Chapter 15 Meryn #2
As if sensing me—always sensing me—he lifts his head. When our eyes meet, his face softens for the briefest of moments. His gaze moves over me like a feather drifting against my skin. My flush stretches in a warm heat down to my chest.
I force myself to look away from him, my pulse racing with something other than nerves.
The dais at the far end holds the throne King Cyril occupied only a little over a month ago. A trumpet heralds, announcing my presence as I advance down the aisle, my train trailing me.
Saela walks to my right, slightly behind me. Anassa keeps pace on my other side.
Row by row, the gathered assembly rises and remains standing even after I pass. Hundreds of faces turn to watch my progress down the long central aisle.
My journey to the throne.
I’m not sure which is more intimidating: the nobles whose faces show barely masked hostility, their brows tense and lips downturned, or the people watching with genuine expressions of awe.
I push past it all and focus on the Mother Priestess, a person I’d barely thought about before this week but who has now been an unending thorn in my side.
The Mother Priestess stands on the dais in ornate gold robes, her white hair once again wrapped in elaborate braids around her head.
Her gnarled hands clutch a filigreed bottle of sacred oil.
The priestess’s rheumy green eyes may make her look feeble, but I see the sharpness to them, even if no one else does.
To her side, on a pedestal, is the golden Sturmfrost crown with its leaping wolves.
She’s made no secret—to me, at least—that she finds me unsuitable for the throne.
Every choice I’ve made about this coronation—from refusing to disrobe in front of a crowd to insisting that we did not need to rush in a slaughtered sea serpent to feed the nobles—has been met with a frown of disapproval.
The condemning wrinkles around her mouth and I are best friends, at this point.
Still, she’s here.
When I reach the dais, I turn around to face the assembled congregation. Saela takes her seat in the front row, and Anassa goes behind me to sit by the throne.
“Meryn Sturmfrost, heir to the Sturmfrost throne, you seek to be queen of the sacred nation of Nocturna,” the Mother Priestess bellows out, her voice far stronger than her body would imply.
“I do,” I say, following the script we’ve drilled over and over again.
“Humble yourself before the people you wish to serve. Humble yourself before the Faceless Goddess herself,” she cries out.
The nobles straighten in their seats, necks craning. More than a few of the men have a lecherous look in their eye.
Sorry, you fucking creeps, I’m not getting naked for your pleasure.
Instead, I kneel—a tough task in this heavy, gilded gown. Disappointed murmurs reach me from the crowd.
Then I place my head on the floor. “I humble myself before the people and the goddess herself. I beg that she assesses me and provides due approbation.” The words nearly make me shiver. I’ll never forget the way Cyril Valtiere said that phrase when we first met.
As if he fancied himself a god.
I stay in this prostrate position for a full minute. Theoretically, if the goddess was up there and watching over this, now would be the point she’d strike me down.
That’s how I know this ceremony is bullshit.
What kind of goddess would have let the Valtieres pass?
“You may rise, Meryn Sturmfrost,” the Mother Priestess eventually announces.
I lift my chest but stay kneeling and angle my body toward her. The Mother Priestess uncaps her sacred oil. The pungent, bitter scent of it wafts over me, and I try not to gag.
And that’s when I notice it. On her thumb is a large signet ring. And in the center of it… a teardrop-shaped opal.
Just like the one in my crown. Just like the one around Saela’s neck.
My blood starts to buzz. Is this another Tear?
The Mother Priestess dips her thumb into the dark liquid, drawing my eyes back to her face. “With your power, shall you rule for all?”
“With my power, I shall rule for all,” I echo.
She smears the oil across my forehead—once, twice, in an X.
“With persuasion, will you speak for all?”
“With persuasion, I shall speak for all.” Her thumb dips back into the oil, and she smears one line vertically across my mouth. I keep my lips clenched tight so the acrid flavor doesn’t touch my tongue.
“Will you keep your people first as you create and you destroy?”
I hold out my hands to her, palms up. “I will keep my people first as I create and I destroy.”
She smears one thick line on each palm.
“Will your heart aim to protect instead of harm?” she asks.
“My heart will aim to protect instead of harm.”
She draws another X—one swipe, two swipes—across my breastbone.
Then she moves over to the pedestal that holds the crown. Her back is to the crowd.
No one else can see the covetous glint in her eye or the way her fingers tighten over the center of the crown, over the opal. For a moment, I worry she’s not going to give it to me.
Anassa growls low in her throat, faintly enough that I hope I’m the only person who hears it.
Does the Mother Priestess believe these jewels are truly connected to the Faceless Goddess somehow?
Or maybe she just loves a matching set of jewelry.
Finally, the Mother Priestess turns and gently places the crown on my head.
Her voice rings out steady, and the fanatical gleam in her gaze never wavers.
“With the almighty blessing of the Faceless Goddess, I proclaim you Queen Meryn Sturmfrost, the rightful sovereign of Nocturna and protector of the bond.”
With a violent, echoing slam, the doors to the throne room burst open.