11. Emmerick
Chapter 11
Emmerick
C rowds gathered outside the Sun Temple in Helos. As soon as the heavy golden crown was lowered onto my head, they cheered. The Lynx formed a protective row at the bottom of the steps. The horrid rat-faced, feline-like creatures roared.
The bell tower rang in celebration of a new King.
I looked to Barden and Haward, Sybilla’s cousins. They’d come to petition that they should be my advisors.
“I’m ready to return to the castle,” I told them.
Hundreds of North Corridor guards escorted us back to the mechanical lift, which pulled us up the mountain in a sickening, jolting manner. Perched atop the highest peak of the Hussa Mountains, Helos Castle was a marvel. Towers stretched up into the clouds, and the granite stone shined with dew.
I didn’t remember making my way to the dining hall; my mind was too dazed with the feeling of metal at my temples and the weight of dozens of eyes gaping at me as we passed. I’d always been partial to Luz’s silver and royal blue. Everything here was black and gold.
Too much gold.
A feast had been prepared and laid out before me on a long gilded table lined with faces that I barely knew.
Most royal heirs grew up knowing they would one day rule—they were prepared and excited for this moment. Conversation hummed around me. It felt wrong to sit in the chair of a man I’d never even met.
“Emmerick,” Amara greeted.
My birth mother sat to my left. Next to her sat Angeline, my mother by all other standards. She was the woman who’d raised me as a baker’s son turned Knight—she would always hold the title of Mama. My father had stayed in Luz to help with the grounds after the attack. He’d been the groundskeeper there for thirty-five years and stayed devoted even as his body protested.
Mama leaned over Amara and squeezed my arm, reassuring me. “You’ve done well.”
This had just begun. I’d done nothing yet. Aside from accepting the throne of the Mad King, who had let Firose lead him to war .
The ashes of King Mattock, my birth father, were somewhere in the tombs below this gaudy castle. Forks scraped against plates; bottles were drained.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but the lords were drunk on mead, and Sybilla’s cousins seemed to have them wrapped around their grubby fingers.
“Not hungry?” Amara asked, staring down at my full plate.
Mama glanced over Amara’s shoulder, frowning. “Eat, my boy.”
Great, now there were two of them.
When Amara had lifted the charm on our memories, she and Mama had both cried tears of joy at their reunion. I’d only felt emptier. Less of me felt right even though my mama had reassured me that I was no less hers, that shared blood alone did not make a family.
There were now fragmented memories of Amara visiting us, posing as my father’s sister. I’d been too young to understand the weight of her presence.
I hadn’t liked seeing the confusion cross my mother’s face when the veil had been pulled back. She had lived so long under the guise of magic. What other evils could such magic could do?
I shook that thought away.
Magic was still forbidden in the North Corridor.
Sybilla would tell me that should change.
I was not so sure.
“It’s just been a long day, Mama,” I reassured her. “I’m fine, just feeling a bit green.”
With doubt in her eyes, she said, “If you say so, my love. Why are the two lords from the Central Corridor here?” My mama wasn’t unwise—she knew Haward and Barden had long spoken out against Sybilla’s rule.
“As lords in the Central Corridor, they hope that their support ‘adds legitimacy to my claim on the crown,’ as they put it, ” I told her. “They could be useful.” Haward and Barden were weasels. But they were great at shaking hands.
My mama pursed her lips, seeming skeptical. I was, too, but I needed to be accepted by the stakeholders in this Corridor. Sybilla’s cousins had invited numerous lords and ladies of the North Corridor—I couldn’t remember a single name.
My eye caught on one woman who stood out amongst them. She wore a burgundy veil, which she had not removed for dinner. The fabric looked charmed to obscure her face—how appealing. I’d give anything to be able to hide. I hadn’t been introduced to her, so she must have been escorted in late.
A prickle of cold hit the back of my neck. It was sudden and chilling, as though someone had let in a draft—though no window was open.
How odd...
The northern nobles filtered out as soon as dinner plates had been cleared, and I didn’t offer drinks or cigars in the sitting room. Amara agreed to see my mama up to her bedchamber. They chatted all the way up the stairs. Haward and Barden lingered.
Apparently, no one had told them it was rude to loiter about a royal’s home—then again, that had always been their way. Barden stood behind Haward, looking nervous as usual.
“Can I help you, Haward?” I asked.
“Yes. I was waiting for a good time to introduce you to someone. She is the Lady of High Tower. That is a township a few miles east of here.”
“I do own a map, Haward,” I said and gritted my teeth. Play nice.
He nodded. “Then you know that she owns one of the largest estates in the North. She has requested to speak with you. So be polite. ” Haward held his arm out toward the door.
When I stepped inside the drawing room, a petite figure, clad in a dark-burgundy cloak with the hood up, ran a gloved finger along a golden bust of a horse’s head.
The veiled woman rounded the room and took in the books on the shelves—her movement eerily smooth. None of her skin was visible, and where her features should be, there were only shadows.
Hayward continued, “This is Lady Ryssa of High Tower. She tells us she has extensive experience in Source law. Should you need an advisor to help manage the changing landscape of the realm, she could be of great help.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, King Mattock.” Her voice was distorted, and it rippled at the edges through the veil. I grimaced at my new title and new surname.
My late “father” had let Firose infiltrate his throne...his mind. Now I had to share his name as if he meant something to me.
“It’s customary to lower your hood when speaking to a royal, is it not?” I asked. Distrust itched at my stomach.
Lady Ryssa drew in a deep breath and stilled. Her body language showed discomfort but no threat.
Barden explained, “Lady Ryssa told us she suffered scarring and burns as a child.”
The thought of the hand-shaped burns on my chest, of the pain Firose had inflicted that night in the tower struck me. No one should be forced to bear their scars openly. I relived those moments whenever I saw my own.
Lady Ryssa nodded. “If you will allow it, King Mattock, I prefer to wear the veil. Forgive my broken customs, but—”
I waved away her explanation. It wasn’t my way to make a woman do anything she wasn’t comfortable with—customary or not. I felt bad for having required a reason, but I didn’t know if I could trust any advisor Haward and Barden recommended.
“It’s okay. I do not mind the veil, Lady Ryssa.”
“Thank you, my King.” The rippled sound of her voice was sweet at the edges.
“And I appreciate your willingness to help a green King. How did you gain experience as an advisor?”
“A green King is a blessing to these lands. Your presence brings excitement, the hope of change for the people. I once advised the late King Mattock a long time ago, but his allegiances changed. I could no longer support him, but it would be my honor to serve you.”
Haward and Barden looked at me expectantly. I was too tired, and too eager to retire for the evening, to question it further.
“Very well. When can you start?” I asked.
Lady Ryssa curtsied her thanks. The delicate placement of her limbs hinted at a training in classical dance. “Whenever you wish, my King. Just send word to High Tower by hawk.”
How very like me. I’d found myself intrigued by another woman who hid parts of herself from the world.