Naamah's Blessing

intact?”
    It was the first time I’d ever heard him sound nervous. “No, Messire Vallon,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
    His scowl vanished. “Ah, good! My thought was to use both pieces in a symbolic manner.” He laid one hand on Bao’s shoulder. “The magpie square represents the love of your distant mother, spread across your shoulders like a protective cloak. And this…” He traced the line of my bamboo-embroidered collar. “This represents the embrace of your distant sister, placing her arms around your neck.”
    My breath caught in my throat as I thought of Bao’s mother and sister; so far away, so briefly met. It was unlikely we’d ever see them again. “Oh, that’s lovely! Thank you, Messire Vallon.”
    Bao nodded, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Very lovely. Thank you for honoring them.”
    Benoit Vallon’s scowl returned. “Oh, now! If you want to
thank
me, you’ll grant me an invitation to the ceremony.” He gave a loud sniff. “I’d rather not have to take my chances on the lottery like the common rabble.”
    I smiled at him. “I will see that an invitation is delivered on the morrow, Messire Vallon.”
    He gave another resounding sniff. “Good.”

NINETEEN

    A week before the oath-swearing ceremony, a lottery was held for the commonfolk of the City. By the excitement it generated, I daresay it was one of the better ideas Lianne Tremaine had given me.
    The royal theater in which the ceremony and ensuing celebratory spectacle was to take place had seats for two hundred, with standing room for another fifty or so. While the seats were reserved for peers of the realm, King Daniel had agreed that invitations for the standing spaces should be allotted to ordinary folk and determined by lottery.
    One had gone to Benoit Vallon. No doubt he would have preferred a seat in one of the boxes, but my influence extended only so far.
    Forty-nine would be drawn from a great urn in Elua’s Square.
    Notices had been posted on broadsheets about the City. The day dawned bright and cold, cold enough that one’s breath frosted the air, but the cold did nothing to deter D’Angelines eager for a spectacle. By mid-day when the lots were to be drawn, Elua’s Square was filled with a throng of people.
    Young Princess Desirée had begged to be allowed to attend, but the King had refused, citing the difficulty of protecting a small child amidst a crowd. Gazing at the throng, I had to agree.
    “This is fun, isn’t it?” Beneath the leafless crown of Elua’s Oak where a dais had been erected, Bao nudged me. He cut a striking figure in his black-and-white magpie coat.
    I smiled. “Aye, it is.”
    Tradesmen, shopkeepers, and housewives called out good-natured pleas for a chance at the lottery, promising all manner of extravagant bribes. The squadron of royal guardsmen dispatched to maintain order attempted to shout them down in an equally good-natured manner, keeping rough track of who had arrived first, thus deserving the first crack at the lottery.
    The urn itself was a massive thing, dark blue enamel etched in silver with the swan insignia of House Courcel. It rested in a stand atop the dais, canted toward the crowd. It had a narrow opening, but its large, rounded belly contained some five hundred porcelain tiles stamped with the royal seal, forty-nine of which were gilded and could be presented to admit the bearer to the ceremony.
    As the sun climbed toward its zenith, the crowd grew louder and louder; but it was a joyous sound, and I was glad of it.
    There were a handful of others on the dais with us, including the Secretary of the Presence representing the King’s authority, and a priest or priestess representing each of the orders of Blessed Elua and his Companions. My father was there for Naamah’s Order, smiling with quiet pride. But it was Bao and I who were presiding over the event, and it was toward us that the eager, hopeful citizens directed their shouts and pleas.
    A great cheer arose as distant bells sounded the hour. The Captain of the Royal Guard offered me a courtly bow. “Are you ready, my lady?”
    “I am, my lord captain.” Raising my voice, I called, “Let the lottery begin!”
    The crowd cheered again.
    With a smile, the captain ushered the first aspirant forward. A burly fellow with a blacksmith’s knotted muscles stuck his meaty hand into the mouth of the urn, fishing around inside it. He had a difficult time drawing his clenched fist out, prompting laughter and