CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE BACK IN THESE BLOODY catacombs,” Piran grumbled. Deep beneath Quillarth Castle, the necropolis held the catafalques and crypts of the dead kings of Donderath as well as those of nobles, vaunted generals, and the founder of the Knights of Esthrane. Blaine and the others had been down in the catacombs before, each time fraught with danger, since the dead here did not remain quiet.

“The mages and Dolan say it’s where we need to do the formal investiture, in order to restore a level of ‘magical immunity’ to the kingdom,” Blaine replied, making a face at the term. “Whatever that means. But they’re sure that the ancient coronation ritual has to be done a certain way, and I don’t want to find out what happens if it gets done wrong.” Piran grimaced, and Blaine was sure he was remembering how working the ritual to re-anchor the magic had nearly killed them when it was not performed correctly.

“But we get a party afterward, right?” Piran asked, trying to cover his own nervousness. “Food, drink, pretty girls?”

Kestel elbowed him. “Food and drink, yes. But I’ve already warned the pretty girls. Sorry.”

They bantered in hushed voices, out of respect for the occasion and because the catacombs seemed by their nature to require whispers. All of the new Lords of the Blood were present. Dolan conferred with Cosmin, Viorel, and Rikard on the magic to be worked, while Seneschal Dillon fussed over the crown. Later, for the public ceremony, Judith McFadden and Mari, Zaryae and Desya, Rinka Solveig and Geir would join them, but for now, only those who were part of the ritual braved the dangers of the castle’s catacombs.

Blaine tugged at his collar. Dillon had managed to have suitable clothing reworked from what he had been able to beg, borrow, and scavenge, since fine brocades, velvets, and silks could not yet be made anew. From what Blaine had seen in the mirror that morning, Dillon had outdone himself, putting together an outfit truly worthy of a king. Dillon had also found a suitable gown for Kestel, one that played up her red hair and coloring, complementing her figure, and making her look every inch a queen. Piran and Niklas wore uniforms befitting their role as generals, and even Folville showed up dressed suitably for his new position as the Lord Mayor of Castle Reach.

“Everything is ready,” Dolan said. Dolan and Nidhud both wore the gray cloaks and surcoats that marked them as members of the Knights of Esthrane. They and the rest of the Knights would have a prominent and visible role in the public coronation ceremony and in the government that Blaine would forge as Donderath’s new king.

Blaine tamped down his nervousness, and Kestel gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. Then Blaine followed Dolan to the center of the large, circular plaza in the catacombs, the hub from which many corridors branched off into the darkness of the huge necropolis. Dagur, Rikard, and the other mages had set two warded circles that were nearly complete, leaving an opening like a door to admit the participants. Blaine looked solemn as he stepped into the smaller, inside warding, and Dagur completed the circle around him. In the outer circle, the twelve Lords of the Blood took their places: Penhallow, Connor and the Wraith Lord, Nidhud, Borya, Tormod Solveig, Birgen Verner, William Folville, Traher Voss, Piran, Verran, Dawe, and Niklas. Each of them, like Blaine, wore the obsidian disk that had been part of the ritual to restore the magic. Kestel and Dillon stood outside the circles, watching intently. The mages—Dolan, Dagur, Rikard, Cosmin, and Viorel, along with several assistants—had already prepared the chamber with candles and incense, as well as a number of unusual artifacts Blaine did not remember having seen before.

Then there was the crown itself, which was older than the state crown Blaine had glimpsed on the occasions when he had seen King Merrill in his finery. It was a plain crown made of steel, beautifully wrought and embellished with studding instead of gems, quite a contrast to the more elaborate crown Blaine would wear for his public coronation. The crown sat on a pedestal inside the second ring, nestled on a faded velvet cushion. Next to it, lying atop a satin pouch, was a torque made from twisted strands of precious metal. Beside the torque lay a single golden earring set with a blood-red ruby.

Torches in sconces lit the round room, and Blaine could not avoid glancing down the darkened corridors, worried that they would overstay their welcome. The catacombs beneath Quillarth Castle were often overrun by the spirits of the dead, and their never-ending battles could prove deadly for mortals unlucky enough to be caught up in the action.

Dolan finished the outer warding, and the mages stood outside that circle of power, making a third ring with their bodies. Assistant mages stood behind the more powerful magic-users, holding hand drums and bells, chimes and small cymbals. At Dolan’s signal, the drummers and bell ringers began to play, singing a low, repetitive chant that echoed in the shadowed vaults and catacombs.

