Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(73)
Eventually we found a storefront awning that no one had claimed yet, most likely because they couldn’t reach it. This presented little challenge to Jean, who boosted us up one by one onto the warm slate tiles. From there I could see that the effigy had been raised on a wooden platform, similar to the minstrel show’s stage, but larger and elevated higher above the crowd.
“Look,” Charles said to Jean. “There’s Brother Simon.”
Marguerite and I craned our necks to see the gray-robed figure swinging his censer over the platform. I had never seen a Gray Brother up close. There weren’t as many of them as there were Gray Sisters, since so many Sighted boys went on to become soldiers.
I tried to imagine Leander being raised by monks. Sleeping in a crowded dormitory, laboring away at menial chores. It was almost impossible to picture, even though he couldn’t be far past his boyhood in a monastery—he was only a few years my elder. Where had he gotten his first taste of Old Magic? A locked-away artifact, a forbidden scroll?
“Do you know,” the revenant inserted into my dark ruminations, “it took me nearly a hundred years to figure out that monks existed? All that time, I just assumed they were unusually hairy nuns.”
Any further observations were mercifully cut short by a commotion in the crowd: hooves clattering, cries of excitement. The Divine’s litter had arrived in the square, escorted by a group of clerics, including the hateful black-robed figure riding in a position of honor alongside. He wasn’t on Priestbane, I noticed; he was seated atop the same white horse he had been riding when he had chased me into the forest.
I remembered the rock and worried Priestbane had been lamed, until Charles leaned over to say, grinning, “Did you hear that Artemisia of Naimes rode the confessor’s old horse into battle? Turns out, it was actually his all along—she took it from him on the way to Bonsaint. Apparently he can’t ride it anymore, because people recognize it. He gets mobbed by crowds wanting to touch it for her blessing.”
My mouth twitched with the rare urge to smile.
The revenant said, “I don’t sense anything unusual yet, but I can’t extend my power far with so many clerics nearby. Keep an eye on the priest for any behavior that looks suspicious. Perhaps your pathetic human senses might actually prove useful for once.”
It took some time for the Divine to make her way to the platform. The impressively armored cathedral guard had created a path for her through the crowd, but she stopped frequently as she walked along it, pausing to speak to the festival-goers clamoring for her blessing, stretching out their arms and hoisting up their babies. She spent so long greeting them that the clerics began to look impatient. I watched her bend her head over an old woman’s crippled arm, and it struck me that this wasn’t the behavior of a ruler who would callously bar refugees from the city.
Perhaps the decision hadn’t been hers. Leander was still at her side. To an ignorant observer he probably just looked annoyed by all the babies, but I guessed that his subtle air of discomfort had more to do with his concealed injury. Did he ever leave the Divine alone? I remembered comparing her to a painted doll, but perhaps she was more of a puppet, with Leander tugging her strings.
The group finally reached the platform, dwarfed by the giant straw effigy stretching overhead. I could guess why they’d made it so large this year—the spectacle would come as a much-needed reassurance of the Lady’s goodwill after the devastation that had befallen Roischal.
Based on the crowd’s anticipatory hush, the Divine was going to speak. In Naimes, Mother Katherine had never bothered. She had simply gestured at the dejected-looking effigy, smiling a little sadly, and the Lady had answered in a thunder of wings.
The Divine paused to give Leander a swift, searching look, as though seeking his approval. Then she took a deep breath and wrung her hands before stepping forward. Her sweet, youthful voice spilled across the square.
“People of Bonsaint.” She sounded breathless in her earnestness. “The Lady has delivered us from danger. By Her grace, the Dead have been driven from our fields.” Had Leander convinced her of that? He wasn’t watching her, instead gazing coldly across the crowd. “On this day, we honor her by denouncing the Raven King, bringer of the Sorrow, ruin of the Age of Kings. May his face remain forgotten. May history scorn his name.”
“May history scorn his name,” echoed the crowd.
“Lady, we give thanks.” The Divine made the sign of the oculus and bowed her head.
The crowd held its breath. Everyone knew what would happen next: the ravens would descend on the effigy in a great black cloud and tear it apart, straw by straw, just as they had the king’s real body three hundred years ago, when they had been sent by the Lady to destroy him. He had been known only as the Raven King ever since, his true name struck from Loraille’s records in disgrace.
The held breath stretched on. And on, and on, until confused murmurings started to fill the square. Not a single raven had budged. No longer flapping or croaking, they roosted in watchful silence, hundreds of dark eyes gleaming. As the sun sank below the rooftops, the slice of red light illuminating the effigy slipped upward, casting more of it into shadow. Soon only the crown blazed against the darkening sky, like it had been set on fire.
The Divine stood frozen, a pale blot in the shadows. Her hands tightly gripped the platform’s rail. Beside her, Leander spoke. Whatever he said seemed to jar her from her horrified trance, and she quickly bent her head in prayer. Leander joined her, but I could tell he wasn’t truly praying; instead, he was watching the crowd beneath his lashes.