Epilogue One Year Later
Epilogue
One Year Later
I heard the faintest testing of the door’s lock before careful footsteps moved away. Groaning, I rolled over in the bed toward Renn, overlapping half his body with mine.
“They’ve come to wake us,” I murmured into his neck.
He didn’t move. “They know not to when the door is locked.”
“It’s always locked.”
A feline grin tempted his lips. “Exactly.”
Alas. While staying in a too soft and overlarge bed with my beloved husband was one of my favorite pastimes, today was not the day to put off responsibility.
I felt the liveliness of the castle through the stone.
Knew the kitchens cooked in a frenzy, the maids rushed to serve the overabundance of guests, and the steward ran half out of his mind with arrangements.
So I stretched and sat up, my hair a wild thicket tumbling past my ribs.
Grumbling, Renn rolled and slung an arm over my bare hips.
“You can be late for your coronation”—I moved to push his arm away—“but I won’t be late for mine.”
Unfortunately, Renn’s arm was immobile, and when I pushed against it a second time, it snaked under my backside, heaving me up and then down onto my back, where the king of Cansere pinned me bodily.
“I’ve been king for two years already,” he mumbled as he nipped at my ear.
“Eighteen months.” I bit down on a laugh as shivers ran down the side of my neck.
“I’m rounding up.”
Grabbing the sides of his face, I kissed him, then retorted, “How many complaints do you want to hear from your staff today, let alone the Antsan delegation? Are you going to tell Beatty dinner will be late, or shall I?”
He growled.
“Perhaps I should take the other suite,” I offered. “Then this wouldn’t be such an issue—”
“Stop arguing with me.”
“I fear I’m the only one who does”—I poked his shoulder—“and therefore I must be consistent.”
He kissed my mouth, my nose, and my brow, then pushed himself up and dramatically threw the covers off both of us.
The castle chill rarely bothered Renn, but my skin instantly pebbled.
I shot him a look of exaggerated distaste, at which he only laughed before wordlessly excusing himself to the bathing chamber.
I threw on a silk shift and got a comb halfway through my hair when I caught a familiar scratching sound at the door of the attached salon. Crossing over to it, I let Lonnie in. She took one look at my hair and frowned. “Really?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t bother braiding it last night.”
She hummed under her breath. I led her into the dressing room, sparing her from any risk of seeing her king and sovereign naked. As she helped me work through the curls, she said, “You can’t wear this.”
She meant my shift. “It’s the nicest one I have.”
“Did you forget the dress?” She pointed to the open armoire, where my coronation gown hung, designed by Verdanian Truline, the renowned Sestan tailor. It had been cut with the purpose of presenting my wedding pendant for all to see, which meant a broad and plunging neckline.
It was a beautiful gown, albeit far more revealing than my normal fare.
“So you want me to go into court without underwear?” I countered.
She rolled her eyes. “There are drawers under the dress. I pinned drawers under the dress.” She poured water into a basin and wet her hands to smooth my curls.
“Your father?” I asked.
She smiled. “Both my parents got in last night. He’ll be ready.”
We carefully twisted and set my curls, and then Lonnie pulled sections away from my face and pinned them with an elegant rhinestone barrette, one that took the shape of a phoenix feather.
She touched my nose with a bit of powder before stripping me down and helping me into the Truline gown.
Silver satin from neck to toe, with impressive glass beadwork over the bodice—what there was of it—and waist. Even choosing satin over silk and glass over gems, it felt too luxurious for me.
We’d been frugal in our management of the capital since it started properly running again, with so much of the country still recovering from war.
The Antsan regent in Sesta saw resources went to Cansere to bandage what Adoel Nicosia had wrought, but they were regulated and carefully paced, to be divvied out over ten years, just as our food allotment to them would be.
I feared some would have to wait as long for true relief, but such was the cost of war.
My initiatives with the noblemen added a little extra to our coffers, which I’m sure made me unpopular with them, but not only did we need the funds, we only received them from policing the upper class.
