All the Stars and Teeth(110)
My eyes sting. If only we’d been quicker to return to Arida. If only I’d ended things back in Zudoh. Father would still be alive.
If only.
If only.
I clamp my eyes shut and run my fingers over the sapphire necklace that sits heavy around my neck.
Today, I do not wear only the color of Arida. I wear a sleeveless dress of solid white to represent Zudoh’s reintroduction into the kingdom, adorned by two anklets of matching strung pearls. They clash magnificently with Rukan, sheathed on one side of my hip, and with my steel dagger on the other.
“I’m ready.” I take hold of Bastian’s hand, and he laces our fingers together as we head toward the main gardens.
The crowd before us is a shifting wave of black, pinks and reds, greens and blues—and even white—that stills as we approach. But there’s no amethyst. The only Kers here are those employed as royal soldiers and palace guards; we’ve still much to do if we’re going to earn back Kerost’s trust.
Raya and Zale are some of the first I notice among the crowd. Looking at them, with their stomachs full and their eyes glinting, eases the pain of this day some. Though there are far fewer Zudians here than there ought to be, it’s a start.
It doesn’t change that the crowd is half the size it was for the execution, nor does it change that I’m only here because Father is dead. Nothing will ever change that.
My stomach coils tight, reminding me that while Kaven is gone, the kingdom is more fragile than ever. And it likely will remain that way for some time, because today, for my first act as queen, I’ll be reinstating the right to practice multiple magics. It’s time for everyone to be given their freedom.
Though I anticipate many will welcome this change, its success will depend on whether Visidia’s people believe me when I tell them that the beast is no longer a concern.
Visidia’s restoration depends wholly on my people’s trust in me. And for that reason, they cannot know about the curse on the Montara blood.
No one can know I’ve lost my magic, or that Bastian holds it. No one can know of Aunt Kalea’s treason, or that the soul magic within us is corrupted because of Cato. Nor can they know of Kaven’s followers who are being kept in the prisons far below, or of the strange mix of curse magic and soul magic some of them possess.
At least not for now.
I won’t be like Father, or the rest of the Montaras. My people will learn the truth one day soon, after I break the Montara curse and make soul magic available to them.
But until then, they need someone to lead them into this new future. They need a ruler they can look up to while the foundation of our culture shifts, even if they might consider that ruler a fraud.
I don’t deserve to sit on this throne—how could I, after all the damage the Montaras have done to this kingdom?—but someone has to repair Visidia, and I’m the only one who knows the secret to how.
Mother’s gaze is soft as I approach. She bows her head to me, and though it’s not customary, I bow mine back.
A throne of burnt ivory and charred whalebone waits for me on the same stone slab where my performance took place half a season ago. Though it was suggested I have it remade, I demanded the scorched throne be kept. It’s a reminder not only to my people—who will look at it and know exactly what I’ve done for them—but for myself, as well.
This throne killed Father. And it might one day try to do the same to me.
Aunt Kalea stands at the left corner of the throne, her head bowed. When her eyes lift to find mine, my chest constricts, forcing breath from my lungs.
I see more of Father in her now than ever before. I see him in her molten eyes and firm jaw. In her sun-kissed olive skin, and the thin wrinkles at the corners of her tired eyes, which are dimmed by the weariness of mourning we all feel. Aunt Kalea may never be comfortable with the magic coiled around her soul, but slowly she’s adjusting.
I tried everything I could to ensure her life remained in Ikae, but in the end, it didn’t matter. I may have spared her from having to sit on the throne, but soul magic has claimed part of her. Her only hope is that I’m able to find a way to break Sira’s curse.
I pass Ferrick as Mother guides me to the throne, where he stands tall at my right side. He’s had his outfit personally tailored, again—an emerald-green blazer with sapphire cuffs and gold trim. Though I’d never put the outfit together myself, Ferrick’s grin is broad and his chest is proud as he waits to accept his new position not as my fiancé, but as my top adviser.
The faces of my people lift as they inspect not their new heir, but their new queen. I clench my fingers on the arms of the throne as Mother offers me a crown. The skeletal eel with jagged teeth sits above my brows, and a spine of bone and jewels curves down my back—the High Animancer’s crown.
Father’s crown.
My crown.
She fits it onto my head with shaking hands while draping a cape that shimmers like an opal over my shoulders, and all the while I bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to tremble beneath the weight of it all.
“Bow.” Mother turns to address our people. “Bow to your queen, who has saved this kingdom from those who sought to destroy it. Bow to your High Animancer, who offered her own life in order to save yours, and who lives to tell the tale.”
I dig my fingers into the cape, pulling it closer as I lift my chin high.