Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(121)
Once started, it turned into a landslide of words. “I may be getting above myself, but I’ve spent the last three years of my life by Lyss’s side, and I—I don’t think there’s anyone more devoted to her. I know her as well as anyone, and if I could trade my life for hers right now I would do it.
“I know the captain of the Gray Wolves has always been a Byrne, at least for a thousand years, and you might think I shouldn’t be angling for the job, but I have to speak my mind. Simon’s gone, and I’m here.
“Long story short, I’m asking to be named Princess Alyssa’s bound captain. Now, rather than later.” She stood there, then, her fist on her heart, back straight, jaw clenched, as if waiting to be turned down.
Byrne didn’t turn her down. He’d gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, rubbing his chin. Then he glanced at Ash and simply said, “Let’s talk about it in private, Corporal Talbot. I want you to know what you’d be signing on for.”
They must have come to an understanding, because, just two days later, Ash was called to participate in a binding ceremony.
The ceremony took place in the small temple within the queen’s rooftop garden, accessible by secret stairs from the queen’s bedchamber, and by others from the family wing of the palace.
When moonlight flooded through the glass, the handful of celebrants cast long shadows on the stone floor. But Hanalea breathed, as the saying went. The wind from the Spirit Mountains rattled the walls and drove shards of cloud across the night sky, obscuring, and then revealing, the eagle moon.
Ash wore his father’s robes, the Waterlow ravens over top. Sasha Talbot was barefoot, dressed in a loose, roughspun dedicate’s robe. She shifted from foot to foot, as if eager to see it done and over with. The naval commander Hadley DeVilliers wore a dress—something Ash had seen her do maybe once or twice in his life.
It was the first time Queen Raisa had left her rooms since the day she was poisoned. Magret Gray and Titus Gryphon had carried her in on a litter and set her down in a chair. She was wrapped in upland furs, covered in clan-made blankets, her pale face wearing a fierce expression that said, Still a wolf.
Participants could be distinguished from witnesses by their degree of nervousness. Hadley was as fearless as anyone Ash knew, but she stood, hands clenched, mumbling words under her breath, practicing. Speaker Jemson and Captain Byrne stood to either side of a small table bearing the regalia, which included a stone basin, a knife, a crystal bottle, and a silver goblet.
Ash shivered. Lately, it seemed that his life was one blood ritual after another.
“Welcome,” Speaker Jemson said, hauling Ash back to the present. “I apologize for the hour, but it was important that we do this without alerting any enemies of the Line. Tonight, we will celebrate not one but two milestones. Hopefully that will make it worth disturbing your sleep.” He paused, but nobody laughed; so he went on.
“We will begin with the binding ritual, a ceremony that is at least a thousand years old. It has occurred on a battlefield, at a roadside inn, inside a prison, and aboard ship. Believe it or not, this is the largest group ever assembled for the purpose. The essentials are a willing soldier, the blood of the line, soil from the mountain home, and a speaker of the Old Church. Up to now, the ceremony has been held in secret—even from the royal family—and the willing soldier has always been a Byrne.”
Talbot licked her lips, as if worried that she might be declared unworthy at the last minute.
Jemson smiled at her. “But times change, secrets are revealed, and traditions deserve examination. Perilous times require a certain . . . flexibility of practice and an agility of mind and spirit. We began descending this slippery slope, as some would say, with Captain Amon Byrne, who was bound to the princess heir Raisa ana’Marianna before she was crowned queen, and before his father, Edon Byrne, had passed away. This was done because then-princess Raisa was in danger. We continued this practice with Princess Hanalea, when Simon Byrne was bound to her.”
Jemson looked to Captain Byrne, who said, “Now Hana is dead, and Simon is dead, the Line is in grave danger, and there is a need for a new guardian. This time, it seems that the best candidate to perform this service to the line is not a Byrne, but Corporal Sasha Talbot.”
Talbot’s cheeks pinked up, but she kept her eyes on the floor.
“We have brought you all together to serve as witnesses. Going forward, you will hold the memory of what we do here, and be ready to testify to it if need be.” He looked around the circle. “Are you willing to be the memory of the realm?”
“We are,” the chorus came back.
“Corporal Talbot,” Jemson said, “are you willing to be bound forever to the line of Gray Wolf queens that began with Hanalea?”
“Yes, sir,” Talbot said, bringing her fist to her heart.
“Bare your arm, Corporal,” Jemson said, picking up the knife.
Talbot did, scraping back her sleeve. Jemson ran the tip of the blade down her forearm so that the blood welled up and dripped into the stone basin.
Now the speaker held up the stoppered bottle. “Behold the blood of the line,” he said. He didn’t specify whose.
Do they keep Lyss’s blood on hand, just in case? Ash thought. Is it our mother’s blood? Or does it go all the way back to Hanalea? He couldn’t seem to shut down his scientist mind.
Jemson spoke more words over the bottle, pulled the stopper, and tipped a small amount into the bowl. Lifting it, he swirled the contents together.