Blaine shivered. There was magic in that chant, and every beat of the drums and shimmer of the bells raised its power. The inner circle, previously invisible, began to glow, like dust particles in a beam of sunlight. The outer circle became a coruscating curtain, glinting with multicolored, iridescent light.

Unlike in the ritual to restore magic, Blaine had no labyrinth to walk, no invocation to make. Dillon and the mages had been vague about what would happen next, and Blaine was still not sure whether that was because they wanted him to react to the events without prejudice or because they truly did not know. He suspected the latter, which only added to his nervousness.

The chanting continued, and the power rose, filling the chamber. Gradually, misty figures joined the outer circle. Many of the ghosts were dressed in clothing or armor that marked them as the dead of centuries past. Some, he recognized. Lynge, the martyred seneschal, and Geddy, his assistant. Torsten Almstedt, the founder of the Knights of Esthrane. King Merrill, Merrill’s father and grandfather, and kings from long ago, whom Blaine recognized from their portraits and tapestries.

How is anyone going to cross the wardings to convey the crown, if that’s what this is all about? Blaine wondered. Then three ghostly figures stepped forward, and he realized that the wardings would pose no barrier at all to them.

Torsten Almstedt’s ghost grew more solid as he moved toward Blaine, empowered by the magic and by the energy of the catacombs themselves. He crossed the first warding effortlessly, moved past the Lords of the Blood, and lifted the torque. The second warding slowed him only for a second, and then he stood directly in front of Blaine, his gaze solemn.

“Blaine McFadden. You are not of royal blood, yet today, a new dynasty begins in you. Do you swear to protect this kingdom and its people with your life, your blood, and if need be, with your soul? Think before you answer,” the ghost warned. “What is done cannot be undone.”

“I swear.”

Almstedt placed the torque around Blaine’s neck. The metal was cold, but Almstedt’s ghostly touch was even colder, and Blaine tried not to shudder. “The yoke of King Dacen, the first of Donderath’s warrior kings,” Almstedt intoned. “Wear it always, so long as you are king, as a symbol of the burden you have undertaken to keep this kingdom from harm.” With that, Almstedt stepped back and made a shallow bow, then vanished from beside Blaine, only to reappear outside the second warding once more.

King Merrill’s ghost was the next to move through the wardings, and he lifted not the crown but the earring. The living eyed the specter with regard, and bowed as he passed by. Merrill was a generation older than Blaine, and Blaine’s late father had earned the king’s gratitude in wars long past. But Merrill had also known Ian McFadden’s dark side, which was why he had exiled Blaine for Ian’s murder instead of having him executed. Now, Merrill’s melancholy gaze fixed Blaine in a piercing stare.

“This gem has been part of the legacy of Donderath’s rulers since time before memory,” Merrill’s said, his voice clear but filtered, as if coming from a great distance. “You will wear this for as long as you live, and it will bond with your blood. That bond creates a shield against most dark magic.” He sighed. “As you well know, it cannot protect against everything. But this relic will protect you, and the kingdom, against many potent threats.”

With that, Merrill reached up to Blaine’s right ear. His hands felt as solid as those of a living man, though cold as a corpse. With a sudden push, Blaine felt the sharp stud of the earring pierce his lobe, allowing a few drops of warm blood to trickle down his neck. The earring warmed rapidly, as if its ruby took sustenance from his blood.

“Keep this kingdom well,” Merrill charged, stepping back and regarding Blaine solemnly. “The spirits of the dead will be watching.” As with Almstedt, Merrill’s ghost made a shallow bow and vanished, only to appear on the outer ring of onlookers.

The third ghost was Kierken Vandholt. Here in the catacombs, he did not need Connor’s body to make himself seen, a commanding man with a powerful physical presence, even as a specter. Vandholt lifted the steel crown in his large, broad hands. He was the most ancient spirit of the three, a millennium old; mage, talishte, and warrior. The mortals parted to allow him to pass, but Vandholt’s gaze never wavered from Blaine.

“The Vottomer crown is the oldest surviving crown of Donderath kings,” Vandholt said. “It is a warrior’s crown, simple and strong like armor. It is even older than I am, and this crown remembers its past. Wear it knowing that the eyes of all those who came before you are watching. Take counsel from the living, but understand that with the three relics you have received, you may also seek wisdom from the dead. They are your safe passage to these chambers. Do not disappoint.” With that, Vandholt lifted the crown, and Blaine knelt, inclining his head. The Wraith Lord set the steel crown on Blaine’s head, and Blaine felt a tingle of power pass through his body.

