She’s made no secret—to me, at least—that she finds me unsuitable for the throne. Every choice I’ve made about this coronation—from refusing to disrobe in front of a crowd to insisting that we did not need to rush in a slaughtered sea serpent to feed the nobles—has been met with a frown of disapproval.
The condemning wrinkles around her mouth and I are best friends, at this point.
Still, she’s here.
When I reach the dais, I turn around to face the assembled congregation. Saela takes her seat in the front row, and Anassa goes behind me to sit by the throne.
“Meryn Sturmfrost, heir to the Sturmfrost throne, you seek to be queen of the sacred nation of Nocturna,” the Mother Priestess bellows out, her voice far stronger than her body would imply.
“I do,” I say, following the script we’ve drilled over and over again.
“Humble yourself before the people you wish to serve. Humble yourself before the Faceless Goddess herself,” she cries out.
The nobles straighten in their seats, necks craning. More than a few of the men have a lecherous look in their eye.
Sorry, you fucking creeps, I’m not getting naked for your pleasure.
Instead, I kneel—a tough task in this heavy, gilded gown. Disappointed murmurs reach me from the crowd.
Then I place my head on the floor. “I humble myself before the people and the goddess herself. I beg that she assesses me and provides due approbation.” The words nearly make me shiver. I’ll never forget the way Cyril Valtiere said that phrase when we first met.
As if he fancied himself a god.
I stay in this prostrate position for a full minute. Theoretically, if the goddess was up there and watching over this, now would be the point she’d strike me down.
That’s how I know this ceremony is bullshit.
What kind of goddess would have let the Valtieres pass?
“You may rise, Meryn Sturmfrost,” the Mother Priestess eventually announces.
I lift my chest but stay kneeling and angle my body toward her. The Mother Priestess uncaps her sacred oil. The pungent, bitter scent of it wafts over me, and I try not to gag.
And that’s when I notice it. On her thumb is a large signet ring. And in the center of it… a teardrop-shaped opal.
Just like the one in my crown. Just like the one around Saela’s neck.
My blood starts to buzz. Is this another Tear?
The Mother Priestess dips her thumb into the dark liquid, drawing my eyes back to her face. “With your power, shall you rule for all?”
“With my power, I shall rule for all,” I echo.
She smears the oil across my forehead—once, twice, in an X.
“With persuasion, will you speak for all?”
“With persuasion, I shall speak for all.” Her thumb dips back into the oil, and she smears one line vertically across my mouth. I keep my lips clenched tight so the acrid flavor doesn’t touch my tongue.
“Will you keep your people first as you create and you destroy?”
I hold out my hands to her, palms up. “I will keep my people first as I create and I destroy.”
She smears one thick line on each palm.
“Will your heart aim to protect instead of harm?” she asks.
“My heart will aim to protect instead of harm.”
