Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(22)
There were no other changelings in the first wave of arrivals. That was no real surprise.
The crowd settled quickly, filling the balcony and the back of the room. When the last of them was seated, Arden’s herald took up a position next to the rear door. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, the Queen in the Mists, Arden Windermere,” he announced.
Arden, who was already on the stage, bowed her head to the audience and walked regally to the throne marked for her use. She sat. The people applauded. So did I. It seemed like the only appropriate response.
The applause died down. The herald spoke again. “His Grace, by right of appointment, Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, and his consort, Her Grace, by right of marriage, Duchess Luna Torquill of Shadowed Hills.”
“Oh, sweet Oberon’s ass, they’re going to tell us how every single person got their throne, aren’t they?” I whispered, before flinching and waiting for the reaction from the crowd. There wasn’t one. The amplification charms apparently didn’t cover our part of the gallery. Thank the rose and the branch for that.
Quentin smirked and said nothing.
Sylvester and Luna appeared at the back of the gallery, followed by Etienne. They made their way to the middle rows of seats, well ahead of Arden’s courtiers and the commoners who’d come just to watch, but leaving plenty of room in the front for the higher-ranking nobility. It was the first time I’d seen Sylvester since before I’d gone to Silences to play diplomat. He glanced my way. I didn’t smile. I didn’t look away either. We were going to have to find our peace sooner or later. Honestly, I wanted it to be sooner. He was my liege. I was planning to get married. He shouldn’t be excluded from being part of that.
The list of mid-ranked nobility—important enough to announce, unimportant enough that I’d never heard of most of them—went on and on. Li Qin was announced as interim Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass, which probably pleased her. April O’Leary was announced as the Countess of Tamed Lightning, unable to attend due to duties at home, to be represented at the conclave by her seneschal, Elliot. It was a smart move. April was weird even for Faerie, and sending her to something like this would probably result in her finding a way to baffle and offend all the Kings and Queens at once. Wiring a Dryad into a computer system has that sort of effect.
Finally, the heralds ran out of Dukes and Counts and Barons and Earls. After a brief pause for consultation, the announcements resumed. “Her Royal Highness, by right of blood, Queen Siwan Yates of Silences, and her consort, His Royal Highness, by right of marriage, King Holger Yates of Silences.”
Walther’s aunt and uncle entered through the rear door and proceeded down the aisle. Marlis was close behind them, almost as if she were guarding them against possible attack. She glanced our way and offered a quick, genial nod as they neared the stage. Walther, who was less constrained by propriety, grinned and waved. I split the difference with a smile and a nod.
Queen Siwan kissed her husband on the cheek before mounting the stairs to the stage. Marlis stepped into the front row of seats, gesturing for King Holger to follow her. As he did, he turned, bringing the left side of his body into view. I stopped smiling and sat up straighter. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been missing the lower half of his left arm. Now, it was present and accounted for, supported by a sling, but as much flesh and blood as the rest of him.
I’d left a portion of my blood in Silences. Queen Siwan had explained her intent to try to work it into a regenerative potion. Looked like she’d succeeded. The ramifications of that were . . . well. I just hoped they wouldn’t be leading to another conclave. I might heal fast, but there was no way I was going to agree to becoming a pharmacy for the rest of Faerie.
“Their Majesties, by right of equal ascension, King and Queen upon the Golden Shore, Theron and Chrysanthe.”
A pair of Ceryneian Hinds—Golden Hinds—made their way down the aisle, heads high, hooves tapping on the carpeted floor. Like all of their kind, they were elegant and lithe from the waist up, looking more like Tylwyth Teg than anything else, and golden-furred, bipedal deer from the waist down. They wore tunics belted with woven gold-and-silver wire, but left their legs bare. Their ears were long, curving, and lightly furred. Chrysanthe’s hair fell to her waist, white-gold and curly enough to have some bounce, despite its weight. Theron had antlers, small but distinct, growing from his forehead. His crown had clearly been designed to accommodate them, and echoed the forms in hers. They walked, together, to settle in the front row.
“Golden Shore,” Quentin murmured, trying to sound like he was doing a casual review, when we both knew it was for my benefit. “Kingdom directly to the South, mostly agrarian, few political aspirations.”
I knew the basics about my neighbors, but I didn’t tell him to stop. He might tell me something I didn’t already know, and I was so far out of my depth that anything would help.
“His Royal Highness, by right of conquest, King Antonio Robinson of Angels.”
Antonio didn’t enter through the doors, although the doors opened: instead, he appeared at the center of the aisle, already halfway to the stage. He was a tall, striking man, with skin the color of slate and hair the color of ashes. Two Merry Dancers appeared with him, globes of floating light that turned and twisted around his body. It was rare for a Candela to aspire to a throne, much less fight to take it. King Robinson was an anomaly in many ways. Still, the people dutifully applauded as he made his way to his seat.