“Rise, King Blaine of Donderath,” Vandholt said solemnly. “Restore your kingdom and its people.”

Vandholt made a low bow, and the other onlookers, including the Lords of the Blood and the mages, even Kestel, went down on one knee in fealty. Blaine stared out at them, completely at a loss, overwhelmed by what he had just heard and seen.

“Rise,” he croaked. “We have work to do.”

The chanting and drumming shifted, and as they had built energy before the ritual, now the slower cadence dissipated the magic that had been called. Dolan and Dagur released the wardings, and the shimmering power vanished. One by one, the ghostly audience drifted away.

The Lords of the Blood crowded around Blaine. “Congratulations, King Mick,” Piran said with a grin. “I guess this means I have to let you win at cards, now that you’re royal and all.”

Verran and Dawe clapped Blaine on the shoulder, then their eyes widened as they realized they had touched the monarch without permission. “We made it through Velant together,” Blaine reassured them with a self-conscious smile. “I’m not going to stand on ceremony now.”

Kestel stepped up to join him, and gave a deep curtsy before he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. “This changes nothing between us,” he whispered fiercely. “Nothing.”

As Blaine accepted the well-wishes and congratulations from his friends and allies, the ritual seemed like a half-remembered dream, important but difficult to believe. Connor seemed to guess his thoughts.

“It really happened,” Connor said. “Down here, magic is stronger—you may have noticed,” he added with the knowing raise of an eyebrow. “The Wraith Lord could make himself present without me, although I’ve gotten used to him by now.” He managed a wan grin. “That really was King Merrill. He even nodded to me as he passed by, as if he remembered me from when I served Lord Garnoc!”

Dagur and Rikard pushed through the crowd, with Dillon a step behind. “You’ll have plenty of time to celebrate later,” Rikard said, steering Blaine by the elbow. “Thanks to the ghosts and the artifacts, that should be sufficient to reinstate the general protection against hostile magic,” he said. “And technically, you’re king. But,” he warned, “until the people see you crowned, you aren’t king in their eyes, and that’s what really invests you with the power.”

“What he means is, we’ve got another stop before the big banquet,” Dagur said. “And people are waiting.”

Blaine had insisted that the coronation be held after dark, so that the talishte could attend. He had sworn to Penhallow and to Dolan that their people would be full citizens of Donderath, and Blaine was resolved to start out as he meant to go on.

Quillarth Castle was far from its former glory, but Dillon and his helpers had worked a small wonder readying it for the coronation. Banners and pennants, reworked from badly damaged tapestries, linens, and even carpets, added a festive air. Torches and bonfires lit the bailey and the courtyard, and inside the castle, lanterns at every window made the damaged castle look more like its old self than at any time since the Great Fire. A new bell tower had been erected, wood instead of stone like the one that fell in the Cataclysm, and a salvaged bell had been readied to peal glad tidings once the new king was crowned.

Flags flew from the parapets and the gates, and while Dillon had confided that they had been made from dyed bedsheets, by torchlight they looked regal. Bed-linen flags and pieced-together banners, remade finery and salvaged relics. What will it take to bring back the kingdom that we lost? Blaine wondered. And if that kingdom can’t ever be again, what must I do to create something just as good, maybe even—someday—better?

The task set for him was daunting, and Blaine dared not think on it too long. Only the knowledge that he also could not walk away and entrust Donderath’s fate to chance gave him the courage to step forward when the trumpets blared, and he looked out on a sea of hopeful, skeptical faces challenging him to make them believe.

“We are gathered to crown a new king of Donderath!” Dillon proclaimed. For the moment, he guarded the coronation crown, rescued from its hiding place beneath the castle. Unlike the steel crown, this was the formal crown of the kings of Donderath. He held up the crown, and the crowd cheered.

The ceremony was being held on the broad landing in front of the main doors to Quillarth Castle, a place visible to all those assembled in the courtyard. Blaine stood at the top of the stairs in the center with Kestel at his side. The Lords of the Blood stood on either side of him, mortal and talishte, living and undead, mages and those without magic, a show of solidarity. Judith, Edward, and Mari stood behind Blaine, dressed in their own reclaimed finery for the occasion, along with Zaryae and Desya, all of whom he considered to be his family.

