CHAPTER 63 Wren
Wren
‘Sovereigns of the midrealms must be crowned in the capital of their kingdoms, with a crown of precious metal to mark the occasion. So states the midrealms law’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
A QUEEN OF RUINS, Wren thought as she was brought to what remained of her ancestors’ throne room.
The debris that had lain dormant for decades had been cleared away to the best of their forces’ abilities, and the throne itself had been .
. . mended with odds and ends from the deserted city.
What had once been an ornate high-backed chair was now a collage of warped metal and timber planks, welded together to create what Wren could only describe as a monstrosity.
She supposed that, at least, was rather fitting.
‘Leaves a bit to be desired, I’ll admit,’ Vernich said gruffly from nearby.
Wren had never witnessed a coronation before, had never given what she considered an unnecessary display of wealth and power much thought – until now.
She was under no illusions – she knew that hers would be a far cry from those that had come before.
But perhaps that was how it was meant to be.
Maybe that was how she could make her peace with her fate.
She wouldn’t be like those who had come before.
‘What happens now?’ she asked Zavier, who was watching with a strange expression.
He shifted from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets.
‘Mine was more, well . . . just more,’ he said with a note of defeat.
‘There was a vigil of preparation where I was supposed to meditate. Then there was what they called the robing – where I was dressed in a bunch of ceremonial regalia. And when I say “was dressed” I mean by other people. They wouldn’t let me put on my own damn tunic. ’
‘I would have paid to see that,’ Cal muttered from the prince’s side.
‘I’m sure you would have,’ Zavier retorted, before turning back to Wren.
‘I had to make the journey from the people’s square in the outer city to the castle before I made the sacred vow and was crowned in the great hall.
For what it’s worth,’ he said, gesturing to the sparse setting, ‘I prefer this.’
‘As do I,’ Wren murmured, the back of her neck prickling as their forces gathered around the outskirts of the rubble.
‘We at least got you a crown,’ Thea declared as she approached, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other grasping something wrapped in a scrap of fabric. Kipp followed close behind, an unnerving grin on his face.
Wren gaped at her. ‘How? From where?’
Thea shrugged. ‘Kipp and I figured it out.’
‘Probably means it’s stolen,’ Cal offered.
‘Or melted down from a tankard or two,’ Zavier added.
Wren ignored them, looking to her sister again. ‘Who even has the authority to do this?’
‘I do,’ came a sharp and familiar voice.
Audra, Guild Master of Thezmarr, swung down from her horse and crossed the remains of the throne room.
Her hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun, but her spectacles were nowhere to be seen, and there was an impressive scythe strapped to her back.
It reminded Wren of Anya, who’d wielded the same weapon in the shadow war.
Murmurs broke out across the gathered crowd as Audra strode forwards. ‘I have the power to swear in a monarch, but we need to do it quickly. Silas’s forces have regrouped. They ride for Dorinth as we speak. And they’ll be here by midday tomorrow.’
‘What about Aveum’s army? Harenth’s? What about Tver?’ Wren blustered. ‘Why in the name of the Furies are we wasting time on this—’
‘Aveum and Harenth’s armies have answered your call for aid, Elwren,’ Audra told her. ‘Tver . . . Tver refuses to honour its oath, citing the lack of a ruling queen as grounds for such treason.’
Wren blinked, her knees buckling beneath her. ‘So without the aid of the Devereux bannermen and Tver’s army, our force comes to what? Three thousand? Less?’
‘Less. Right now, our odds are two to one against.’
‘Has King Leiko allied himself with Silas? With Lord Lucian?’ Wren pressed. ‘Will Tver’s numbers reinforce those of the enemy?’
‘We cannot know for sure,’ Audra said. ‘All we know is that you need a crown on your head before you rally the midrealms to your cause. Are you ready?’
No. The word resounded in Wren’s mind.
You were born ready, came Torj’s reply, strong, resilient, full of conviction.
Wren took a deep breath. ‘As I’ll ever be, Audra.’
The Guild Master dipped her head and motioned to the temporary throne. ‘After you.’
Wren tried not to think about the slaughter ahead of them, or all the eyes on her as she made her way to what might have once been the dais. She tried not to think of the impending danger, of how, as she took her place in the wreckage, the enemy advanced upon them.
Audra addressed the gathered crowd first. ‘Today’s coronation will be a condensed ceremony given the current circumstances, but it is no less legitimate than those that take place on a grand stage before the masses.
The oath Princess Elwren of Delmira swears today will be recorded in the history books for the ages.
It will solidify the Embervale line of succession.
’ Audra turned to Wren. ‘Are you willing to take the vow?’
Wren swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I am willing.’
Graves passed a thick volume to Audra, who held it out to Wren.
