Page 166 of The Reaping Rose

She stands with her hands clasped around the hilt of Mother’s sword. There’s a stone for each territory embedded in it.

Tiger’s eye at the top for Zealeh.

A bright sapphire for Andare.

Green jade for Everquell.

An iridescent opal for Quietus.

And finally, a single white pearl for Tael, who is represented today by Lord Kave Fang, even as his territory goes dark.

He stands with a solemn expression on his face, in support of our realm coming together. Just as Celeste has promised to help from the north, we will find our way by offering our support to each other. Come what may, I will fight for my realm.

This time, I will not fall. I will not doubt. I will not be weak or accept defeat. This crown atop my head is my promise that I intend to keep.

“Your Majesty.” Calla bows her head, holding the sword in front of her.

I take the handle as I drop to a knee before the blade—the blade of my people.

My chin drops as a white light emits from above, and Calla whispers a prayer in the old language.

May the gods see the king.

May the gods protect the people.

In birth, in wisdom, in life, and eternal darkness, may the gods guide his path through the fates.

“Stand,” Calla directs, and I lift to my feet. “May this crown be a promise from the king to his people. May this blade be an answer when those people suffer. And may this king be a beacon of hope when his people call for him. Do you honor your kingdom, Wilder Riven?”

“Yes.”

“Do you honor the people of Vaelier?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear your loyalty, your blood, your magic? Will you defend them until your dying breath?”

“I will.”

My heart hammers as the Beating reminds me how close I am to that dying breath right now. So long as it waits for this battle to end, I will fight for them.

“You may turn.” Calla releases the blade, coming to my side as I face the room, the sword pinned to the ground in front of me as I look out at my court. “We wish strength and power to our king. We pledge our loyalties to him.”

Calla bows her head, and the rest of the room does the same, kneeling as they were before, even in silk, lace, and fine fabrics.

“Your Majesty, King Wilder Riven.”

“Your Majesty, King Wilder Riven,” the room repeats after Calla.

I glance at the empty pillows on the ground beside Rior. The spot where the surviving blood of Vaelier kneels in these ceremonies. It is left empty with Selia gone, yet somehow, I feel her here.

I would not stand before my people had it not been for her sacrifices, no matter how Vaelier resents her. For Selia, I move forward. I leave her at the grieving pillar, and I step into the role I was meant to take the moment my mother fell.

Calla is the first to lift her chin, and when she does, the room rises. But no one speaks as she takes the long walk down the center of the room, her chin held high. The doors groan open to let her through, and then the sword before me warms to my touch, and the white light that bathed me pulls inward.

A gift from the gods.

“To the king,” the room shouts, and while I’ve spent a century fearing that title, it’s finally who I am.