She didn’t know what had been in her father’s heart over a century ago. But she knew what was in her own today. “I do.”
“Will you, using the Blessing bestowed on you by the Great Giver of All, cause goodness and righteousness to be carried out in mercy throughout all your kingdom?”
The tears swelled, dripped, froze on her cheeks. “I will.”
“Will you, to the utmost of your power, uphold and maintain the sacred laws and the laws of the land and proliferate the Words of Life through Fjordlandi? Will you practice the faith of the land? Will you reserve to the order of dominies the right to maintain discipleship and worship? Will you preserve the rights of the faithful?”
An arrowthwangedthrough her chest. Had her father agreed tothis? Knowing very well he would further his own father’s attempts to squash and obliterate the faith? Had he sworn a lie, made a mockery of their very coronation ceremony?
Could one even be called the rightful sovereign, if this very oath had been offered without sincerity?
Emotion—the thing Fodur had always said was her weakness and would be her undoing—swelled up within her. She lifted her chin higher. A simpleI willdidn’t seem enough here, not to counteract the false claims of her ancestors. “I will do so, with all my heart.”
“Then I declare you to be Queen Valkyrja, and I bid you rise.” From a pillow held by a youth, he picked up the white-gold circlet and placed it on her head.
As she stood, the Song burst into the room in a quick crescendo, the crystal columns turning into a kaleidoscope of frost and snow, shot through with colors from the stained glass. She turned to face the people as power surged within her unlike anything she’d ever known.
She could feel every stream, every spring under the continent. Every water drop in the clouds above. The very moisture in the room, which she froze and turned into crystals, setting them to dance and spin in a ballet to match the song.
On her head she could feel ice growing from the circlet but had no conscious thought toward what crown grew there or even how. Her soul was too filled with the wonder of the Giver to care about such things.
It was enough to be here, in his presence.
It was enough to feel his anointing come down upon her once more. Stronger, more complete.
It was enough to know that with his Blessing, all the snows in all the land danced to this song. She took the cold in her fist, the ice in her grip, and their yoke was easy. Their burden light.
Gasps filled the nave, even a few shouts, quickly shushed, from the children in attendance. Surprise filled the faces of the Fjorders, and wonder.
But as her gaze sought out the Blessed among the crowd, it was neither of those she saw in most of their expressions.
Disbelief. Incredulity. For decades, centuries, they had denied the power of the Giver. Denied the source of the very thing they called a gift from him. Now they were seeing it in its true power, and they turned their faces away, sought each other’s gazes instead of seeking the one from whom the Blessing flowed.
The joy in her spirit didn’t dim—but sorrow came alongside it. These people, her people, so long the elite…they’d lost their way. And they didn’twantto find it again.
Giver, if I’m going to show them, it will only be by your grace. You’ll need to soften their hearts.
Her gaze finished tracing over the left side of the nave and fell on the aisle, the path toward the narthex, the doors still open.
The black-clad man standing in the center of the opening, halfway between the exit to the street and the entrance to the nave. Even across the distance, she could see the smile on Nik’s face. The way he lifted his right hand, fisted it, and pressed it to his heart.
And she knew. She knew her people’s hearts didn’t just need to be softened—or rather, she knew that when hearts had frozen over, softening required something more than force. It required heat. A flame to melt the ice.
Exactly what the Giver had given them.
15
Nik stood among his family in the recesses of the Grand Arena—a place he’d never thought he would be. He’d watched recordings of the Proving competitions and Challenges held here before, but only in school. Such showings had been treats on special days, and he’d enjoyed them as much as any other child. They’d each picked their champion and rooted for them, wagering pieces of candy or time on the slide on the playground on who would win.
Raf had gotten so angry with Nik for choosing the winner every time. And Nik had just rolled his eyes and laughed. Because had anyone bothered to check the history books, they too could have known in advance who would win—with the exception of the two new Challenges there tended to be each year. Each seat on the High Council had been won through the Proving. And of course, there’d been the event two hundred fifty years before when Axel had Challenged the previous king and begun a new dynasty.
From this shadowed hallway they had a view of the enormous ice rink that would soon be filled with couples dancing on their skates. Food and drink vendors would circulate both on the ice and in the stands. The scents of roasted meats and potatoesalready filled the air, making Nik’s mouth water and his stomach rumble.
“The stands are nearly full,” his mother said from the opening, where she peered out without leaving the concealing darkness. “Though how the thanes will even see anything all the way up in the high seats, I don’t know.”
“They won’t.” Daemon stood a few paces behind Elianne, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face that made it clear he was only here because the rest of them had insisted on coming. “No one cares if they can see. Aside from the three dozen given roses to throw when they bend the knee, they’re only here because the arena holds more people than there are Fjorders in Reykstoll. Probably charged them an entrance fee.”
Those three dozen ceremonial thanes were stationed at regular intervals around the rink, and the ones Nik could see looked a combination of excited and lonely, sitting in the third row amongst the Fjorders who pointedly ignored them.
