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As soon as it had come, the golden phosphorescence surrounding Bastian fizzled out, the shimmer dimming slowly and dying away. All the nobles were staring, all with similar awed expressions. Some had the telltale gleam of tears in their eyes.
Lore’s middle twisted along with her ring, nerves driving them both.
Straightening her ring, Bastian lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed the backs of her knuckles. He winked at her while his lips were still on her skin.
“Seemed like a good time to show off,” he whispered.
She glanced toward the back of the room, knowing what he meant. Caius and Maxon stood there, still dressed as if they were being passed off as country cousins, just like she had been. But Lore didn’t think she’d ever had such a strange expression as the two of them did, a blend of awe and rage.
Now halo-less and acting completely unaware of what had just interrupted prayers, Bastian turned to Gabe. “Your Holiness, should we continue? There are things to be taken care of once prayers are concluded, you’ll remember.”
Gabe eyed him warily, something almost hurt flickering across his face before he schooled it into indifference. He finished prayers quickly, half the courtiers forgetting their part of the call and response, too busy staring at their King.
Then Gabe stepped back from the front of the dais, his movement quick enough to make the incense smoke dip and whirl. He looked at Lore again, blue eye blazing.
And he left.
That wasn’t supposed to happen, and the momentary stutter in Bastian’s steps said as much. But a look of relief spasmed across his face right before he took to the dais. He shook his head slightly, a wince like the headache he’d complained of this morning hadn’t completely gone, but his face was calm as he stood before his court.
Bastian raised his hands, and a hush fell over the congregants. “I have people to introduce you to.” Straight to the point, forgoing any additional theatrics. His expression went from serene to wry, his grin crooked and disarming. “Last time this happened, you were introduced to my future wife, so I’d suggest you pay attention.”
Some of the answering smiles in the crowd thinned.
“This introduction promises to be just as important.” Bastian’s arms fell, wafting incense smoke. He gestured at the back of the sanctuary.
Lore turned. So did everyone else. Maxon quickly arranged his face in a tight smile and followed the Sainted King’s direction, walking gracefully up the center aisle. Probably much more gracefully than Lore had, when she was introduced to the court. Caius trailed behind him, eyes shifting from one side to the other, as if cataloging every face he passed.
Manicured brows lowered over reddened eyes as the two men stepped up on the dais next to Bastian, hands that had never known calluses twitching nervously.
“It is my pleasure,” Bastian said when the Kirytheans had reached the dais, “to introduce you to Maxon Agripolus and Caius Sentia.”
The Kirythean names made a ripple of unease wind visibly through the crowd.
Bastian saw it. He grinned, wolfish. “Delegates sent from Emperor Jax himself.”
He paused, then, like a priest waiting for an objection in the middle of wedding vows.
Silence in the sanctuary, but not the calm kind. The Court of the Citadel was too well bred to voice their displeasure in public, but it simmered beneath the air like a pot near boiling over.
“This is a historic time,” Bastian continued. He didn’t pitch his voice like someone making pronouncements; he spoke to his nobles as if they were gathered around a casual dinner table, as if they were at one of the parties he’d thrown as the Sun Prince. “The rules are changing. Threats of the past have no place in the future; instead, we must find ways to work together. Ways to coexist as we usher in a new era.”
Quiet but for the rustle of small, nervous movements, the near-silent sound of hundreds of breaths in and out of anxiety-tightened lungs. Lore dared a glance around—she couldn’t see Alie, but Malcolm stood near the back of the sanctuary, his scarred arms crossed tight over his chest, his face all hard lines. He caught her eye, then looked quickly away.
Up on the dais, Bastian clapped Maxon on the shoulder. The other man stood stiffly, refusing to be moved.
“I expect you to make them welcome as we work toward preserving the peace we have so long trusted,” Bastian said. He lifted his hand from Maxon, like a release, and cast a pointed look over his shoulder, highlighting the absence of clergy. He turned back to the crowd with a wry smile. “I suppose it falls to me to dismiss you, then. Go on.”
He came back down the stairs with a spring in his step, as if relishing the confusion he’d just wrought, and took Lore’s arm. “That went well.”
“Other than Gabe leaving.”
Bastian’s self-satisfied grin faltered, just a little. “Perhaps that’s for the best.” He winced, his hand rising to his temple, then falling. “Come on. That damn headache is coming back.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I am never far from my faithful.
—The Book of Prayer, Tract 56
