Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(122)
As the ceremony continued, Ash thought of all the bound captains since Hanalea, all the secret ceremonies held with one purpose—to protect the Line and assure that it continued into the future.
I’m bound to the Line by blood, too, he thought. I will not see it end while I live and breathe.
Ash’s amulet warmed against his skin. More and more, he was hearing his father’s voice again, though he’d not yet achieved the kind of meeting his father’d had with Alger Waterlow, their ancestor. He hoped, with practice, he would be able to see his father again in Aediion—that meeting place between worlds. Again, he heard his father’s voice.
You don’t get what you don’t go after.
Jemson poured the contents of the bowl into the silver cup, then held the cup out to Talbot. Talbot wrapped both hands around it, knuckles white, as if afraid she might spill it on the way to her mouth.
“Sasha Talbot, we ask of you this thing, that you be bound to the Gray Wolf line of queens, and, specifically, to the blood and issue of Alyssa ana’Raisa, Princess Heir of the Fells. You will swear that her blood is your blood, that you will protect her and her line until death takes you. Will you?”
“I will,” Talbot said, her voice strong and forceful, despite her jitters.
“Then drink to signify.”
Tilting her head back, Talbot drained the cup, then staggered backward, all but toppling over. Captain Byrne seemed ready for that. He grabbed her arm to steady her, deftly plucking the cup from her grip before it fell. She put her hands over her ears, her eyes wide and panicked, an array of emotions tracking across her face.
“You’ll learn to shut it out,” Byrne said, “and filter it, so you only take in what’s useful.” He glanced around, as if self-conscious at having these long-held secrets exposed in front of an audience.
Gradually, Talbot seemed to find her footing, resuming her ready stance.
The ceremony continued, as more blood was mingled with the earth in the garden to signify the connection between the queen, the bound captain, and the mountain home.
“Now,” Jemson said, “we have one more milestone to celebrate. Most of you know that today is the princess Alyssa’s sixteenth birthday. It is our tradition here in the north that the sixteenth birthday is the day of Naeming, when young people choose their vocation, and when the heir to the Gray Wolf throne is named the Princess Heir. We had hoped to celebrate this day along with her, and with the queendom at large. At present, Princess Alyssa is too far away to celebrate with us, and so we have chosen a proxy, who will bring the good news to her.” He turned to Hadley. “Captain DeVilliers, are you willing to serve as proxy for the princess heir in this celebration?”
“I am,” Hadley said.
Jemson went on to describe Lyss’s accomplishments, mostly on the field of battle, and the virtues and talents she would bring to the throne. This ceremony, at least, was familiar, since Ash had been present at his sister Hana’s name day ceremony. His mother participated in this one, her voice ringing out strongly as she asked Hadley the Three Questions. Clearly Hadley had been studying, because she delivered the Three Answers flawlessly.
Ash had never heard of this option for the naming ceremony—that of having a proxy—but Jemson said it had been done in the past, in times of war, or to solemnize a marriage between two people separated by distance.
Finally, Hadley knelt beside the queen’s chair and bowed her head. Queen Raisa leaned toward her and set the tiara of office on Hadley’s head. “Rise, Princess Alyssa ana’Raisa, named heir to the Gray Wolf throne.” She paused, then whispered, “Rise, Gray Wolf.”
Ash found himself joining a chorus of voices. “Rise, Gray Wolf.”
On the other side of the eastern ocean, in the city of Celesgarde, Alyssa ana’Raisa stood on her terrace, looking to the west, where the sun must be setting beyond the boundary of wind and water known as the Boil.
As on so many nights before, she’d awakened in the midst of a vivid dream of home. This time, she’d been in her mother’s rooftop garden. Talbot knelt before her, her sword resting across her outstretched hands, offering her blade like a knight in a story.
I’m coming.
After that, Lyss couldn’t sleep. Her mind seethed with plots and plans and schemes, each examined, tested, and discarded.
The meeting with Jenna Bandelow had kindled a spark of hope that still smoldered at Lyss’s core. Hope that her brother might be alive. Hope that she’d found an ally. Hope that she could use that connection to turn disaster into triumph.
Lyss and the dragon-rider were both keeping secrets, still treading carefully, doling out information bit by bit. For instance, Lyss had shared Ash’s real name, but hadn’t mentioned that she was the heir to the Gray Wolf throne. Jenna hadn’t disclosed the reason for her campaign against the empress, or shared the story of how she’d met Ash, or explained her kinship with the dragon she called Cas.
They’d agreed to meet regularly, in the same place, to discuss strategy. Jenna was a predator at heart—she wanted to separate her target from the herd and go in for the kill. Lyss worried that a poorly planned attack would only alert the empress to Jenna’s presence and send Celestine’s armies into the mountains to hunt for them.
She had a little time, at least until the dragon healed.
The shutters rattled under the assault of the wind. The weather was bad, and getting worse, even for a place where wicked weather was the norm.