Gail Martin - The blood king

"You add new meaning to the part of the litany about being 'king of the realm, master of the living and the dead,'" Kiara said dryly. "Until now, I always thought that was just a nice overstatement."

Tris grimaced. "I'm still getting used to that part," he admitted. "And the palace ghosts have brought their own list of grievances to be redressed. I have a feeling that once I get down to the work part of being king, I may never get a moment's rest."

Kiara gave him a mischievous grin. "Let me take care of that," she said, placing her hand over his.

Just then the doors to the greatroom opened, and a hush fell over the celebration. A single robed figure stood in the doorway. Dressed in the plain-spun brown robes of the Sisterhood, the figure made its way through the crowd that wordlessly parted to make a pathway to the dais. Tris rose to his feet. The woman's cowl fell back, revealing Sister Taru's face.

"The Sisterhood, too, has a gift for the new king," Taru announced. She reached beneath her cloak and withdrew a gleaming sword. Its grip was beautifully worked, its steel etched with runes that seemed to burn in the torchlight. From the way it laid across her open hands Tris knew it was perfectly balanced, the weapon of a master blade maker.

Tris made his way down to stand before the sorceress. "Welcome, esteemed Sister," he said respectfully. "We're honored at your presence."

"You are the grandson of Bava K'aa," Taru said, offering him the sword that lay across her outstretched hands. "Heir of blood and heir of power. Take her sword to replace Mageslayer. It will serve you well." And in a voice that only Tris could hear, Taru said, "You may find it harbors a vestige of her power, as well as her memory."

Tris accepted the sword, taking it carefully on his open palms. With his touch, the runes along its blade burst into flame that neither burned nor smoked. The audience gasped. When Tris looked again to thank Taru, she had disappeared.

"That certainly took care of any doubts your guests might have had about you being a real spook," Vahanian observed dryly.

Tris sheathed the sword carefully, and the runes faded to indistinct tracings. "I'm going to have to ask Royster about that inscription." The musicians struck up their tunes again and the guests resumed their conversation.

Tris looked out over the ballroom; he let his mind wander with the music. It was more than he had hoped just to be alive. Everything around him was starting to change. Shekerishet-and Margolan-would never be as it had been under Bricen. That truth was sad but undeniable. In time, Tris hoped that Jared's legacy would fade, and that Margolan's wounds could be healed without added bloodshed. It would take a strong king to do that. Tris fervently hoped that he was up to the challenge.

He smiled, looking at his friends amid the mix of coronation guests. Carroway, thoroughly at home in charge of the festivities, was fully enjolying the role of Master Bard. Soterius, now Margolan's youngest general, had earned such deep loyalty from the rebel army that he would be playing an essential part in rebuilding the kingdom's defenses. Vahanian and Carina were headed together to Dark Haven, with its promise and danger. Harrtuck, Royster and Cam-all of them had been forever changed by the quest to unseat Jared. They stepped into a future that none of them could have foreseen.

As the music swelled, Tris's attention returned to Kiara. In just a few months, many of these same guests would return to Shekerishet for their wedding. The thought was exhilarating and unsettling all at the same time. Kiara looked at him quizzically, but before she could speak Carroway slipped up behind them.

"Quit upstaging me with that sword," Carroway hissed, chasing down an errant cupbearer. "Good entertainers are hard to get."

"So are good dancing partners," Kiara said. She made a little bow, and reached out to take Tris's arm. "Shall we, Your Majesty?"

"At your service, milady," Tris replied with an answering bow. "Now and forever."