Page 181 of Tides of Fortune
My father looks back at me with hollow, haunted eyes. Seven years of soul-shredding grief have rendered him almost unrecognizable, a ghost of the man I once knew. Emblazoned on the pocket of his carmine doublet is his House emblem – a silver peacock.
Pain flickers across his face as I pass. If he found my resemblance to my mother torturous before, what must it be like for him now, with my dark hair flowing freely to my waist, the same age she was when they first met here in the Golden Palace?
I wonder what Grandmother said to convince him to leave the confines of Bartell Manor. I doubt his attending the coronation came from a sudden desire to see his children.
By the time I reach the dais the whispers have been replaced by thick, smothering silence. The Supreme Mother of the Valla Jakartis purses her lips. Zephyr inclines his head. Ember fixes me with a sickly-sweet smile. Hal looks relieved. And –
My heart twists out of shape.
I stare at the floor as I take my place beside Fox.
The Supreme Mother bids each member of the new Council to kneel before the five thrones and the ceremony commences. I only half listen to the recital of ancient scriptures. I’m too busy talking myself out of making a break for the doors.
I can feel Fox looking at me. It’s almost painful, the urge to meet his gaze – to be close to him. Is it real, this feeling? Or is it just a response – a result of the talismans drawing us together like a magnetic force? I don’t know. And that’s the problem. It’skillingme.
I swallow a gasp as my brandmark suddenly glows blindingly bright – so bright I can hardly see – before extinguishing entirely.
The Supreme Mother presses her fingertips together in prayer, then signals for us to rise. One by one we take our thrones.
Hal is crowned first. The Imperial Crown is magnificent – an intricate fusion of golden feathers, flames, leaves and waves set round a glimmering sun. He had a second Ventalla crown made for Zephyr, since the original is still worn by King Balen. Tension coils between my shoulder blades as the King of the Air’s soft laughter echoes in my ears.
Ember is up next, grinning triumphantly at Aunt Hester. Then Fox, who’s still looking at me. I grip the arms of my throne as the Aquatori crown is produced – a circlet of curling waves nestled on a gold-silk cushion. I recall that night after the second trial when I overheard those courtiers discussing my prospects in the hedge maze.
Mark my words, the Veridian Desert will turn to ice before the Storm Weaver is crowned Queen of the Fish.
Perhaps if I felt less like I were about to self-implode, I’d take a moment to revel in spite.
The crowd stare up at me – a sea of gold, grey, green, red and blue. I see fear in their faces. I see hate and horror, anger and awe. I feel it, too, deep down to my bones.
Murderer. Changeling. Freak.
The words are always there. I can hear them in the silence. The Riftkeeper once told me that I understood the value of a name. Unsurprising, really, since I’m known by so many.
Storm Weaver.
The girl who wove the storm that shook the world. Responsible for almost drowning the empire on the day of my birth.
Rain Singer.
I think of my people back in Brava, still alive after all these years. I am no longer the last of my kind. I never was.
Demari.
Part Etheri. Part Magi. The product of a love that changed the tides of fortune.
Eye.
Power hums beneath my skin, raw and restless, a caged beast fighting to break free. When I touched Syla’s talisman, I became the key.
And now, today, I become something new.
The Supreme Mother clears her throat. ‘I hereby pronounce you, Blaze Harglade …’
The whole world seems to hold its breath as the final crown is placed upon my head.
Queen.
