TALIA
I hear the crowd before I see it. As we cross the lobby, the people roar like thunder, like a storm beating against the shore. Like the fans at the arena that time we all went to see the Golden State Warriors play. My dad had gotten tickets to a fancy luxury box from a client of his. I was there to watch the twins, just toddlers then, and make sure they didn't run wild and tip over the champagne buckets or something. A wall of glass separated us from the chaos, but then someone flicked a switch and it slid away, replaced by a wall of noise.
So many people in one place. So much energy and joy. The cacophony of it all sank into my bones and nourished me. My life was so quiet and small, but in that moment, I realized that it could be big and brash and full of laughter and shouting. I always wanted to go back, but we never did. All the screaming gave my stepmother a migraine.
Now, as I step out onto the plaza, the faux gas lamps charmingly illuminate the space and a crowd nearly as raucous as any horde of basketball fans greets me. Hundreds of people fill the square. The Nimali population in this small area of reclaimed city is larger than I thought.
My grip on Shad's arm tightens as I stare out in wonderment. “They're all here for me?” I whisper, but what I’m thinking is there’s absolutely no way I can pull this off.
Shad just chuckles and leads me to the raised platform that’s been erected sometime in the past couple of hours. It’s fairly small, only large enough to hold the two thrones sitting upon it. One of them is bulky and awkward looking. As we get closer, I realize that it’s actually made of bones. Giant bones.
My dinner roils in my stomach, and I jerk to a stop. At least the bones are too large to be human, but the sight is disturbing to say the least.
“All right?” Shad asks, and I’m not really sure. We are completely surrounded by soldiers in black. The first few rows of people in front of the throne are also soldiers, straight backed and somber. Then the cheering crowd stands behind them. But everyone is watching me. I finally nod and we keep walking, my jaw tense and my teeth clamped together.
What would Celena do?
The smaller seat on the stage is made of normal throne materials, wood and dark red fabric, very decorative and very pretty. Too ornate for my taste, but more palatable than sitting on bones. Shad leads me to it and I stand gaping out at the people as the noise grows louder. Clapping, screaming, cheering. It fills the night, echoing off the buildings around the square and vibrating through my body and draining away my nerves.
The adoration lights me up inside.
I know they're not really cheering for me. They're cheering for the woman I look like. The woman whose life I've stepped into. The woman who is probably, even now, lying dead somewhere beyond the wall. A victim of one of those terrible, red-eyed beasts. My heart goes out to her. And I should be ashamed at myself, stepping into her life like this, not allowing those who love her to grieve. Part of me is ashamed, but the other part just soaks in the people’s love like a dry, cracked sponge does water.
I perch gently on the princess’s throne and look for Shad, but he’s climbed down from the platform. There isn’t a seat for him here, underscoring his words from before. He takes a position on the ground with the other soldiers. All the civilians wear shades of red or blue or brown. The only other colors in sight are the gray outfits similar to what Ryin and Noomi wear. These must be the other Fai drudges. Rows of them stand on the sidelines and, aside from the soldiers, they’re the only ones not cheering.
The warmth inside me cools. How could I forget that some of this world is built on their backs? People who have no choice about where they are and what they're doing. I swallow. But this deception is meant to help them too. Give Shad time to do…whatever it is he’s planning to do to get peace. I straighten my back as the noise on the plaza dims, revealing the sound of boots marching in lockstep.
A dozen guards flank the king as he exits the Citadel’s main doors. Lyall’s presence dampens the enthusiasm of the crowd. The soldiers lead him to the platform and he comes to my side. He opens his arms and the expectation is clear. I rise and embrace him, my emotions a jumble within me.
I can’t remember my father ever hugging me. Burrowing my head into his chest should not feel so good, so comforting. I know he’s not a good man, but he wraps me tightly and I allow myself to enjoy it. I imagine Celena must have.
When I pull back, two Fai men are dragging a large box to the front of the stage. They open it and heave a big translucent cube onto the platform at our feet. It’s the size of a small trunk or footlocker, and once it hits the stage, the whole thing glows blue.
Everything is silent now. Hundreds of people wait, voices hushed, the quiet oppressive in its completeness.
Lyall smiles widely and takes a step forward with one arm still around my shoulders. “The princess is returned!” he cries, his voice magnified by the glowing box at our feet. It rises and echoes across the audience and the cheers ascend again, louder than before. People applaud and whoop and scream. At first I think it's just because Lyall basically ordered them to, but I’m close enough to the front rows to see the real tears streaming down the cheeks of the people there.
