Shadows Return
of fashion. Necklines were a bit higher this year, but her blue silk gown still managed to show off a generous expanse of pale bosom below the heavy netting of jewels that adorned her throat. More jewels sparkled brightly in her silver-streaked hair.
“Lady, how lovely you look!” Kari greeted her warmly. She wore jewels, too, but kept to the more modest fashions of the north, even after all her years in Skala. Illia excitedly showed off her new pearls.
“Sakor shows his favor for our queen, wouldn’t you agree, my lords?” Kylith remarked as she kissed Seregil and Alec in greeting.
“Lucky for her, and all of us, in these times of war, my lady.” Alec had always liked Kylith, even given her past with Seregil. Perhaps because it was hard to imagine; she looked old enough to be Seregil’s mother, while Seregil, a full-blood ’faie, probably looked as young as he had when they were lovers years ago. Whatever the case, she’d been among the first in noble society to make Alec feel welcome.
As they waited, he caught snatches of conversation on all sides as the crowd grew restless. Apparently the war was slowly turning in the Skalans’ favor as the early onset of a northern winter brought down the curtain for another year.
At last priests emerged from the four temples and processed to the center of the square. The Illiorans wore their silver masks and swung huge censers, filing the square with billows of sacred incense. The priests of Astellus carried on their shoulders a miniature ship decked with harvest bounty. Valerius, at the head of the Dalnans, led a black bull decked with wheat and pomegranates, its horns gilded silver and gold.
The priests of Sakor were the last to emerge, bearing the huge golden Aegis of Sakor on a stand. Phoria followed them, resplendent in a long-trained gown of silver and white, and a war helm and breastplate of burnished gold that gave back the sun like a mirror.
Korathan escorted her, carrying the crown of Skala on a velvet cushion. Princess Aralain walked behind him with her eldest daughter, Princess Elani. Aralain should have been the successor, in the event of Phoria’s death, but she was too soft to wield the Sword in battle.
Alec squinted in the slanting afternoon light as he tried to make out Elani’s features. At this distance he had no more than an impression of a solemn young face under a coronet and a long fall of pale hair. Leaning over to Seregil, he asked softly, “What do you know about her?”
“Not much,” Seregil replied. “Phoria has been grooming her for battle. A hard education that will have been, too, with her in charge of it.”
Surrounded by the symbols of the Four and her powerful family, Phoria held up the Sword as she approached the bull to perform this year’s sacrifice.
“Phoria looks just like her mother from here,” Micum noted softly as the priests began the chants and prayers. “I still miss her.”
The words of the ceremony, or at least what Alec could make out at this distance, were similar to the investiture oath the queen gave each year on Mourning Night. She pledged to defend the land and uphold the will of the Four. When she was done, the priests pulled the docile bull’s head back and Phoria made the fatal swing. The animal did not struggle as the bright blood sprayed out across Phoria’s golden armor and the pavement in auspicious patterns.
More prayers followed.
Bored, Alec leaned on the railing, fretting with the gold rings he’d worn for the occasion. He hated jewelry; hated having to the play the role of a noble of no account like this. And as the ceremony dragged on, his mind wandered again to the simple life they’d so briefly shared, exiled up in the northern hills. At moments like this he wondered why he’d been so insistent on coming back.
Distracted, he didn’t see what caused the sudden commotion among the queen’s party. Korathan had an arm around his sister, supporting Phoria as she pressed one hand to her brow.
“What happened?”
“A hawk came out of nowhere and struck her head,” Micum told him, frowning.
“An omen,” Captain Lillia muttered, crossing her fingers against ill luck.
“I’m no bird reader, but it doesn’t seem a good thing,” Kari murmured behind an upraised hand.
Seregil said nothing.
Order was soon restored, but an air of unrest hung over the crowd as Phoria continued the ceremony, exchanging her war helm for the crown.
When the ceremony was finally over,
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