Gail Martin - The Sworn

Berwyn rose and walked slowly to where Taru stood beside Jonmarc. Lisette took the circlet crown Gellyr had brought with him from its velvet pouch and handed it to Jonmarc.

Berry knelt in front of Jonmarc. He swallowed hard. Berry had been a courageous tomboy when he and the others had rescued her from slavers. He’d watched with the pride of a godfather as she returned to court and grew into her responsibilities. Now, he felt both pride and apprehension, and he knew that it was just a shadow of what he would someday feel for his own girls. He took a deep breath and was pleased to see that, as he accepted the circlet from Lisette, his hands were almost steady.

“Berwyn, daughter of Staden, heir to the throne of Principality and to the crown of your ancestors. Staden, King of Principality, bestowed on me the title of Lord of Dark Haven. By that power, whose source is the king’s authority, I give to you the crown of Principality and name you Queen Berwyn.” Jonmarc felt relief sweep over him that the long memorized piece was at an end. Berry rose, and everyone in the room knelt. Jonmarc met Berry’s eyes as he sank to one knee, and she held out her hand. Jonmarc took her hand, kissing the signet ring.

“As I was to your father, so also to you,” he murmured.

One by one, the others in the room made their oaths. Finally, when everyone had vowed their fealty, Carroway and Macaria struck up a festive tune, one that heralded the arrival of the king at festivals. Neirin leaned into the room.

“I’ve taken the liberty to prepare a repast suitable for our new queen,” he said. “May we all toast the good health and long life of Queen Berwyn.”

At that, servants entered, bearing platters of roasted venison, ramekins of baked onions and leeks, and a large pudding, along with pitchers of wine. Jonmarc nodded his approval, knowing how little time the staff had had to prepare for the occasion.

The evening passed in subdued gaiety. Staden’s death cast a pall over the celebration, and Jonmarc, seated at Berry’s right hand, often caught a glimpse of Berry sniffing back tears or struggling to maintain her composure. Still, she did her best to rise to the occasion, and Carroway and Macaria kept the music festive. Jonmarc noticed that Carroway was playing better than ever with his injured hand, and he wondered when, given the plague in Margolan and the possibility of war throughout the kingdoms, the two bards would attempt to return home. After hearing about Carroway’s valiant efforts to protect Kiara while Tris was besieging Lochlanimar, Jonmarc found himself hoping that Carroway and Macaria might stay in Dark Haven until he returned from Principality City.

As was the custom, the guests departed just after midnight, having kept watch with the new queen into her first full day as monarch. When the last of the guests had gone, Berry leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Well, that’s done,” she murmured, massaging her temples. She opened her eyes and gave a wan smile to Carina and Jonmarc. “I appreciate everything you and Carroway and Neirin did on such short notice. It was wonderful, all of it. But everything’s happening too fast.” She sighed. “By the time we get back home, they’ll have burned Father’s body. I won’t get to say good-bye.”

Berry glanced from Carina to Jonmarc. “I thought I’d spend a few candlemarks down in the chapel, making an offering to Istra for Father’s soul. With the way Principality celebrates Haunts, I know I’ll have plenty of opportunity to make offerings to the Lover and the Whore.” She paused, thinking. “Do you think Aidane will decide to stay in Principality? After all, Athira the Whore is our patron Aspect of the Sacred Lady. What Aidane does isn’t that different from the way the Sacred Vessels prophesy. They claim to be possessed by the Lady, or the spirits. And the Temple Consorts believe it’s their divine duty to couple with as many pilgrims as possible.” She giggled. “Principality has its own ways of celebrating a holiday, that’s for sure!”

Jonmarc had to chuckle. “I was an eighteen-year-old merc in Principality once upon a time, or had you forgotten? Harrtuck and I served with the War Dogs, and you won’t find a merc company with a more sullied reputation for drinking, wenching, and dice. Our commander, Captain Valjan, told us that our lives were going to be short and our deaths painful, so we had the Lady’s blessing to enjoy every moment until then as if it were our last.” He shook his head. “I’ve often wondered what became of Valjan, and whether he stayed true to his own words. He was the Crone’s own in battle.”

Carina fixed both of them with a playful glare. “And did you both forget that Cam and I joined up with a Principality merc group as well, when we were just Berry’s age? It was my duty to patch up the sorry lot of them after they staggered back to the barracks. At least the Temple Consorts are divinely immune to the clap. Can’t say the same for the rest of the whores in Principality.” She shook her head, and her eyes seemed to see something far away. “Gregor was just a merc commander then, with Ric as his captain. Goddess! How were we brave enough to fight, not even twenty seasons old?”

“I suspect most of us were running from something, or somewhere,” Jonmarc said, slipping his arm around Carina. “I was. And for many of the men in the War Dogs, Valjan’s prediction was true.” He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the gloomy mood. “We leave early tomorrow, Berry, so don’t stay too long in the chapel. We’ll have Gellyr’s soldiers to ride with us by day, and Laisren and the vayash moru will join us each night. Sior said he’d give us a vyrkin escort until we were close to the city, but only a couple of the vyrkin- in their human form-will stay with us once we get to Principality City. They’re not as comfortable there, and it’s harder for them to hunt.”

“Thank you,” Berry said, giving both Jonmarc and Carina hugs. “I’m going to miss Dark Haven.” The look in her eye gave Jonmarc to suspect that it wasn’t just the people Berry would miss. Gone forever was her chance to move among a crowd anonymously, to be free of the strictures of court and the burdens of the crown. Once they entered Principality City, “Berry” would be replaced forever by “Queen Berwyn.”

“We’ll miss you, too, Berry.”

The next morning was crisp and clear. Neirin, Carina, and Jolie saw them off. Although he and Carina had made their good-byes in private, Jonmarc could not resist a backward glance as the group rode out. Although the odds were against it, he fervently hoped that he would be home for the birth of his daughters, and that the war that seemed inevitable could somehow be averted. Neither possibility seemed likely.

The main roads were crowded with pilgrims headed to the festival in Principality City. While the proper name of the holiday was Feast of the Departed, most people knew it as Haunts. It was a time when the ghosts of the Winter Kingdoms became visible to everyone, without the aid of a summoner. During the rest of the year, only those spirits who had enough power to manifest themselves were visible. The other ghosts were present year-long, but invisible to all who did not have the magic to see them.

It had been at Haunts two years prior that Jared the Usurper had murdered King Bricen of Margolan, sending Tris Drayke, Soterius, Harrtuck, and Carroway running for their lives, and beginning the adventure that had changed Jonmarc’s future. Last year, Jonmarc had celebrated Haunts in Dark Haven, which tended to keep its holidays differently from the rest of the Winter Kingdoms, due to the centuries-long existence of many of its vayash moru residents. Now, heading to Principality City, Jonmarc tried to recall Principality’s customs beyond wenching, games of chance, and drinking to excess, and remembered little else. He glanced at Berry. Returning to the city during its most excessive and licentious festival as the guardian of a young queen suddenly made the city’s high spirits and wanton revelry seem more dangerous than exciting.