“Come, let's greet the people,” Lyall says, extending his arm in the same old-fashioned way Shad does. The guards surround us, two deep on all sides, as we step off the platform and head into the crowd, which parts before us like magic. But even with the buffer of soldiers, the people still call out to me.
“Your Grace, we're so happy you're home again,” a woman says, tears overflowing.
“Your Grace, I made this for you in hopes of your safe return.” A teenage girl holds up a silver and crimson tapestry with a beautiful floral design stitched into it. I reach for the fabric, but Lyall tugs my hands away. Instead, a guard grabs it, folding it into her hands.
It goes on like this for what seems like hours. These shoes were not really meant to traipse across the grass, but the raw emotion focused on me from these people erases my aches and pains. At one point they all just start screaming the princess’s name over and over again like I’m a rock star or a celebrity.
“Celena! Celena!”
I’m nearly dizzy from it all. People share their hopes and the little trinkets they’ve made. This must be some kind of ritual or cultural practice that I don’t understand, but it’s very sweet. Guards collect all the items and I hope they won’t be thrown away.
After a few automatic Thank You’s when people engage with me, Lyall rubs my arm. “I know your memory is gone, dear, so there are some things you will need to relearn. But a Nimali princess does not give gratitude—she accepts it. Never lower yourself before those beneath you. You have no need to be grateful to them for giving you what is your due.”
I nod at him, sobered and angry at myself for forgetting this lesson so soon. Lyall maintains a calm and placid expression. Shad, Ryin, and a group of aristocratic looking men and women in red trail us. They all stay behind the soldiers who encircle me and the king, and all maintain remote exteriors. I work hard to do the same, though it’s difficult.
The crowd is gathered by the color of their clothing. People in red are up front, then those in shades of blue, then brown. The colors must represent a type of class system, because it’s obvious those in blue are not as well dressed or well fed as those in red, and those in brown are worst of all.
Deeper grooves line the faces of those in the back of the crowd. Their thinner cheeks and sunken eyes show how much more they’ve been weighed down by life. But their delight at my presence is no less real. In fact, as we pass through the lines of those lower in class, the fervency actually increases. I don’t believe they’re faking their enthusiasm simply because the royals are here demanding it. These people really love and care about Celena. It makes me wonder why—is it just that she's a beloved princess, or does she actually do things that endear the people to her?
We finally make it to the opposite end of the plaza, where a vehicle idles on the street—a jeep with the top down. Lyall motions me into it and sits beside me in the back seat. Two soldiers are sitting up front already, and once we’re settled, the driver accelerates—very slowly.
We drive around the plaza like a single car parade. I watch Lyall carefully for clues; should I wave and smile? But he does neither—just looks on impassively as drums begin beating. I can’t see the drummers, but they play a cadence that has a hypnotic quality to it. Then, a song rises from the audience.
A chorus of voices in harmony sing a haunting tale of losing their homeland and searching for another. Of wandering until they find a city on the sea and settling there. The entire crowd sings and the music imprints itself on my heart and grips it tightly. It’s sorrowful and lilting and tears spring to my eyes again. I blink them away, willing them not to fall.
The jeep ends its tour in front of the Citadel once again. We pile out of the vehicle and are escorted back onto the stage, where I sit on the plush throne waiting for me. The song continues, every Nimali taking part, many with their eyes closed, a hand over their heart, taken somewhere else by the music. The Fai stand silently on the sidelines, staring out in front of them.
The last verse causes goosebumps to rise on my flesh. The purity of the melody doesn’t change and the poignancy of the voices in unison remains, but the lyrics speak of an enemy who encroaches on this new homeland. Of how they must break this enemy’s back, rout them from the land, and remove them even from history.
I look to my left, past Shad, to find Ryin standing solemnly. As the last notes of the song echo across the plaza and the voices die, I catch his eye. He holds my gaze for a long moment before turning away, almost like he’s dismissing me. I face forward again, grip my hands together, and tremble.
Lyall stands beside me now; I didn’t even notice him moving. He gently cradles a delicate, jeweled circlet in his hands. It’s crafted of thin strands of silver woven together. At first I think they’re meant to look like tree branches, but as he shifts it, I realize they’re actually shaped like bones.
The bodice of my dress suddenly feels tighter, and I struggle to suck breath into my lungs.
Quiet reigns throughout the square as the king smiles down at me. He places the crown upon my head and the cheers are deafening.