Rich men had become overly comfortable doing whatever they pleased, especially with war as an excuse.
Now if they broke the law, they were heavily fined, and those fines went toward rebuilding their country .
. . and funding my other project, which was establishing schools for crafters.
The education would not only help crafters, and others, understand their magic, but would make the new registration program roll out a little more smoothly.
Familiar stress built up in my shoulders, but I shrugged it off. Today was a day of celebration. The kingdom would be right where I left it tomorrow.
I looked at myself in the mirror. This was the finest gown I owned.
Something out of a fairy story. It was beautiful, and it made me feel beautiful.
Lonnie had styled my hair expertly, as always, but it looked particularly regal today.
The gold setting of my wedding pendant contrasted starkly against the silver fabric, but I’m sure Verdanian had done such on purpose.
Even after the changes war brought to us, not everyone liked the idea of a common woman on Cansere’s throne.
This pendant was to remind them who I was.
Their eyes were meant to go to it first.
As a final touch, Lonnie tied a plaited white cincture around my hips.
I kissed Lonnie’s cheek and let her go to enjoy the day and her family.
Renn had already left to see to his own duties, leaving Sten and Gill, another of Renn’s guards from before the war, lounging in the salon to watch over me.
I found myself suddenly nervous, and so I picked up a book of poetry to try to distract myself, though it failed to do so.
Instead I began to pace, and then, feeling foolish, decided to leave the rooms altogether.
The guards shadowed me as I went, but I’d grown used to their tailing by now. Gill, at least, had a sense of humor. Sten remained a man of few words.
In the corridor, a maid carrying freshly pressed linens awkwardly bowed to me; I nodded in return, and two passing noblewomen from nearby provinces gossiping together did the same.
The housekeeper spied me and approached, asking about table placement in the Great Hall after the coronation, fretting we would not be able to fit the academic guests Renn had invited last minute, but we had it sorted quickly, and I soon found myself walking down the gallery, where portraits of past kings hung—at least, those that had survived.
Many had been stripped from the walls during Sesta’s occupation, burned, broken, or disfigured.
Any that retained some likeness had been reframed and returned to their walls.
The others I wanted to have repainted, once the budget allowed. It felt wrong to lose so much history.
I paused by one portrait, an oval about the size of my head, framed with gilded hickory. Someone had put out a cigar repeatedly on it, but even that someone had borne enough respect not to disfigure the woman’s face.
Lifting a hand, I gently traced Queen Winvrin’s forehead, as though smoothing back her hair. Though the woman had caused me endless grief, I found myself smiling at her.
“Thank you for protecting him,” I murmured. “I promise to keep him safe in your stead.”
The portrait did not answer, and yet I felt it was pleased.
More people crowded the Great Hall than I’d ever before seen, and that included Queen Winvrin’s final winter ball.
I understood now the housekeeper’s concern for seating them all.
So numerous were they that we forewent the ceremonial walk down the center of the room to the three thrones set on the dais at its head.
Instead, we came through the door behind them.
The hush that settled over the space struck me with its reverence.
I exited second, feeling the familiar weight of eyes on me.
Noblemen and noblewomen, lords and ladies, from Cansere, many of whom I’d yet to meet.
Jardallen Arquan, the emissary from Antsan, and his entourage.
Even Pallin Vitsoph, the Antsan king’s nephew and regent over Sesta, had a place near the dais.
He nodded to me as I passed, and I returned the favor.
I noted a great deal of women had forgone straightening their hair and had curled it instead.
Eden already awaited me and rose from her appointed throne.
She wore an elegant but overly simple dress, yet it still caught my eye—Eden had not worn finery of any sort since her return from Sesta.
She hated all of it. She’d continued to keep her hair short, cropped straight and even at her chin, unadorned.
Since we had retaken Rove, she’d used her position of power to get the city running again, to invite back refugees and boost the economy.
Yet she had no interest in leading, in any coronation of her own.
Cansere law mandated a royal woman marry before taking the crown, but Renn could have waived it, if Eden truly wanted it.
