The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(36)
CHAPTER TWELVE
Coronation Day
It felt to Maia as if the entire world had filled the streets of Comoros. The sound of the crowd was as deep and penetrating as the rush of wind in a storm. The noise of the congregation could be heard within the palace walls, and when the outer doors opened, it flooded into the bailey and made several of the servants gasp with shock.
The procession was long and solemn, its order and scope prescribed by the traditions of her people. The front was led by the gentlemen of the realm, or at least those who had left their Hundreds to support the anointing of the new queen. Hailing from obscure Families as well as famous ones, there were easily two hundred of them. They walked in rows, two by two, either flanked by a spouse or one of their fellows. They were followed by the knights of the realm; the city ealdermen of Comoros; and the mayor, who walked with his head held high and a jubilant smile on his face as he waved to the assembled crowds.
The streets had been shoveled, broomed, brushed, and scrubbed in preparation for this day, all of which had tamed the fetid odors. The windows had been cleaned and polished, besides, with fresh paint or lacquer applied to the beams and struts of the houses and gutters. Fragrant garlands hung from the maypoles, and the streamers shimmered in the air. There would be dancing after the coronation. The faces in the mob were eager, the short straining against the tall to get a better view. Every window was jammed with people on every floor, and some brave souls even strutted up on the rooftops for a better vantage point. They murmured and talked as the procession marched solemnly past, walking along a carpet of blue cloth that had been laid from the marble porch of Pent Tower all the way to Claredon Abbey.
Maia’s stomach twisted with nervousness, and though she tried to steady herself, to feel the subtle impressions of the Medium, she could not. Sabine stood at her elbow, her presence a comfort. Of course, it would be Aldermaston Wyrich, the newly appointed Aldermaston of Muirwood, who performed the ceremony, not her grandmother.
“It is normal to be nervous,” Sabine whispered in her ear. “I would entreat you to enjoy the moment, but I know you will not. I am always uneasy in crowds.”
“I did not know so many people could even fit in the city,” Maia answered, her voice strained.
Sabine smiled. “They have come from all the Hundreds, dear one. All who wanted to come. Some have been walking for days. A coronation does not happen often in a lifetime. The coronation of a woman to rule? Never.”
Maia sighed as she watched the Privy Council join the procession next, led by Richard Syon. He looked grave and dutiful, a sharp contrast to the flamboyant mayor, Justin, who had worn his finest tunic, cape, and gloves. The Privy Council was followed by three knights who carried the naked blades of their maston swords, representing justice, the Medium, and mercy. They were followed by Captain Carew, who bore the sword of state. He too wore his most outlandish fashions, and she noticed an earring in his ear.
Maia swallowed—it was nearly her turn. She pursed her lips, trying not to be sick.
She dreaded what was coming. Part of the ritual involved her removing her gown down to her chaen. A canopy would be held around her to preserve her modesty, so only a few select individuals—those closest to her in the procession, meaning all those who were currently a part of her Privy Council—would witness the moment when the Aldermaston anointed her with the Chrism oil. Those few would see the brand on her shoulder; they would see the kystrel’s stain on her breastbone.
“What if they reject me?” she whispered to Sabine, her voice throbbing with suffering.
“I removed the binding sigil,” her grandmother replied, “so we can explain the situation to those who do not know. You are a maston, Maia. You made your oaths to uphold the Medium’s will. The symbol of the chaen is a more sure witness to who you are than the hetaera’s marks. If we sought to change the ceremony, to conceal the truth, it would only create more suspicion and doubt. Aldermaston Wyrich already knows the truth. So will the Privy Council. They must know it, and they will support you.”
Maia felt a little faint as she watched Dodd begin to march. As the new Earl of Forshee, Dodd carried the velvet pillow with her crown. Richard Syon’s wife, Joanna, carried the Cruciger orb on another pillow. The Earl of Caspur bore the scepter, which was made of solid gold, wreathed with ornate designs, and topped with enormous sapphire gems.
And finally it was her turn. Sabine squeezed her arm one last time and let her go. She would follow in the crowd behind. The High Seer was not part of the ceremony, her position being dominant over all the rulers of the realms.
Maia sucked in her breath and started to walk. Her royal gown was simple and beautiful, but it would be changed once the anointing was complete. Another gown awaited her at the abbey. Her train was carried by Suzenne, the Countess of Forshee, and they were followed by the other ladies-in-waiting whom Maia had chosen to serve her.
As she trod on the rumpled blue cloth, gazing straight ahead with as much dignity as she could muster, there was an audible sigh from the crowd, and a hush quickly fell across those who had assembled to watch the auspicious occasion. She saw men doff their hats and crush them against their shirts. Women bowed and curtsied as she passed by them. Though she longed to stare at her people, Maia maintained the tradition and kept her eyes fixed on the abbey spire. There was a tradition that queens be carried in a litter—that was the way Lady Deorwynn had insisted upon—but there was also another tradition for going on foot, which Maia preferred. Her hair was down and full, decorated with no braids or ornaments.