The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(30)
Though the cathedral was massive, there was but one door in the front, and it was tall and narrow—so narrow we had to enter in single file. Every sound from the outside became muffled as soon as I crossed the threshold. The entrance hall was just as majestic as the exterior, with gilt friezes and marble statues of unnaturally tall saints; they rose up the walls, praying over the people passing beneath them.
Small alcoves and drops of shadow hung to the sides, but a silver light shone ahead, keeping my attention as I led the others. The Ospreys’ gasps and exclamations of awe were music nipping at my heels.
At the end of the hall, a white-robed figure ushered us around a corner, where others waited to direct us into the sanctuary in the center of the building.
An immense chamber opened before me, lit by great chandeliers. Hundreds of benches sat in rows on the main floor, with thousands more in tiers along the sides and on balconies. Columns created aisles down several series of steps with long landings, all leading to a dais in the center. There was nothing on it but a shallow pool guarded by a low, gold rail.
The benches in the front were already filled with the king’s family and closest companions. The queen stood near the dais, statuesque in her floor-length gown. Nearby, Tobiah held his hands behind his back and his shoulders squared. Dark hair hid his downturned eyes as he spoke with Lady Meredith, though whatever they said was too soft and obscured to hear over the echoing footfalls and other voices.
She reached for his hands in a comforting gesture that seemed to have little effect. The king was dead. His father was dead. And tonight there would be no forgetting it.
I was halfway down the stairs when Tobiah glanced up and found me watching him. Even from this distance I couldn’t miss the naked ache in his gaze. Not a crown prince. Not a vigilante. Just a boy who’d lost his father and might face the rest of his life in a spiral of questions: What if he’d been there? What if they hadn’t argued that night? What if . . .
Our gazes held for another moment before Meredith twisted in her seat to see what had distracted him. My name took shape on her lips.
Another face turned up, this one with a scowl. Lady Chey said something, drawing Tobiah’s and Meredith’s attention.
Theresa leaned close and kept her voice low as we continued down the stairs. “What was that?”
“You know all about Chey,” I said, but we both knew she hadn’t meant Chey. People didn’t share long looks with princes they’d written—at length—about hating.
A minute later, I took my seat in the second row, right behind the duchess and countess. Chey turned her head just enough to show me her profile as she muttered to Meredith, “Don’t you think it odd they were invited here, considering it was an Aecorian under Wilhelmina’s command behind King Terrell’s murder?”
Meredith pulled back and scowled. “That’s inappropriate, Chey.”
Whether she meant the comment in general, or specifically saying it at the memorial, I couldn’t tell. I just glared at the back of Chey’s head as Meredith shot me an apologetic glance.
“After the wedding,” Chey added, “you’ll have more influence over who he invites to important events.”
“Chey!” Meredith’s tone turned warning.
“Speaking of your wedding, we should discuss your dress and all the arrangements soon. Winter solstice isn’t very far, and there’s a lot of planning that must be done.”
“This isn’t the time to speak of such things.” But Meredith glanced toward Tobiah, her expression warming.
Quiet mutters echoed in the chamber as everyone arrived. Skyvale nobility, those from other cities in the kingdom, and even foreign. There was a duchess from Laurel-by-the-Sea, followed by nobility from kingdoms farther to the north. Gowns and suits rustled in the echoing quiet.
The late king’s brothers were already here, sitting in the first row with other family members. Prince Colin was too deep in conversation with Prince Herman to notice my arrival, thank saints. No, tonight their eyes moved toward Tobiah, who stood stiffly, but with far more ease than anyone who’d been shot just days prior should.
What had the messenger told them? How much did they know?
Theresa nudged me and jerked her chin toward Connor, on the other side of her. He pointed upward.
I lifted my face just slightly, my gaze traveling along a column across the dais. The marble split into several sections at the top, splaying like finger bones as the column flared and held the roof. It looked like a great forearm and hand; they all did.
And the ceiling itself—
I bit back a gasp as chandelier light caught veins of gold laid into the white stone. The ceiling was covered in angles and swirls that shimmered in strange patterns. But when I blinked and my eyes refocused, the gold lines resolved into constellations.
Astronomy lessons fluttered in the back of my mind. Five stars connected into the rood, and a nearby woman dipped water from a well. As the chamber grew warm with the heat of bodies, I let my thoughts wander to an overlook on Sandcliff Castle where my father taught me star stories. Radiants’ Walk was what he called it. It had been cold that first night, with the breeze coming off the Red Bay. He’d bundled me in his own cloak and stayed by my side as I peered through the pre-wraith telescope.
I’d forgotten about that. But now, more than ten years later, the memory surfaced with the salty scent of the ocean and the cries of gulls as they found their nests. I could almost hear my father’s voice in my ear as he showed me how to find the boat and the cup.