“Talea.” He put his hands on her upper arms and smiled patiently. “Breathing between sentences is recollected.”
“Recommended,” she corrected out of habit, flopping onto the sofa. Her sofa. Still crazy. “And you’re avoiding the subject. Why do I have to—”
He silenced her again as he sat down next to her, setting his crutches aside. “Because, you are Talereinna, the Aysa of C-Calcaria. And it’s not just you, it’s the other wards too. It won’t be nearly as bad as you think. And,” he smiled at her again, “you look beautiful, not ri-d-diculous.”
She smiled without meaning too. “Fine then. Just butter me up. You know…” she looked sideways at him, “I saw the dress Jaylee is wearing, and she’s going to look beautiful too…”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this. Friends.”
“Ah come on! You’re no fun.”
He ignored her teasing. “You remember what we reheard? What to do?”
“Rehearsed, and yes, and I don’t want to.” She picked up a pillow and tossed it at him.
He easily caught it and used it as an armrest, shrugging. “Too bad. An inescapable retirement of Aysa-dom.”
“Requirement, and thanks a lot.”
Yhkon snarled out what was probably an inarticulate oath. “If the man that deci-ided to hit me in the had wasn’t alr-ready dead I would—”
She laughed. “Calm down now, you only make it worse when you’re mad.” In truth, he’d improved drastically in the week since they’d arrived in Calcaria. Probably because he had improved. He and Grrake were working things out, not without hiccups but steadily. He and Jay had, as far as Yhkon was concerned, worked it out. Talea knew that Jaylee still had her hopes set for more.
“Anyway,” he grabbed his crutches, “we should go. Wouldn’t want to be late for your own ce-ceremony.”
Talea groaned. He was already up, balancing with one crutch so that he could grab her wrist and drag her to her feet. Mirea, her maid—perhaps the craziest thing of all—had left out a necklace for her. She put it on, the metal chain cold around her throat. Mirea had also done her hair and cosmetics, something Talea had never expected to wear.
Yhkon held the door open for her and they left the safety of her apartment behind. An altogether-too-short trip through the palace and they were at a set of double doors, where the other wards and Wardens were all gathering.
“All make way!” Tarol dramatically flung his arms wide and shoved Ki and Resh out of Yhkon’s path. “The prince of Sanonyn has arrived!”
If looks could kill, Tarol would be in the grave. “Who told—”
Grrake approached with a sheepish smile. “They’ve all been pestering me…and I didn’t think there was any reason that just our small circle couldn’t know…”
Talea was grinning. Yhkon, glowering. “That doesn’t m-mean—”
“Come now!” Resh put an arm around his shoulders. Talea was rather surprised Yhkon didn’t strangle him then and there. “You should be pleased! Maybe Tarol will finally listen to you now. Actually, no, he won’t. But hey, at least we now know why Enisham has always despised you—you’re royalty and he isn’t.”
“I am not—”
“Save it, Highness.” Gustor clapped him on the back. “I believe our grand entrance is due.”
Still scowling, Yhkon went to the doors, waiting for Talea to join him. Unfortunately, she for some irrational reason was the first ward and had to go in first. She could already hear the muffled hum of the crowd on the other side.
“Ready?” Yhkon whispered. He didn’t actually wait for her to reply, he just opened the door and gave her a nudge.
People. Lots of people. They immediately burst into applause as she reluctantly entered the throng, following the path that was cleared for them. Yhkon was beside her. Wylan just behind, and everyone in their order behind him. The hundreds, perhaps thousands, of clapping hands were deafening. And terrifying. Still, the applause was moderated. Polite, not necessarily excited.
It died down as they reached the stage at the front of the crowd. Lining the back of the stage was the council, while Enisham and another man waited at the center. She had never seen the other man. Yhkon had told her his name was Mahzin, and he was the first person that Narone had apparently told about the Eight, a couple decades ago. She’d been expecting an old, wizened looking man. Instead, he was perhaps in his mid-thirties, with an eager, outgoing, sort of awkward look about him. Behind the two of them was a rack holding eight swords.
She and the other wards and Wardens lined up beside the stage. For this part, at least, she didn’t have to go first. Enisham took a step forward to address the crowd. “People of Calcaria!” His voice carried surprisingly well. “I know that not all of us expected to ever see this day. When Grrake and Mahzin conveyed the message they’d been given by Narone to us, I found it impossible to believe at first, too.”
Same here, she thought with a silent laugh.
“But now, standing before you, here they are: the Eight! To prove to you that they really are what Narone promised,” he smiled, “a brief demonstration. Wards?”
The demonstration. The Wardens all backed a few paces away as she and the rest of the wards lifted their hands. At least with it being dark, only torches lighting the assembly, no one would be able to see how terrified she was. She felt like a dog doing tricks for everyone’s amusement. Yhkon had assured her that he understood, but that the demonstration was necessary—at least half of the San Quawr in Calcaria had never accepted the idea of eight teenagers with such a crazy ability, chosen by Narone to lead the war. But once they saw it with their own eyes, they would have to believe.
So, she let aqua light glow in her hands, counted to five, and brought twin lightning bolts from the sky into her palms, at the same time as the other wards. Despite the thunderclap and sizzling of the electricity, she could hear the gasps and whispers from the crowd.
Then silence. Clearly no one knew quite how to respond.
Enisham spoke again. “Now that they’re here, let us all be united in a common belief in Narone’s provision and power.”
Sappier than I would have expected from you, Enisham. But it was enough to pull the crowd from their shocked silence. The applause started slowly at first, growing into a far more deafening, more zealous thunder than before.
As it quieted, Enisham looked their way. “Ami, please come forward.”
Ami, downright breathtaking in a maroon gown, her already beautiful features accentuated by cosmetics, could have been a depiction of an Irlaish goddess as she walked up onto the stage. Still, Talea knew what the eagerly watching crowd didn’t—the poor girl was still reluctant, and homesick. Even so, she performed flawlessly, going to one knee, facing the assembled San Quawr, as Enisham began.
“Amilyne Elireth Firreyl. Do you accept the responsibilities as Lavess of the Eight, Caretaker, to fight for and serve your people and your Creator?”
Managing to look resolved even if she wasn’t, Ami nodded ever so slightly and spoke clearly. “I do.”
Mahzin took one of the swords down from the rack and put it into Ami’s hands as Enisham finished: “Then rise, Caretaker of the San Quawr.”