CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CROWNING A FRAUD
My dress for the coronation is green, gold, and black. Sef picked it out for me. The emerald green makes me feel like I’m back in my Honorate robes, dressed for chamber. I feel powerful as I look at myself in the mirror. Regal. As if I am looking down on the rest of the world from a great height.
Sef knocks on my door. I run my hands over the front of my dress, smoothing it before going to greet her. She’s here to do my hair before the start of the ceremony.
I grin as I open the door—but it isn’t Sef on the other side.
My expression freezes.
It’s a woman with dark eyes, dark hair, and my nose. A face I know as well as my own.
“A-Aja?” My voice trembles with shock. “What are you—” Realizing she’s standing out in the hall where anyone could see her, I grab her arm and pull her inside. “What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She looks me over, eyes swimming. She places one hand over her mouth, the other clenched over her chest.
I want to freeze this moment in time. The look on her face is one I haven’t seen in seven years. A look I’ve longed for since I stole her memories and watched myself become a stranger to my own mother. Recognition. Affection.
My throat is suddenly clogged. I want to say something, but words are impossible, and all I do is stare at her.
Slowly, Aja reaches for my hand.
I let her take it with no resistance. She flips it over.
A quivering finger glides over my tattoo.
The first tear drips, landing on the golden sun.
Her voice is hushed as she says, “You squeezed my hand so hard, I thought it was going to fall off.” She looks up, meeting my gaze with a tenderness I’ve longed for. “But you didn’t cry.”
“You remember.” I sound like I’m being strangled. I don’t know when my own tears started, but my face is soaked, and I throw my arms around her. She’s shorter than me now, but I sob into her chest as though I’m still that little girl who could fit in her lap.
“Mira.” She whispers my name like a prayer. “My beautiful Mira.”
My bottom lip trembles. I squeeze her tight, enjoying the lost sensation of being loved. “Mom.” I haven’t called her that in seven years. It only makes me cry harder. “How are you here?”
She doesn’t let me go. “After you left, I started having dreams. Today, I woke up and it all came back to me.”
My most recent journey to Ophera was the first time I returned without clearing her memory. A foolish oversight. Seeing me again with no magic to temper her memories had consequences, but I have no regrets. I have a mother again.
Aja pulls away, only slightly, to run her hands over my face, my hair, my clothes. “You’re so big,” she says in awe. “And beautiful. You always were. But look at you in that dress. It’s like that robe you used to wear. It was always too big for you.”
I lean into her hand cupping my cheek. “You remember the robe?”
“I remember everything.” Her watery smile slackens. “I missed you, Mira.”
“You didn’t know to miss me.”
She shakes her head. “I missed you.”
She’s telling the truth, and it makes me sob harder.
There’s a knock—Sef’s signature rhythmic one. My eyes widen. I’d allowed myself to forget what today is, and all I have planned.
I swipe my eyes, trying to stop them from leaking. “Mom.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I need you to hide. Just for a moment.”
She looks confused as I shuffle her toward the closet. I raise my voice to address Sef through the door. “Give me a second. Still getting into this dress.”
“Do you need me to lace it up for you?”
“No. I got it.” I open the closet and motion my mom inside. “It’s just for a minute or two. Please stay quiet. I’ll be right back.”
She’s so confused, she’s stopped crying. Still, she nods in confirmation of my words as I shut the door.
I drag my hands over my face a final time, drying it as much as I can before letting Sef in.
She beams when she sees me. “It looks even better than I imagined. You are a vision. Ready for me to do your hair?”
“Thank you. I love it.” I scramble for a way to get rid of her. “But I changed my mind about the hair. Do you think we could use those sparrow clips after all?”
Sef frowns. “You said you wanted—”
“I know, I know, but after seeing the dress on me, I really want those clips. If you don’t mind. Please?”
Sef sighs. “Of course. I’ll have to run and grab them. Give me five minutes?”
I hope my smile doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
When she’s gone, I let Aja out of the closet. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s all right. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
I wince. I want her here, with me, but today is Luc’s coronation—the day the plan I’ve been putting in place for weeks culminates.
I can’t afford for anything to go wrong.
Luc discovering I’ve been lying to him for years about my mother dying would ruin everything.
“I love you, but no one can know you’re here.
