Maia rode a quivering stallion through the streets of Comoros to the deafening tumult of cheers and fanfare. The horse had blinders to keep it moving straight, but she could sense the beast’s nervousness, which rivaled her own. The mayor of Comoros rode at her side, waving gallantly to the crowds who had assembled en masse to see her. Everywhere there were men and women with tears streaming down their filthy faces, people shouting for her to go forth and claim the crown long denied to her.
It was a moment she would never forget.
She had been prepared to die for her convictions, but now she realized it might require more courage to live for them. So many lives were in her hands, and she could not fail them. The streets were clogged with mud and debris, but it did little to stop the people who were gathering around the cavalcade, or to cool their ardor. She was the first female heir of Comoros, with no legitimate brothers to rival her for the power of the throne. In the distant past, one female heir had attempted to take the queendom and failed, sparking a civil war that had lasted nearly a generation.
Someone from the crowd rushed up to hand her a flower, but the person was rebuffed by one of her escorts who surrounded them on foot, each of them carrying poleaxes to keep the crowd from engulfing them. The lady was grabbed by the shoulder and shoved away.
Without pausing to consider her actions, Maia tugged on the reins and halted her nervous mount. “Bring me that woman’s flower,” she said in a firm tone of command. The closest soldier gazed at her in confusion for a moment, as if to gauge her sincerity, but then strained against the crowd to make his way to the older woman. When he returned to Maia, he presented her with the flower. She took it in one hand, still clenching the reins in her other, and nodded her thanks to the woman, who stared at her with dumbstruck gratitude. Another cheer went up from the crowd as those nearby realized what she had done. She tapped the flanks of her horse with her boots and pressed on amidst the noise and confusion.
The people wanted more than to see her wearing a humble servant’s gown and riding a cream-colored stallion. They wanted to touch her, speak to her, and know her.
All that would come with time. Maia had no intention of sequestering herself away in the castle once it had been seized. She would first seek out Suzenne and Dodd and ensure they were safe. There was a nervous pit in her stomach that would not be moved until she saw them again.
A man hung precariously from a weathercock on a roof, waving his cap like a flag and screaming her name. When she waved up at him, the crowd cheered her all the louder. There were so many people, it was impossible to focus on anyone for very long.
“Almost there!” the mayor shouted to her, gesturing as Pent Tower loomed ahead of them. The walls were crowded with spectators, citizens who had helped storm the greenyard in a selfless effort to save her life. The outer walls were in the mayor’s control now. The keep itself had been bolted and shut, but the mayor’s men had also taken control of the river leading to and from the palace. Several nobles had already been caught trying to flee, and the rest were hunkering down within the keep for a siege.
“Have your men be gentle with the crowd,” she told the mayor. Then she had to repeat herself, yelling this time, for him to hear.
He looked at her askance. “My lady, we are doing our best to hold them back!” he shouted in reply. Then he beamed with satisfaction. “I have never seen such a mob! Not even on Whitsunday!” He gave her a victorious smile and tapped his stallion’s flanks with his spurs, urging the reluctant horse onward.
The garbled shouts from the crowd washed over her. She heard men crying out praise for the king’s daughter, as if it were a title of the greatest honor. Others shouted out their support for the reign of the new queen. Each clop of hooves brought them nearer to their destination, and Maia could not help but wonder what would happen when they actually reached the gates. Demanding the castellan to open the gates was a risk. If he refused and challenged her authority, it would be an inauspicious beginning. Yet the mayor was convinced that the castellan would surrender rather than face the wrath of the mob that followed Maia. There were not enough soldiers in the city to tame the restless hive. The city’s very vulnerability—months, nay, years, in the making—had prepared it for Maia’s claim.