She draws another X—one swipe, two swipes—across my breastbone.
Then she moves over to the pedestal that holds the crown. Her back is to the crowd.
No one else can see the covetous glint in her eye or the way her fingers tighten over the center of the crown, over the opal. For a moment, I worry she’s not going to give it to me.
Anassa growls low in her throat, faintly enough that I hope I’m the only person who hears it.
Does the Mother Priestess believe these jewels are truly connected to the Faceless Goddess somehow?
Or maybe she just loves a matching set of jewelry.
Finally, the Mother Priestess turns and gently places the crown on my head. Her voice rings out steady, and the fanatical gleam in her gaze never wavers. “With the almighty blessing of the Faceless Goddess, I proclaim you Queen Meryn Sturmfrost, the rightful sovereign of Nocturna and protector of the bond.”
With a violent, echoing slam, the doors to the throne room burst open.
16
MERYN
All the Bonded jump to their feet so quickly, weapons drawn, that it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening.
It’s the direwolves. They stream into the throne room en masse. There must be at least fifty of them, claws clicking loudly on the shining marble. Their presence looms over everyone as they fill up the room—heads high, eyes gleaming, muscles rippling with their graceful movements.
The nobles draw back in fear. Gasps and whispers ripple through the crowd as they whirl around, craning to watch the procession as it overwhelms the borders of the room.
Some of my wolfish viciousness returns, watching the power shift. I have a flicker of satisfaction at their discomfort.Good, I think.Let them be the vulnerable ones for once.
Even nobles who attended the Trials were seated far away from the direwolves, watching the events at a remove. This is the closest most of them have come to the wolves, and certainly to thismany. I’m proud to see that the common people temper their reactions.
Some of the wolves are the companions to the Bonded at the ceremony. But I know others have not taken riders yet. Bounding playfully among them are four direwolf pups, one in each pack color.
Saela gasps in joy. “Cute,” she squeals.
“What is this?” I quickly ask Anassa.
It takes a moment for her to respond, but she sends me her emotions. She’s awed, humbled. Deeply touched.“They have come to show their respect and loyalty to us as the royal pair.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I weave my fingers through her coarse fur.
When the last wolf has entered, barely contained within the boundaries of the hall, Anassa moves to stand before the throne. She lifts her massive silver-white head, her muscles ripple, and she tilts her muzzle back in a haunting howl.
The sound is the ghosts of all our losses, the echo of the Sturmfrost Queens, and it moves through the throne room like a wave. It wakes the voice of the other wolves. They reply in kind, howling in unity. Their song echoes over the vaulted ceiling and rattles me to my core.
The nobles watch, speechless, as the wolves fall silent and begin to move as one. The direwolves bow deeply, first to Anassa, then to me. Then, as swiftly and surprisingly as they entered, the wolves file out of the throne room.
The Mother Priestess clears her throat, redirecting the crowd’s attention to me. “Long live the queen!” she calls out.
The assembly rises, nobles and Bonded and common people calling out in a unison far messier than the wolves’.
“Long live the queen!”
The words ring hollow.
Coronation day is endless, blending into night in a long blur.
When I first swept into the central ballroom, trailed by Anassa and Saela and Siegrid and the rest of my entourage, the light of the thousands of flickering candles and sparkling chandeliers struck me with its beauty.
Now, hours later, the dancing lights are like a thousand tiny pinpricks in my eyes, accentuating the headache that’s continued to throb dully at my temples.