The Knights of Esthrane stood at attention on one side of the broad main walkway, while Dagur, Rikard, and the mages faced them on the other side, looking scholarly and wise in robes salvaged from the ruins of the University. Next to the Knights were more of Blaine’s generals and allies. In a section of special guests, Rinka Solveig stood with the surviving allied Elders. The crowd grew quiet as the trumpets sounded again.

“Tonight, Blaine McFadden, Lord of Glenreith, Warlord of all Donderath, will become your new king,” Dillon announced. Another cheer went up from the onlookers, echoing from the high stone walls.

King Merrill had received his crown from the elder members of his family, recognition of the continuation of the royal bloodline. Blaine and his advisers had debated how the crown should be bestowed, finally agreeing to the only workable arrangement. At the sound of the trumpet, all twelve Lords of the Blood stepped forward as Blaine knelt among them. Gathered around him in a half circle so that Blaine was never hidden from the crowd’s view, the Lords of the Blood all held the crown, placing it on Blaine’s head together. They paused for a moment, letting their hands rest on his head in blessing, conveying their silent prayers and hopes for the monarchy.

Then, as the trumpets sounded once again, Blaine rose to his feet and lifted his head, gazing out over his people, who had now become his subjects. “All hail King Blaine!” Dillon shouted, and the crowd echoed the phrase in a roar.

“All hail King Blaine! All hail King Blaine!”

With that, Blaine waved in acknowledgment, and as Kestel moved up beside him, he stood and received the cheers of his well-wishers. Musicians took up their instruments, beginning with a regal fanfare and quickly moving to popular dance tunes. Before the night was through, Blaine was certain that they would be playing tavern favorites, and figured Verran might even sneak out to be among them. Dillon had planned an evening of celebration, with food carts and bonfires, performers and parades, accompanied by plenty of music and free ale.

“You know, most of the people out there will decide whether or not they like me as king by how good a party we throw for them tonight,” Blaine said to Kestel as they moved inside the castle for the official coronation dinner.

“Then it’s a good thing I worked with Dillon to plan the festivities,” Kestel said with a grin. “Judith and Zaryae lent a hand, too.” She winked at him. “Don’t worry—by the time they sober up tomorrow, they’ll be singing your praises for a long time to come.”

Blaine doubted it would be that easy, but he smiled and nodded, still not quite believing the turns of fortune that had brought him to this moment. More trumpeters welcomed them to the great hall, which had been restored, if not exactly to its former glory, to a reasonable approximation suitable for such a grand occasion. Tapestries and paintings that had been hidden away since the Cataclysm now hung in their former places, while new pennants and banners had been made to fill the spaces left by those pieces damaged irreparably in the war. Candles and lanterns of all shapes, sizes, and materials formed a glittering strand down the center of the long table, banked by fresh flowers and fragrant branches. The fine place settings of King Merrill’s time had long ago been looted, but enough mismatched pewter trenches had been gathered to serve everyone.

“I think all the ceremonies have made me hungry,” Blaine joked, savoring the aroma of roasted venison and onions.

“Then you’re in luck,” Kestel chuckled. “I happen to know that the menu tonight really will be fit for a king.”

For the first time since his return to Donderath, no one was trying to kill him. Blaine found that thought as satisfying as the platters of food Dillon and the castle staff had prepared. The feast was a testimony to Donderath’s recovery, and to a successful planting and harvest. Succulent venison with root vegetables, crusty bread, and passable ale made for an excellent meal, along with an impressive variety of desserts. Plenty of deer blood meant a bounty for the talishte guests as well. Blaine and Kestel sat at the center of the long table. Judith, Edward, Dawe, and Mari were on Blaine’s right, while Borya, Desya, and Zaryae were to Kestel’s left. Connor was next to Zaryae, and after the meal, Blaine’s first official action as king would be to perform a handfasting. Piran, Verran, Niklas, Penhallow, and Geir were directly across from Blaine and Kestel, along with Engraham from the Rooster and Pig. The rest of Blaine’s allies—the mages, the Elders, and the Knights of Esthrane—all joined in the feasting.

“Do you think we’ll ever have this group together again?” Kestel asked, leaning her head on Blaine’s shoulder.

He took a sip of his ale, and shrugged. “Who knows? Rinka and Tormod—and Birgen—will head back to their lands in a few days, to rebuild. Gods know, we need that. Voss says he’ll sign a contract with me to have his people handling security for Castle Reach, the port, and the seacoast within twenty miles. And with Folville as the Lord Mayor of Castle Reach, and Voss’s men rebuilding the shipworks, we might just have a port and sea trade again.”