Not yet. After today, I’ll introduce you to everyone. ”
My mom’s expression falls. “What are you saying? You want me to leave?”
“No. But I need you to. Just until after the coronation. Things are going to get complicated around here. But when it’s over and the smoke clears, everything will be different.
Better. I’ll come for you then.” When I’ve stolen the throne, Aja will come to live with me, here in Widow’s Hall.
Anyone who has a problem with it will have me to deal with.
The hurt expression on her face breaks my heart. “You don’t need me anymore.”
I hug her, squeezing with everything in me. “You have no idea how untrue that is.” I give myself ten more seconds. Ten seconds of being loved unconditionally, before letting go. “I love you. More than anything. Just wait for me, all right? I’ll see you tomorrow. Two days at the latest.”
I usher my confused, brokenhearted mother out the door, sending her away with a silent prayer. I’ve barely finished sobbing when Sef returns. She’s in a rush. “We’re running late.” She sets her supplies on my vanity. “Now, let’s get you ready to take over the world.”
The chandelier in the ballroom sparkles white and gold today. It glances off the polished floors, the pearls around the coronation guests’ throats, and the grease in Yelina’s wig.
Chairs fill the space before the stage. Luc’s parents sit in the first row. It’s reserved for important guests, and the seats are cushioned in velvet. I made the seating chart myself. There’s meant to be a third chair next to them, but it’s filled.
I’m annoyed, and my stomach is already pooling with dread at having to deal with this, but I fix my expression to be impassive as I stand before them.
Yelina gives me her favorite sugary smile.
“Sorry, dear. The organizers must have overfilled the front row by mistake.” And then, because she loves nothing more than digging at me, she adds, “I’m so sorry.
I was so looking forward to spending time with you.
” This is for her audience’s benefit as much as it is mine.
I know she’s lying. She knows I know she’s lying. That’s the fun of it for her.
Heat rises, from fury and magic alike. I force my temper to cool. Today, it’s easier than ever to swallow my anger. For one thing, my real mother remembers me. For another, once my plans fall into motion, Yelina Kyler will eat her words. Choke on them, as I’ve had to do for years.
I give her my cheeriest smile. “Don’t worry. My legs are a bit stiff, so I wanted to stand anyway. I only came over here to tell you that your wig is crooked.”
She flinches, smile waning as she prepares a retort. I leave down the aisle before she thinks of one.
I watch the coronation from the back wall, amid other standing guests. Chattering quiets as Honorate Anleck steps onto the stage, followed by Luc.
In a typical Virdeian coronation, the reigning Praeceptor passes off a crown to his successor. It’s a purely ceremonial gesture. The crown itself doesn’t mean anything—we’re not a monarchy like Petruvia—but we like to uphold traditions and call it decorum.
Since Luc is accepting the role of Praeceptor for a second term, Honorate Anleck is responsible for the passing of the crown.
Luc sinks into the green and gold cushioned seat on the stage—his throne. Anleck stands over him, holding the crown as he intones a series of platitudes about the importance of the role of the Praeceptor.
As he nears the end, he raises the crown higher. “Do you, Lucien Kyler, promise to uphold the values of this great Republic?”
Luc takes a breath. “I do.”
“And do you, Lucien Kyler, promise to protect the people of Virdei from any and all threats, to the best of your abilities?”
“I do.”
The ballroom is silent as Anleck begins to lower the crown. “With this, you are crowned the next Praeceptor of the great Republic of—”
The chamber plunges into darkness.
Anleck’s words stall. The crowded ballroom erupts with startled whispers, but nobody moves.
It takes several moments for my eyes to adjust to sudden dim and gray. There are a few candles burning within the chandelier overhead, but the torches on the walls aren’t lit, because the windows are wide and the turrets provide more than enough light in here.
At least, they did.
Now the beacons—the pillars that have lit this mountain for over a century—have been snuffed.
In the darkness, I can’t see what’s happening at the front of the room. As panic fills the ballroom, I dart into the aisle. I need to reach the stage—and Luc—before people begin to flee.
I’m halfway down the never-ending central walkway when the doors to the ballroom burst open.
A member of the decurio rushes inside. He holds a lamp, illuminating his frantic expression, and raises his voice, so it echoes around the chamber. “Widow’s Hall is under attack.”