“Yes.” Deneya smiled. “Just checking in with Yullia here about the final count of the guards so I can ensure they are paid correctly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change before the ceremony.” Deneya bowed and departed.
“Are you ready for today?” Zira asked.
“I think so. You?”
“No,” Zira answered bluntly. “I’ve fought countless men in dozens of battles. But this has my hands trembling.”
“You’ll be fine.” Vi patted the woman on her shoulder.
“Do you mind if I go over the ceremony once more with you? I don’t want to forget.” A nervous Zira was more endearing than Vi could’ve imagined.
“Not at all.”
“Thank you.” Zira promptly turned to a back door.
Vi’s eyes were drawn to the sword on her hip as Zira moved. Vi’s head bobbed along as Zira went through the ceremony a final time. But her attention was on the sword.
She would protect it, and the woman, at all costs.
She wouldn’t accept any other fate.
* * *
Two hours later, Fiera arrived by covered carriage. Soldiers stretched sheer panels between poles that obscured her as she entered the cathedral. The gathered crowds cheered and threw flowers, praising their soon-to-be Empress, as if their happiness for the union had been there all along.
Vi watched from an upper floor, scanning the guards that lined Fiera’s walk. How many of them were Knights of Jadar loyalists? How many were ready to stab the woman in the back if the opportunity presented itself?
When Fiera entered the cathedral, Vi spiraled down the narrow iron staircase that took her from the top of the spire she’d perched in down into a side wing, and out into the cathedral proper. The main chamber was beginning to fill with nobles and dignitaries and Vi stepped lightly, unnoticed by most.
She scanned the crowd carefully, trying to discern who might be surreptitiously positioning themselves, waiting for the time to strike. Vi made a note of every man and woman who chose to stand behind where Zira would be in less than an hour. By the time she waded through the sea of people, Vi had committed their faces to memory.
Vi slipped into a back hall that connected to a waiting room where Fiera sat in a chair by the window—looking far more composed than Vi had expected.
“Are there a lot of people yet?” Fiera asked, perking up when Vi entered.
“It’s filling quickly.” Zira was nowhere to be seen. Having the sword out of sight put Vi on edge. She glanced at the two handmaids who hovered in the corner of the room. “Out with you both.”
They glanced at each other, but left when Fiera commanded a gentle, “Please excuse us a moment.” The princess turned back to Vi, dark eyebrows arched in question.
Vi stared down at the woman, wondering countless things at once. Was the cut of her dress—tight below the bust, but flowing loose around her abdomen—happenstance, or an intentional concealment? Had she looked into the future at all during these past weeks? Did she have any sense of what was about to transpire?
Not knowing the answers to those and several hundred other questions, Vi slowly drew her sword. Acting on instinct, she rested the point of the weapon in a crack of the floor and knelt before Fiera.
“Princess, soon to be Empress…” Vi looked up over top of her white-knuckled hands. “I shall not abandon my post before your throne, on this day or any to come. I am loyal to you, and any actions I take are an extension of that loyalty.”
“What have you seen?” Fiera asked. “Tell me. I am burdened by the sight as well, and accustomed to living with its revelations. You do not need to shoulder this truth alone.”
“There will be an attack during your ceremony.”
“Who else have you told?”
“No one,” Vi lied easily, and Fiera believed it without question.
“Not even Zira?”
“I need her to act without knowing.”
“I see.” Vi actually believed she did. “What do you need from me, then?”