“I’m quite taken with heading up the castle and royal forces,” Piran said with a grin. “But I hope you’re not going to make us wear those wretched uniforms Merrill’s castle guard wore.”

“Oh no,” Kestel laughed. “Merrill’s colors were gold and purple. Blaine was leaning more toward orange and red, with a hat to match.” The look on Piran’s face was worth it, right before the queen nearly laughed hard enough to choke.

“We’ll talk,” Blaine said with a raised eyebrow. “I hate orange.”

“I think it’ll be a while before we hear anything more from Meroven,” Niklas said, finishing off his venison. “At least, I hope so. But we’ll have the borders patrolled. And I intend to have troops in place for the harvest, so we can do our damnedest not to have another hungry winter.”

Judith and Edward had made a private handfasting while Blaine was off at war. They looked at each other with real affection, and Blaine was happy that in all the loss and hardship, they had found each other. Mari and Dawe would add a sibling for Robbe in the fall, and since Blaine’s new home would be Quillarth Castle, he had officially bestowed the title of Lord of Glenreith on Dawe. Only Carr was missing. It helped to know that he had gone to the Sea of Souls in peace, and the extra time they had been afforded together with Carr’s ghostly presence helped to ease the pain, but Glenreith would never be the same without Carr.

“Have you decided where the two of you will go, after the wedding?” Kestel asked Zaryae and Connor, as if she suspected the melancholy direction Blaine’s thoughts had taken.

They exchanged a glance, giving Blaine to guess that the answer was not entirely settled. “To Solsiden and Westbain, most likely,” Zaryae replied. “To help Penhallow and the Wraith Lord with the cleanup.”

Penhallow cleared his throat. “I just want to go on record, along with Kierken, that we intend to rebuild Westbain for the newlyweds, as our wedding gift to them.” He gave a rare smile. “Only fitting, after all that they’ve braved on our behalf.”

Connor and Dawe were not the only ones to be gaining lands and titles. Piran, Verran, Niklas, Borya, and Desya had all been granted noble titles and vacant manors, as befitted Lords of the Blood. The Knights of Esthrane had already begun rebuilding their Citadel, and Dolan had confirmed the rumor that he intended to restore Mirdalur as a working manor. Dagur, Rikard, and the mages were committed to restoring the University at Castle Reach to its former glory, and maybe even other sites, like the Lyceum at Tobar.

“I wanted to thank you for bringing Bayard to Bleak Hollow,” Rinka Solveig said. “Together with the twins,” she added with a nod toward Borya and Desya, “I think we can open trade routes up before winter to the Lesser Kingdoms and the null villages. If the harvest is as good as we expect, we should have plenty to sell, and as I recall, a few of those villages brewed some fine mead and lager,” she added with the pleased expression of someone who expected to turn a handy profit.

“Let us know if you’ll be trading iron goods and ale,” Dawe said. “Now that the villages around Glenreith have gotten their feet under them again, the forges are turning out good, sturdy tools and bridles, and by next summer, we’re expecting to see a better grade of ale and whiskey from our brewery and distillery.”

“I’m waiting for the wine you promised me,” Kestel said with a raised eyebrow. “I haven’t had a decent glass since before Velant, and I’m long overdue!”

“Speaking of which,” Piran said, “Voss told me he thinks we’ll have three new seagoing ships ready by the time the ice breaks up in Skalgerston Bay. We can reopen the Edgeland trade when the White Nights are back, and you know what that means.”

Kestel, Piran, and Verran all looked at Blaine. “Herring!” they said in unison.

Blaine glanced up at Dillon, who was, as an excellent seneschal, standing right behind him. “Make a note, please,” he said. “You can add herring to all the castle menus to improve trade with Edgeland. But there’s to be none on my plate. Ever.”

“Noted, Your Majesty,” Dillon replied, with just a hint of laughter in his voice.

Blaine smiled, listening to the buzz of conversation, warmed by good food and drink and the knowledge that at least for now, they and the kingdom were safe. Blaine glanced over to see Kestel watching him, and he guessed that she was thinking along the same lines. He stood, and the conversation quieted.

“A toast,” Blaine said, lifting his glass with his left hand while he took Kestel’s hand in his right. “To a new beginning—for Donderath, and for us. May the gods grant us and this kingdom peace, prosperity, and safety, and the wisdom to never forget the price it required to obtain them.”

Tomorrow, official business would require the attention of Donderath’s new king. But tonight, Blaine was surrounded by family, friends, and allies in quiet celebration, more than he ever expected, and all that he needed.