“Rangar is fortunate to have you,” Oliver whispered. “He’ll need you now more than ever.”
Bryn felt a little dizzy as she climbed the dais behind Rangar and Mage Marna. The throne from the great hall sat in the center of the dais, flanked by benches on either side. Valenden was already on the stage along with Ren, the captain of the army, and Saraj. It gave Bryn courage to see her friends close by, especially when Saraj gave her a reassuring smile.
“This is a sad day for the Baersladen,” Mage Marna announced, her strong voice ringing like a winter echo. “King Aleth Barendur’s legacy is one of greatness and fortitude. Under his forty-two-year reign, the Baersladen saw unparalleled prosperity. His negotiations with the southern kingdoms kept us fed. His allyship with the forest kingdoms kept us protected. The Baersladen army defeated the Zaradona coup thirty-five years ago, and defended the realm from Mir incursions and banditry. His line is proudly carried on by his two surviving sons, Prince Rangar and Prince Valenden, while he joins his late wife, Anathalda, and his son, Prince Trei, in the gods’ realm. His soul now belongs to Death.”
The crowd responded with applause for the former king’s successes. The sincerity on their faces touched Bryn. More than one elderly face in the crowd had tears streaming down it. These people had deeply loved and respected their king.
Would they love Rangar the same? Would they loveher?
Mage Marna motioned to Ren. “Apprentice Ren Kotkel will lead us in a funeral hymn.”
Ren took a deep breath before closing his eyes and clasping his hands. A silence fell over the crowd as he sang the first few notes of a beautiful but strange melody.
“We lift our horns and sing,
To the gods on high above,
We ask that they embrace our king,
With their boundless love.
Onward to the afterlife,
Where the gods and heroes wait,
We send Aleth with honor,
To the great hall's golden gates.”
Many in thecrowd sang along, but others cried too hard to find the words.
Silence followed the dirge. Bryn could hear the ocean in the distance. Its waves had always been a steadying presence for her. Now, she had a feeling that whenever she heard them, she would think of Aleth Barendur.
Mage Marna let the silence linger before announcing sharply, “We bid farewell to the old king but welcome the new. Valenden Barendur, the eldest living son of Aleth Barendur, has surrendered his claim to the throne in favor of his brother, Rangar Barendur. King Aleth supported this amendment to the line of succession. Shortly before his death, he absolved Rangar of any previous charges. We are grateful to know the name of Trei Barendur’s slayer, and that the blackguard shall be punished by Death’s hand in the afterlife.”
The crowd voiced their support, but Bryn still felt nervous. King Aleth had said nothing of the sort—he’d been too delirious to say much of anything. The lie weighed on her. She glanced at Valenden, curious and worried. As much as he claimed he didn’t want the throne, he had all the ammunition he needed to declare Rangar ineligible if he ever changed his mind.
Val wouldn’t do that, she reassured herself.Just because my own family was duplicitous doesn’t mean that everyone’s is.
“Saraj Swiftly, Lead Falconer of the Baer Army, will present the crown.”
Clutching a velvet-wrapped bundle, Saraj stood from the bench. She unwrapped the fabric to reveal King Aleth’s crown, which had been polished, shined, and now glittered beneath the winter sun. It was cast in heavy bronze, made to look like a ring of bear claws.
“This crown was forged three hundred years ago,” Mage Marna pronounced, “Under old King Vestal’s rule, after the great war of the Northern Eyrie . . . ”
Bryn’s attention faded as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. It was a tall man with long auburn hair and the forest-green cloak of Vil-Kevi’s army, though his epaulets and fine boots indicated he was no mere soldier. Though she was certain she’d seen his face before, it took her a few minutes to place him.
Prince Anter Jarkkinen, she recalled.
He was one of the younger sons of King Otto Jarkkinen of Vil-Kevi, cousin to Lady Enis. He had attended her family’s High and Low Sun Gatherings with his family on more than one occasion.
Her stomach churned with unanswered questions. What was a forest prince doing here, among the commoners?
She was so distracted by Prince Anter’s presence that she didn’t realize Rangar had approached the throne. As far as thrones, this one was simple, in keeping with Baer style, made of heavy oak with a bear carved into the backrest.
Mage Marna announced, “Rangar Barendur of the Baersladen, third son to the late King Aleth and late Queen Anathalda, I invoke the gods to bless you with wisdom and strength as we crown you the King of the Baersladen, High Captain of the Baer Army, and Protector of the Northernmost Realm of the Eyrie.”
Rangar looked every bit the king as he bowed his head so Mage Marna could set the glistening bronze crown atop his backswept curls. Bryn’s heart thumped with pride as she clasped her hands together.
