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The Bishop of Leornian turned and raised his hands, letting his long, gold-embroidered sleeves fall back. “Broderick Ethelred Ulfric of the House of Gramiren. Do you swear faithfully to govern the peoples of the Kingdom of Leornian and Myrcia, and of the Principality of Rawdon, and of all your lands and territories according to their own laws and customs?”
“I swear so to do,” Broderick said. His voice echoed down the nave and came back to him, muffled and distorted.
“And will you, in your power, cause the law to be tempered with mercy and wisdom in all your judgments? Will you stand as defender of the rights of all your people?”
“I will,” said Broderick, though in his mind he was thinking of a few people who would be getting exactly what was coming to them, un-tempered by any kind of mercy, as soon as he could arrange it. Rohesia and the Earl of Hyrne, for instance.
“And will you swear to defend the true faith, and uphold the law of Earstien, upon which is founded this nation? Will you preserve unto his clergy all such rights and privileges as do, or shall, pertain unto them?”
“I will,” said Broderick, with an irritated sigh. He’d already given a thousand Sovereigns he didn’t have to help finish this cathedral, and he’d signed over several small estates to various abbeys and convents to make sure the clergy at this ceremony looked properly happy to be here.
Broderick recited his coronation oath, and then the Bishop of Leornian took the heavy gold Crown of Earnwald from the hands of the Bishop of Formacaster and placed it on Broderick’s head.
Cheers echoed up and down the nave, from the stands that had been built in the side aisles to accommodate the crowds, and from the galleries above. All Broderick could think, sitting there, was that any of those fools might have a crossbow. A child could make the shot at that distance. And the procession to and from the castle—anyone along the road could have a sword or a firebomb.
That morning he’d gone down to the library secretly and looked in Finster’s Book. He would be doing it later officially, of course, but he had stupidly wanted to get a peek ahead of time. The same line was there as before: “As the land falls into shadow, the Black Eagle Rises.”
But two new sentences had appeared below it: “Though he may rule, he will never know peace. And his closest friends will betray him.” It would have been nice to know that a bit earlier. Not that he would have passed up the chance at the throne if he had known, but he might have been a little less enthusiastic about his victory.
He told Muriel about it on the way back up to the castle for the coronation feast. “Well, you can’t expect universal popularity,” she said with a shrug. “The court can be a dangerous place. Speaking of which, I was sorry to hear about Anne.”
Anne Meriwether had died the previous evening, which wasn’t a very good omen for his reign, either. Broderick had tried, but failed, to muster any great feeling over her death. A nasty way to go, of course, but at least it hadn’t been him or Muriel. Anne had been fun for a time, but she had started to become a problem, and he would probably have had to end it with her anyway.
Then he noticed a very slight smile on Muriel’s lips, and he couldn’t help remembering the last time he had spoken to the abbess of the convent where Anne was being treated. The abbess had been certain the girl would recover. She had been making excellent progress. He found it rather suspicious, really, and judging by that look on Muriel’s face, it wasn’t hard to imagine who might be responsible.
Or perhaps not. Maybe he was reading too much into her expression.
“As it happens,” she went on, “I’ve ended it with Pedr Byrne, too. Rohesia released his sister Sophie, and I’ve taken her on as one of my ladies. It seemed a little awkward. And a bit...incestuous somehow.”
She gave him a wink, and he knew that she had heard where Duchess Flora was spending her nights now. How was it that Muriel always knew these things?
Up at the castle, he couldn’t simply join the party, but had to spend the better part of an hour sitting in the throne room with Muriel, while every member of the court came up and gave him their congratulations. It was a bit excessive, since almost all of them had been down at the cathedral and had been part of the nearly-endless procession of nobles making their official obeisance to him. But apparently this was an old tradition, and the chamberlain and chancellor had both said he couldn’t possibly get out of it.
One of the first people in line was Lady Jorunn, along with her student, Evika Videle. “I regret to say we are leaving tonight,” said her ladyship. “We are returning to Diernemynster for a time in order to consult with the Freagast.”
“I trust you will return soon, though, won’t you?” asked Muriel.
Lady Jorunn faltered, looking at Evika and then at the floor. “I...I certainly hope that the Freagast permits me to visit again, your majesty.”
So that meant she was abandoning him. No doubt this was somehow Caedmon Aldred’s doing. Fine, then. Let her go. Every hillichmagnar at Diernemynster could fall into the Void, for all he cared.
Much later, when the whole line of nobles had greeted him, he finally got to go to his own party. But everywhere he went, the festivities stopped, and people turned and bowed. Almost no one treated him normally, which he supposed was the point of a coronation. But it did make him feel oddly out of place in his own home.
Lukas was the same as always, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He was in the Silver Parlor with three young lady’s maids, drinking heavily and sticking his hands up their dresses without any concern for who might be looking.
“I can spare one of these girls as a coronation present,” he told Broderick. “I’ll even let you choose.”
Honestly, sometimes the man was more trouble than he was worth. Broderick had named him the new captain general, but clearly he regarded the corruption of young ladies as his primary responsibility.
Flora, too, was still her usual self with Broderick. And in fact more so than ever. She insisted on pulling him into one of the third-floor bathrooms, where she gave him her own “coronation present.” The woman was as lovely as she had ever been, though thirty years had passed since she had lost her maidenhood to him. And her skills had only improved.
But once he finished, and she wiped off her chin with an evil little smile, she sat on his lap and asked him if he’d decided on his Gentlemen of the Bedchamber yet. Obviously she was hoping Pedr would be one of them. The unspoken request spoiled the moment for him. He had always thought of Flora as a genuine friend, but now he could see that she was using him, the same as everyone else was, in order to advance her family’s interests.
It was getting difficult to think of anyone he really trusted anymore. The book had been right about him becoming king. Would it be right about his closest friends betraying him, too? When would it happen? How long did he have? Whom should he suspect? Whom could he trust?
Much later, when dancing had started in the council chamber and the throne room, Broderick found Sir William Aitken standing alone in the shadows, watching the happy couples spinning and twirling. Nothing about William had changed. He was always on guard—always ready. Yes, he’d failed in his attempt to kill Edwin, but that couldn’t really be helped. No one was perfect. And William had saved his life. A man like that deserved some sort of reward for his loyalty.
Broderick went and put a hand on William’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he said. The poor fellow jumped at the sound of his voice. Probably hadn’t had enough sleep lately.
They went out into Queen Maud’s Garden, past the buffet tables and lanterns, into a quiet, dark corner. “How is your family, William?”
The gaunt knight’s face went even paler than normal. Perhaps he already had a notion of what Broderick was going to say. “They’re...fine, your majesty. Thank you for asking about them.”
“How do you think your wife would enjoy being a baroness?”
“A baroness, sir?” William looked less than thrilled. “Sir, I couldn’t dream of such an honor.”
“Perhaps not, but you’re getting it, anyway. I’ve already ennobled Rath, if you can believe it. A retirement present, in his case, thank Earstien. But as for you, I need you at my court.”
“Sir, I’m not worthy.”
Broderick laughed and patted him on the back. “Nonsense, William. I think you might be the only one here tonight who is.”
The End