Numerous balconies protruded from the High Wall, like beads of water seeping from the stone. The largest hung fifteen feet above, with no balustrade, and bore only one occupant.
Clad in flowing blue and silver-edged robes, silk and sheer fabric dripping over the edge of her balcony, the Crown sat deep in her throne.
The last time Magda had looked upon Her Presence, the regal woman had stood upon her perch, fierce and imposing as the Spire itself.
Now, her purple eyes were violet and sunken, the copper hue of her complexion faded to ash, her cheeks gaunt and lips thin.
The rumors were true. The Crown was dying. And seeing it for herself slowed the racing of Magda’s pulse, setting her mind to work again.
Could the Crown truly be in negotiations with the Throne? Did the King really have the power to save the Crown’s life? And if so, what would the Crown be willing to give to save herself?
As Magda’s breath came back under control, she could feel the air emptying behind her, the family splitting off to crowd between the columns, until only the sliver of Kaelan’s warmth remained. Below the balconies, iron-faced warriors were arrayed, swords drawn at their sides.
When the doors rumbled and then shut with a resounding thud, the shuffling and whispers silenced.
As one, every person in the hall dropped a knee and bowed their heads before the Crown.
“Rise,” her voice, once robust lark song, was a whisper of brittle paper blowing by on the wind.
They rose just the same.
“Your Illustrious Radiance,” Zuriel said, “I present Magdalena, daughter of Vivanna and Joachim.”
Zuriel stepped aside and for the second time in her life, Magda stood before the Crown.
BEHIND BRUISED LIDS,the Crown’s eyes were no less sharp than they had been seven years before, and they gave away nothing.
“Display,” she said.
Magda unleashed her daggers at once, the hushed breath of metal slicing the air the only sound in the hall.
The Crown barely glanced at her knives.
“Present.”
“Caden, son of Flor and Aran.”
“Proffer.”
She sliced her own wolf blade across her cheek and then turned to meet Kaelan’s gaze. They had gone over this, but she could still see a glint of worry in his eye.
He placed his hand to her cheek. Soon the sting and heat of blood faded and then was gone. She turned her healed cheek for the Crown to see.
“Accepted,” the Crown said. “But he is not claimed.”
“No,” she said, doing her own searching of the Crown’s thin face.
“Unusual.”
“Before my mother’s death, she requested I not claim a Prince until I became Radiant.”
“Odd.”
“I agree, but I respect her wishes.”
“Petition?”
She took a knee again. “I put forth my right to the title and powers of my family and my lands.”