The Constitution of the Founding Furies, the title read in gold lettering.
Wren remembered it from her time at Thezmarr.
It was the book Audra had wielded to her advantage when Thea sought to become the first woman warrior in decades.
Now, it was the tome Wren would swear upon to take her kingdom back.
‘Place your hand on the book,’ Audra instructed.
Distantly, Wren worried about the damage her sweaty palm might do to the ancient leather, but she did as she was told, finding the cover cool to her heated touch.
Audra cleared her throat. ‘Do you declare that you are the rightful heir to the Embervale throne?’
Wren fought to keep the quaver from her voice.
‘I declare that I am Elwren Embervale, true heir of Delmira, daughter of King Soren and Queen Brigh. With the passing of the firstborn daughter and the abdication of the second daughter, I am the rightful successor to the throne, and I shall take up the mantle as queen, as true ruler of this kingdom.’
Audra turned to Thea. ‘Bring forth the crown.’
Thea removed the fabric, and Wren stifled a gasp.
It was nothing like she expected.
The crown was simple. A continuous band of bright silver, slender and delicate in its construction, with a single central pointed motif. Simple and practical – the exact sort of design Wren would have chosen for herself.
There were no garish embellishments or spikes, no ornate arches, nor did it embody the same haphazard nature that her temporary throne did.
It didn’t look like it had been hammered together in the hours before.
The steel shimmered in a familiar way . .
. but there was no way they could have found Naarvian steel out here in the ruins to reforge anew, was there?
She glanced at Thea.
Wasn’t me, her sister mouthed, stepping back as Audra handed the book off and took the crown.
‘You may kneel,’ the Guild Master said.
Wren’s joints cracked as she lowered herself to the ground, the broken stone biting into her flesh.
Audra held the crown over her head. ‘Repeat after me: I bond my life to this kingdom and its people.’
‘I bond my life to this kingdom and its people,’ she recited, her heart pounding.
‘I shall serve as the protector of Delmira, and thus a protector of the midrealms,’ Audra said.
Wren kept her head bowed as she echoed the sacred words. ‘I shall serve as the protector of Delmira, and thus a protector of the midrealms.’
‘Elwren Embervale . . .’ Audra paused, letting the significance of her final question linger. ‘Do you solemnly vow to lead the people of Delmira, to govern with justice and mercy, and to use the full might of your magic in its defence?’
‘I do.’
The weight of the crown settled atop Wren’s head, the pointed motif resting against her brow.
Audra’s boots disappeared from view as she stepped back. ‘Then rise, Elwren, Queen of Delmira.’
Wren was shaking, shaking so hard that she was worried the crown would tumble from her head, but she rose from the rubble, from ashes long gone.
‘Long live the queen!’ Thea’s voice boomed from the front of the crowd.
‘Long live the queen!’ came the thunderous response.
Wren didn’t dare look to the crowd for fear of her legs giving out beneath her – but she need not have worried, for there was a rush of well-wishers, each taking her hands in theirs and kneeling.
She fought the urge to pull them to their feet too quickly, her face flushing with embarrassment.
All her life she had been an alchemist. For a time she had been a poisoner, striking names off a ledger. And now—
A firm squeeze of her fingers wrenched her from her daze, and she found herself looking at a pair of celadon eyes that matched her own.
‘I don’t know if congratulations is what I’m meant to say here,’ Thea said, brow furrowing. ‘But I think the most appropriate words from me are: thank you.’
‘Thea, don’t—’ Wren started, but her sister cut her off.
‘I mean it,’ she said fiercely. ‘Thank you. I know you did it for me. And it was selfish of me to let you.’
‘You are far from selfish, Thee.’
Thea shook her head. ‘There won’t be a day that goes by that I am not grateful to you for what you sacrificed. We once fought for the world we wanted, and we will do so again. But when we win, it will be you who has given me the life I yearned for.’
Tears stung Wren’s eyes as Thea bowed.
‘Thank you, sister,’ the Shadow of Death murmured, kissing the back of her hand.
Choking back a sob, Wren pulled her sister to her feet. ‘It’s my honour.’
Thea smiled and stepped away, only for Wren’s breath to catch in her throat as another Warsword took her place.
Torj Elderbrock came forwards and knelt before her, his sea-blue eyes lined with silver. ‘I have made my vows to you before,’ he said quietly. ‘But I do so again with you as a crowned ruler of the midrealms.’
‘And what is it that you promise, Bear Slayer?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
He held her gaze, offering his war hammer in reverence. ‘That I will protect you, that I will serve you, and that I will love you, as my soul-bonded, my storm wielder, my wife . . . and as my queen.’
Wren let the tears fall as she pulled the warrior to his feet, the draw between them more powerful than ever. ‘Then my promise to you is the same, Torj. Always.’