Regent Ethelred spoke for nearly an hour from the balcony, which was decorated in colorful bunting, although Amilia hardly heard a word of what he said. Something about the grandness and might of the New Empire and how Maribor had ordained that it would unite all of humanity once again. He spoke of the New Empire’s military successes in the north and the bloodless annexation of Alburn and Dunmore. He followed this with the news of an expected surplus in wheat and barley and an end to the elven problem. They would no longer be allowed to roam free, and instead of being turned into useless slaves, they would simply disappear. The New Empire was gathering wayward elves from all over the realm. How they would be disposed of, he did not say. The massive crowd below cheered their approval and their combined voices roared.
Amilia sat in the staging room, her arms wrapped about her waist. She could not even pace now. The empress herself appeared unconcerned by the approaching presentation and sat calmly as ever in her shimmering gown and massive headdress, which mimicked a fanning peacock.
Nimbus had managed excellent time reaching the milliner, although in the process he had apparently terrified a young page with threats. They also had good fortune in that the ceremony had started late due to a last-minute dispute about the order of speakers. Amilia had managed to secure the headdress on Modina just minutes before the first started.
The chancellor had spoken first, then Ethelred, and finally Saldur. With each word, Amilia felt it harder and harder to breathe. Finally, Ethelred’s speech concluded and Saldur stepped forward for the formal introduction. The crowd hushed, as they knew the expected moment was at hand.
“Nearly a thousand years have passed since the breaking of the great Empire of Novron,” he told the multitude below. “We stand here today as witnesses to the enduring power of Maribor and his promise to Novron that his seed will reign forever. Neither treachery nor time can break this sacred covenant. Allow me to introduce to you proof of this. Welcome with me now the once simple farm maid, the slayer of the elven beast, the Heir of Novron, the high priestess of the Nyphron Church, Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Eminence, Empress Modina Novronian!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Amilia could feel the vibration of their voices even where she sat. She looked at Modina, pleading and hopeful. The empress’s face was calm as she stood up straight and gracefully walked forward, the train of her dress trailing behind her.
When she stepped upon the balcony—when the people finally saw her face—the noise of the crowd did the impossible. It exploded. The unimaginably boisterous cheering was deafening, like a continuous roll of thunder that vibrated the very stone of the castle. It went on and on and Amilia wondered if it would ever stop.
In the face of the tumult, surely Modina could not endure. What effect would this have on her fragile countenance? Amilia wished Saldur had allowed her to use the rope or accompany her onto the balcony. Amilia’s only consolation was knowing that Modina was likely frozen, her mind retreating to that dark place she had so long lived in, the place she crawled to hide from the world.
Amilia prayed the crowd would quiet. She hoped Ethelred or Saldur would do something to silence them, but neither moved and the crowd continued to roar with no end in sight. Then something unexpected happened. Modina slowly raised her hands, making a gentle quieting motion. Almost immediately, the crowd fell silent. Amilia could not believe her eyes.
“My beloved and cherished loyal subjects.” She spoke with a loud, clear, almost musical voice that Amilia had not heard at practice. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”
The crowd roared anew, even louder than before. Modina allowed them to cheer for a full minute before raising her hands and silencing them again.
“As some of you may have heard, I have not been well. The battle with Rufus’s Bane left me weakened, but with the help of my closest friend, the grand imperial secretary, Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale, I am feeling much better.”
Amilia stopped breathing at the mention of her name. That was not in the speech.
“I owe Amilia the greatest debt of gratitude for her efforts on my behalf, for I should not be here at all if not for her strength, wisdom, and kindness.”
Amilia closed her eyes and cringed.
“While I am feeling better, I am still easily exhausted and I must keep my strength in order to devote it to ensuring our defense against invaders, a bountiful harvest, and our return to the glory and prosperity that was Novron’s Empire,” she finished with an elaborate wave of her hand, turned, and left the balcony with elegant grace and poise.
The crowd erupted once more into cheers, which continued long after Modina had returned inside.
“I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.” Amilia pleaded with Saldur.
“Because the empress publicly named you her friend and the hero of the realm, you’ve become famous,” Saldur replied. “This will make it almost impossible for me to replace you—almost. But don’t worry,” he continued thoughtfully. “With such a fine display, I would be a fool to do anything other than praise you. I’m once more impressed. I wouldn’t have expected this from you. You’re more clever than I thought, but I should have guessed that already. I’ll have to remember this. Good work, my dear. Good work, indeed.”