The procession led her under a marble archway and across the mountain ledge. Cheers rang out as she strode onto the crystal bridge. Not cheers from the nobles; they were waiting on the other side of the bridge. It was the commoners, crowding onto mountain ledges in swarms of vibrant color.
She looked down, past the shimmering crystal under her wedge heels, into the gaping chasm that loomed below. Her breath caught. Her legs stalled, and the guard behind her bumped into her. She could only stare, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Hundreds and hundreds of feet below, commoners flooded the lakeshores and squeezed into boats.
But they were only specks, and the lake was so far away. If the crystal shattered, if she toppled over the edge…
“Your Majesty,” a guard said.
Kalie jerked her head up, licking salty sweat off her lips.
Looking down was not a brilliant idea.
Her skin warmed as the sun rose over the mountains. The priestesses had timed everything so she’d be crowned at the precise moment the sun landed on her, but the bridge stretched on forever.
Kalie dabbed at her sweaty face, careful not to smear her makeup. Her maids had woken her at two in the morning to start preparing her. It’d be a shame if she messed it all up now.
As massive waterfalls crashed into the lake below, she was painfully aware of her dry throat. Until the ceremony was over, there would be no water, no relief. They would not stop on the bridge, even though her shoes were biting into her skin and she was already out of breath.
By the time she reached the stone platform at the base of Azura’s Cathedral, she was panting.
The priestesses removed her cloak and unbound her hair. Cool wind swept over her skin. Her guards moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, forming a line between her and the Cathedral’s exposed doors.
An ancient fountain squatted behind the coronation throne. Uncle Jerran stood next to it, holding his ivory cane as if he was a king wielding a scepter. A few steps away, the elderly High Priestess of Iestea waited behind a podium. The crown glittered atop it. Camera drones flitted above, but the rippling forcefields kept them at a distance.
Priestesses stripped her of all her jewelry.
Hardly able to breathe, Kalie stepped out of her shoes and knelt before the High Priestess.
The symbolic undressing was a humbling ritual, dating to the time of Calla, the first duchissa. It was meant to emphasize that she, a mere mortal, was nothing compared to the glory of Dali’s true monarch, Queen Azura.
The High Priestess’s voice boomed through the mountains, amplified by a microphone clipped to her lapel. “If you would please stand, and join us in Azura’s Prayer.”
Kalie almost stood out of habit, but she wasn’t supposed to rise until she was crowned, so she bowed her head.
Thousands of Dalian voices rose as one: “Holy Mother Azura, Queen of the Universe, we beg you to hear our voices. Bless us with your gracious favor. Guide us through the darkest nights, let us smile upon the sunrise. Take our hands, lead us on the path towards your immortal grace and eternal glory.”
The prayer echoed off the mountains, resounding through Kalie’s bones.
Birds sang above her. Their flapping forms were reduced to shadows in the glow of the rising sun. Kalie lifted her head and caught a glimpse of a snowy bird soaring by.
Her lips parted.
It was gone too quickly to register, but it could’ve been a dove—Azura’s snowy messenger, descending from the heavens to bless her new reign.
The High Priestess’s voice boomed again. “I will now present the Duchissa Heredem—” Even now, she wasn’t the Duchissa in the eyes of the Church, not until she placed the crown on her head— “with Azura’s sacred relic, the only surviving copy of the Testament of Kixthrys. Heredem Kalista, do you accept the holy object?”
Kalie held her chin high. “I accept.”
A priestess handed her the tattered Testament. She clutched it to her chest, and her fingertips tingled. According to the myths, Azura had written this very copy.
“Heredem, is Your Highness willing to take the oath?”
Kalie gripped the book tighter to calm her trembling hands. “I am.”
“Do you solemnly promise, on the Testament, to govern the peoples of the world of Dali—the peoples of Iestea, Pharea, Usias, Shobe and all of Your Highness’s other domains—according to their respective laws and customs?”
Sweat dripped down her forehead. “I do.”