It had taken days of convincing to get her on the dais at all.
I clasped her hand and nodded; she bowed. Over her shoulder, I saw Brien, garbed as a royal guard, sword hanging at his hip, eyes watching the two of us carefully. He smiled at me, though his gaze never strayed far from Eden.
As practiced, I turned to face the congregation.
This time I bowed, and they followed suit, the rustling of fabrics as bodies bent rippling through the space.
I spied my family among them, near the front; all my siblings had been brought to live in Rove, minus Lissel and her husband, Art, who had taken over the house and the apiary.
Yet they, too, had made the long journey to be here for the coronation, despite Lissel’s pregnancy—she being much further along in hers than I in mine.
I intended to ensure her back safely in Fount for the birth.
Lissel, Dan, Colt, Pren, Heath, Terrence. All here. All safe, all happy.
And, if I peered directly into the sunlight spilling from the far windows of the hall, over the tapestries of the gods, I felt I could make out Ursa’s profile. She was smiling, her hair caught in the breeze. I told you it would work out, I imagined her to say.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry, yet found myself blinking to keep my vision clear.
Dan wore a uniform almost like that of a soldier, but it had a gold ring around his left bicep, marking him as a licensed crafter.
Renn hadn’t returned the ban on craftlock after the war; rather, he’d enacted laws for education and licensing, as well as harsh punishment should the magic be misused.
The same had been placed on the denizens of Sesta as well: Nicosia’s program disbanded, but the schools maintained.
A trumpet in the arcade played five ascending notes, and Renn appeared on the dais.
I beamed at him, though I’d been told it looked more regal not to smile.
Eden approached him first, greeting him as she had me, and then I repeated the exchange, trying not to snort at the amusement pouring from him through our bond—the link between my heart and his lumis we would share until our dying day.
Renn turned and bowed to his people, who bowed back. He hated being the center of attention, but today I didn’t feel it. Not from his presence, and not through the link. He didn’t even wear his mask; his reserved, genuine countenance shined with contentment.
Mr. Swiftmore approached the dais, and beside him were two other priests, each carrying a candelabra. From the stems hung hooks, and from them dangled crowns: a simple silver one for me, and a thicker gold one for Renn—the same his father had worn at formal events.
Taking the silver crown, Mr. Swiftmore approached me and bowed.
Held the crown over my head. “Swear thee, Nym Tallowax Noblewight, before the eyes of Hem and the gods, to oversee and protect the kingdom. By Hem, to be just. By Salm, to let goodness flow to the far reaches of the country. By Rolys, to be a beacon of light to those who look up to you. By Evat, to see your people fed. By Alm, to heal the hurt, sick, and afflicted.” He paused here and then, quietly, added, “Not you personally, Your Majesty.” He winked.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from barking a laugh and nodded.
“And by Zia, that you may birth heirs to fulfill these promises.”
Looking him in the eye, I answered, “I do.”
It was so much like my wedding vows that nostalgia bubbled up in me, threatening tears again. Renn reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. I bowed my head, and Mr. Swiftmore placed the crown atop it. He bowed again, and I sat in my throne.
All eyes turned to Renn.
When the priest took his crown and approached, the choir in the arcade began singing softly Cansere’s country song, stunning harmonies that raised gooseflesh on my arms. Mr. Swiftmore repeated the same vows, adding on, “As your father before you, and as the gods have chosen you.”
Heat flooded the bond. Renn’s eyes sharpened when he said yes, and the priest placed the crown on his head.
The moment Renn sat in his throne, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Colt pulled a white cloth from his pocket and spun it over his head, hitting Art in the face with it. Someone made the call of a crow from the back, which made me laugh.
Renn opened his hand on his armrest, and I placed mine into it, my content half-heart beating merrily in my chest. The way before us seemed set, now. A road paved with tears, blood, and glass. It would not always be easy, but it would be ours.
Looking back toward the light, my gaze fell upon the six tapestries of the gods.
And I could swear I saw them smile.