feeling utter heartache. I imagined that I could understand how one might just be so heartsick that the idea of waiting an eternity for one single touch might just be worth it.

Now that it had ended between us, there was no harm in admitting I had loved him from the first—from that first moment my blade had gone into his heart, and I had tried to catch him—when grief and regret had washed through me so deeply that I could not think.

I slept in my own bed that night. Though, after drinking half the whiskey bottle, I could not say how I got there.

I dreamed of ice burning away like dry kindling and of milky, opaque water covering the world. I struggled in the dream, seeming to pass days of time trying to evade that terrible, cloudy water. When I eventually gave up the fight and sank under its depths, it was soothing and peaceful.

When I finally woke, it was to mocking sunshine and those stupid fucking bells. And the people in the streets, chanting. "Aelia! Aelia! Queen! Long live the Queen!”