“Each and every one.” Nik inclined his head, reverence filling his face. “And I owe you a debt of gratitude for sending them. It would be an honor to converse with you whenever I’m…stable.”
Kyrja’s breath shook when she drew it in. This was what she’d taken the crown for. So that men like Nik could follow their convictions, learn the Words. It wasn’t about the cloak or the show or proving anything.
It was about accepting the mantle from the Giver of All. Leading Fjordlandi in the journey back to him. Back to who he wanted them to be. One people.
Leif nodded. “You know your cue, Your Majesty.”
The musicians had already begun the processional song. At its end, she would fill the doorway and wait for Erkebyshop Leif to beckon her forward. She nodded.
Leaving the door open behind him, the dominie positioned himself in the center of the doors to the nave, took a moment to adjust his robes, and strode from view, up the center aisle.
She was going to be sick. Kyrja shot out a hand, wishing for Mamma’s. Dania’s. Even Perla’s. Though of course, the princess was already in her balcony seat with the ambassadors from the Sunken Kingdom and Soltierra. Observing, but not part of the proceedings. They were awaiting a new diplomat from Ellas still after Fodur’s latest banishing.
Nik’s fingers closed around hers, squeezed gently. Warmth radiated up her arm. “You are the Giver’s anointed, Valkyrja Isidordottir. Not just queen—but the queen we’ve waited centuries for.”
She clung to his hand as the music swelled, looked over into his eyes, as calm and certain as she was frazzled and doubtful. “But not the queenthey’vewaited for.”
“Maybe not.” His face shifted subtly, going from soft to hard. Friendly and warm to…well, Aflame. Sparks danced around him. “But you’re the queen they need.” He gave her hand one more squeeze and then stepped away, nodding her forward.
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped from the small room into the narthex. A few more steps and shewas in the doorway, eyes trained on where Leif was even now turning to face the congregation at the front of the church, under the crystal arches.
The room was packed, with not so much as a single seat left empty in the main pews or, she knew, the balcony. There were no thanes present aside from the dominie and his wife and the two current representatives on the Great Council—and the Aflame in the antechamber. Which meant only fine clothing, careful hairstyles, and palest skin visible. Nearly every head she saw was blond, as well. The usual even among the thanes, yes, but even so, it made Kyrja aware yet again of what she wasn’t.
And of what she was. More thane than Fjorder, by blood. Unusual among her people.Giver, I know this isn’t how you want us to be, so divided with hatred between us. It’s why you gave the Blessing, where that hatred was overcome, and yet even that we’ve taken and turned into a way to deepen the rift.
If I’m to be queen, I want to be a queen after your heart. I want to be a queen who seeks unity, who rights the wrongs done by generations of my ancestors. But I can only do that with your help.
The music faded. The dominie raised his arms high. “Brothers and sisters of Fjordlandi. We are gathered here today for a most solemn occasion, to recognize a new queen. Per the traditions of our people, Isidor, two days past, issued a Challenge to his daughter, as did the twelve Blessed of the High Council. One victor emerged, and in consequence, Isidor and the Counselors all forfeited their titles. Today, we honor our new queen. Before you now, she will swear her oath. And then all are invited to join the thanes at the Grand Arena for a display of the Challenge as recorded by the court scribe, and then the traditional bending of the knee ceremony, followed by the Coronation Ball. Now, Fjordlandi, all rise! I present to youyour new queen. Valkyrja Isidordottir, come forth to greet your people.”
Thousands of feet shuffled, pews creaked, fabric rustled, and the musicians struck a new song. Kyrja drew herself up to her full height and took the first step down the aisle.
She let her gaze drift over the people—should she smile at them? She wasn’t sure her lips could handle a smile right now, and she had little desire to give one, seeing the looks on the Fjorders’ faces. Some were merely curious. Others outright scowled.
Anxiety quaked in her stomach, making her legs feel like jelly.
Einar’s voice filled her mind.
Focus. This wasn’t about her, really. And in a way, it wasn’t even about the people here now. It was about the Giver and his will for them. It was about honoring who he’d made them to be.
Will. She would not rule these people like her father had, by force. She would serve them, as long as the Giver granted her the power to do so. And if another rose, stronger than she, to Challenge her and take the throne? She would trust that was in the Giver’s will too. But until that day, she would do what he called her to do.
Act.One foot in front of the other, head held high, spine in the perfect alignment drilled into her, she made her way up the long aisle. Halfway up, she did glance to the right, where Dania’s family stood. Her youngest daughter, only nine, was bouncing on her toes, grinning in delight, and the calming hand Dania rested on her shoulder did nothing to still her.
Turned out Kyrja could smile, and she did so now.
She had friends. Perhaps they were few, but she wasn’t alone. Feeling stronger, she sent a wink to them and continued toward the front.
Erkebyshop Leif welcomed her with a nod. The music fell silent, and his voice boomed over the nave. “Valkyrja, take the knee before the Giver and your people.”
She did so, heart thundering.
“Are you prepared, Valkyrja Isidordottir, to swear the oath to the Giver and all Fjordlandi?”
Kyrja tilted her face up toward the erkebyshop. “I am.”
He nodded and seemed to grow before her eyes. “Do you solemnly promise to govern the people of Fjordlandi—thane, Fjorder, and Blessed—with wisdom, compassion, and grace, according to our laws and traditions?”
Tears stung her eyes. Were these the words her father had sworn to? Compassion? Grace? Had he intended to mean them—or did he know, even as he said the words, that he would consider such things to be failings rather than aspirations?
