Page 30

30

A PARTY AND A FUNERAL

Darina

T he difference between a revel and a coronation seems to be the same as between a party and a funeral.Yesterday, everyone was glad to be here. Now, they're silent and formal, sadness filling the air.

We've opened the throne room. Relva had pews brought in, not unlike at a wedding, and the lords and lady are seated by the time I make my way to the great dais dominating the center of the space.

I was coached, like I am in all things these days. I don't look at anything or anyone, entering with my head level, my eyes solely fixed on the throne.

It's a gaudy thing, silver and gold and diamond-encrusted, and it looks particularly uncomfortable, not to mention cold. It doesn't suit me, Darina Thorn. But it occurs to me as I approach it that it looks perfect for the thing I'm pretending to be, while wearing this war paint and intimidating dress.

Fake it till you make it.

As I reach the dais, I turn, preparing to address the assembly.

"I—"

"Murderer!"

The scream comes from beyond the pews. All turn to the doors I just came from, and I see a woman rush forward, coming straight at me.

Caenan is on her before she can take more than a couple of steps, but while he restrains her, he doesn't stop her from speaking.

"You stand here, claiming to hold yourself above all, yet you've killed my husband, though it wasn't your right! You don't respect this world or their laws!"

Junis's wife. From a distance, I didn't recognize her at first, but it's her.

She holds her face in her hands and pretends to weep, prettily.

All eyes fly between her and me, hungrily, eagerly. They're no longer sad now, but eager.

I wonder who planned this. It can't have been her idea to interrupt the coronation; she didn't strike me as someone quite that intelligent. A follower more than someone likely to make a decision. I think of the bright queen, but I stop myself before my eyes dart to her, remaining on my abuser's fake-crying wife instead.

"I did not murder anyone, least of all Junis. Nor did I order it." It's a struggle to stop the smile curving up my lips.

Thank you, thank you thank you, Rachel.

"He tried to wed me, you know," I tell the wife, to add insult to injury. "That begs the question: what would he have done with you?"

She's shocked into looking up, her dry eyes wide.

"Now, if the theatrics are over, we'll resume the ceremony. See her out."

"If a lord has been murdered, there ought to be an inquest. We need answers," someone says.

"Were you not his thrall? And you say you have nothing to do with it? Unlikely."

And suddenly, the whole crowd is talking of nothing but this, demanding answers. It was orchestrated to interrupt my coronation, likely to stop it. And I don't think I can talk my way out, or order every single person to just sit and obey. That's not the point. I have the power of the high queen if all the lords swear to obey me.

I try to catch Ryther's eyes, panicking, hoping they can't see.

His mouth is set in a line, clearly displeased, but he's not doing anything. Loch, standing on the dais, steps forward.

Before he can say a word, Rachel screams over the chatter, "I did it!"

There's too much noise for everyone to hear, but enough people turn to her and fall silent for her second cry to register.

"I killed him. He threatened me with rape and servitude, and tried to hurt my sister. I killed him in self-defense."

"You?" the bright queen spits, looking at her with her lips curled, from head to toes.

Rachel's wearing a dress similar to yesterday's, if a little more austere, in sage green. It shows a great deal of chest, her tits practically falling out of it. I'm guessing it was meant for someone far less curvy, and no amount of adjustments were going to hide those. Rena's eyes pointedly set on them.

"How could you?"

She doesn't mean that as, “how could you morally think to do something so awful,” but very much like, “you don't have the ability, unless you smothered him with your tits.”

"You're clearly lying to protect your sister's misdeeds.”

"No, I cut his throat with an iron sword," she retorts.

"That's true, I was there," Caenan says.

Rena shoots him a murderous glare—because she can't claim he's lying, of course.

"Well, what's a coronation without a little drama?" Loch calls lightly over the whispers. "But I think that's enough interruption for now. Sit, and let us return to our affair."

Caenan drags the woman to the closest pew and none too gently pushes her down. Since her hand's no longer over her face, it's clear she's not crying at all, but glaring murderously. Not unlike Rena.

That makes my number of enemies four again, though now, none of them have power over me.

I drag my eyes away from the crowd and back to the window, looking above them.

I'm the first to be surprised when I see a shadow cross the stained glass, but I wait, until padded paws enter the throne room.She came back. She felt my need for support and she came back for me. I don't know what called her; my temporary distress at the interruption that could have gone a very different way, or the simple fact that she felt she ought to be here, but my nixie now stands by my side, pressing her head against my leg.

I'm glad to have her as I call again.

I can almost feel the crowd take a cautious step back, reminded that the familiar that chose me is more brutal than any of them. My nixie is an extension of my soul; and she’s redoubtable.

I lift my chin, and call, my voice filling the hall. "I, Darina Harthorn, heir of Morrigan, stand here to call you to fulfill your oath to the high crown."

The wording is purposeful. I am not asking for anything.

"Kneel and repeat your oath."

It takes some time. People glance at each other, as if trying to get out of this. But they have made their oath. To take power in the lower court, all of them have to announce that they will rule, and will obey the high crown.

Of course, that's an easy oath when the high queen is dead. Not so much now.

Valdred is the first to go to his knee, Ryther, the last, right after Rena.

But at long last, everyone's on their knees, and they call, "We bow to the high queen."

It's reluctant. It's hypocritical. Most of them will spend their entire lives attempting to get out of it.

But I am now truly the high queen of Ilvaris.

I smile and take the wine Loch offers to me, holding it high.

"And I will protect this world with my life," I vow to them.

That’s the very reason there is a high queen at all; a concentration of powers, meant to deter and bar all attacks. Of course, that was to ensure the All and the Undoing were never released, but the vow still stands.

At the first sip of my toast, I know something is very wrong.

My eyes go to my brother, who handed it to me. Without tasting it first.

No.

No him.

He couldn't have, and he hasn't betrayed me.

But someone did, before making vows.

That's my last thought as darkness takes me.