Nish’s mouth parted, and he exchanged glances with his neighbor. “You are theAshanta,” he said, as if that was all Sean needed to know.
I don’t know what that means!He wanted to scream it, but he also didn’t want the answer. His own ignorance helped no one, yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Discordant desires.
Cognitive dissonance.
“So I help coordinate the Exorcism?” he asked. “Do I reorganize it? What is my role?”
“All of it,” Heleta said with a small shrug. “Lhynion Sidera was a member of the Selgovae clan, and per the Queen’s instructions, they have managed the Exorcism since his death. We all see room for improvement, but we were hoping you would know how Lhynion succeeded so well.”
A tremble made a cozy home in his hands, so Sean pressed them more firmly against the table. “You want me to take the role of Sovereign with no training and no guidance?”
“Sean,” Kywyn said.
“We are here to guide you,” Nish said, “and we were hoping Lhynion’s memories could help you. They are a blessing you were given to save us from starvation.”
Sean stared at the man. “By managing the Exorcism?”
“Er—yes. It is written a new plague is coming, and you will end it. You will restore peace and balance.”
…Plague? Didn’t Kywyn say the last plague was some epidemic of treason against the Queen? Isobel’s acidic fingers gripped his hand, and every single person at the table smiled at the gesture. Like it was expected. Like he and Isobel belonged together.
Welcome to the show.
“I don’t want to be coronated.” The words burst from him.
The room stilled.
“Not yet, I mean. It isn’t fair to expect me to take the crown without any training, simply because of my age.”
“It’s more than that, Sir Caden,” Nish said. “The Sending says?—”
“I don’t care,” Sean said, not wanting further elaboration. “If it’s a true prophecy, a crown won’t make a difference.”
Troubled glances bandied across the table.
With a deep breath, Sean forced down his rising panic and called forth the charm he’d always used like a weapon. It had abandoned him of late, but he smiled and relaxed his shoulders. “Listen. Kywyn is fantastic at teaching me what I need to know. Let him keep doing it. Between him and Lhynion’s memories, it won’t be long before I’m ready to wear that crown and make you proud. If I take it now, I’m bound to make mistakes.”
The troubled glances turned considering, like they thought his points well made. Score one for Machiavelli.
“And look at it this way,” he said, hating himself for what was about to come out of his mouth, “the longer you wait to crown me, the longer you can wait to crown the heir of Manae. It’s a win-win.”
“This is true, Nish,” said Weyla, the spae to Nish’s left. “If we allow the realm to become accustomed to the heir of Manae, he may be better received.”
Nish rubbed his face. “If only we could deny him the crown.”
“His family is noble, and he has done nothing wrong,” Kywyn said in a tone that made Sean think he’d said it many times. “You cannot accuse the son of crimes committed by the father.”
“I can if he has his father’s memories in his head,” Heleta muttered under her breath.
Sean couldn’t place when this anger at David’s situation had blossomed, but he found himself deeply disturbed by their attitudes. Regardless, hope had sprung, and Sean clutched it with greedy fingers. “I’ll serve on your Council. I’ll train for the Exorcism. I’ll figure out how to make it better. I’ll let my father teachme everything he knows. All I ask is that we hold off on making me the crowned Sovereign. Being the Savior is enough right now.”
After a few moments, Nish nodded. “Let us vote. Those in favor of delaying the coronation of the heir of Lhynion Sidera, raise your hand.”
All but Heleta agreed.
Sean couldn’t stop his smile. “Thank you.”
