To Kill a King

6: Blue Crown

A hundred mouths hung ajar as I traversed the length of the Hall of the Faith, bedecked in scarlet ceremonial robes, jewels of every color, and the veil I had toiled over for the last week and a half.

I cringed. The King stood on a dais at the far end, facing the Four Readers of the Faith as they intoned a prayer. I was close enough to see that a heavy mantle hung from his shoulders, trapping Palandyre's great snarling three-headed hyena in a vivid pattern of silver edged in green. I climbed the steps and took my place beside him, and flicked a glance sideways. The King stared resolutely ahead. I averted my eyes hastily. I sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the Faith that he wasn't paying me any attention and that the Readers' eyes were closed in worship, for it was not my enthralling beauty that held those behind me in rapture, however much I might have wished so.

To put in polite terms, my veil was a vast silk eyesore. I had discovered, to disappointment and despair, that needlework was a lot more complicated than shoving a sharp stick through a hole and pulling it out from the other side. The tapestry of curling grape vines hanging in my chamber had been my basis for imitation. The result, however, was that Fall's Keep now lay beneath a confusing horror of knots the size of cherry pits and stitches that went nowhere. It would make Aramercy's eyes bleed, a thought I cherished.

A moment later, the King swore under his breath. My eyes darted back and saw that he, too, was fixed on the monstrosity covering my face, looking quite appalled. "You made this?" he whispered.

I tensed.

Whatever the veil lacked in charm, I hoped it made up for in ingenuity. I hoped if anything, I had managed to make it too revolting for people to want to look at the details.

"Half the maidens in Mirador must have died," he deadpanned, "before the princess's household allowed you a position."

I blinked, insulted, but my eyes darted to the Readers. Their faces showed no sign that they had heard, being caught in vehement throes of idolatry as the four ended their prayer in a crescendo that filled the hall. Then the Readers surrounded us and began to move clockwise, initiating in unison the Script of Matrimony. Each carried a black stone bowl.

The King stepped close and picked up my right hand, slipped slim fingers around my wrist and held it lightly, my pulse resting against his palm. A ceremonial gesture, but any words I had fell straight down to my stomach in a liquid hiss at the touch of his skin heating mine. My fingers curled reflexively around his sleeve.

"I've been informed that this will be sent to your Queen," he said. "are you sure that the princess shared your, um, talent for art?"

I fought the urge to raise my voice. "I would have made it prettier if she'd been any good at embroidery, Majesty."

"So it's meant to look like that? Impressive. I've never met anyone who could orchestrate such"—he gestured at my face with his free hand—"catastrophic perfection on purpose."

I was about to deliver a hot retort, but he gave a pointed look sideways at the Readers of the Faith. Their circle was shrinking around us, the radius now no more than an arm's length. I pressed my lips together and forced myself to thank the stars that his doubt was not suspicion.

Tension eased out of my shoulders. "If you like it so much, I'll make one for you to wear." 

Surprise flickered in his face for a moment, as if he had not thought me capable of making a joke, before it morphed into something like suppressed laughter. Irritation fled me as naturally as a breath, and I never even noticed until I caught the corners of my lips trying to lift up. I tugged them down.

The Readers of the Faith faced us, still as pillars. "We who stand guarding this ancient land, who art thy servants eternal, ask the Faith, may she witness this union, protect this union, and outlast this union." One Reader came forward and cupped a handful of something from her bowl. She held her fist above our interlocked hands and let it sift through her fingers as she chanted, "Mine Mother of the Sea, bless this union." Salt rained down on our skin. She stepped back and let another Reader forward. "Mine Father of the Mountain, bless this union." A few pieces of rock. "Mine Mother of the River, bless this union." A splash of water. "Mine Father of the Field, bless this union." Seeds.