As she trod on the rumpled blue cloth, gazing straight ahead with as much dignity as she could muster, there was an audible sigh from the crowd, and a hush quickly fell across those who had assembled to watch the auspicious occasion. She saw men doff their hats and crush them against their shirts. Women bowed and curtsied as she passed by them. Though she longed to stare at her people, Maia maintained the tradition and kept her eyes fixed on the abbey spire. There was a tradition that queens be carried in a litter—that was the way Lady Deorwynn had insisted upon—but there was also another tradition for going on foot, which Maia preferred. Her hair was down and full, decorated with no braids or ornaments.
The procession to the abbey was not long, but to Maia it lasted an almost unendurable time. She had never been the focus of so many eyes. She wondered, darkly, if the kishion was among those who watched her. She did not doubt that he was, and the thought caused a chill to seep into her bones. She wished Collier had been able to attend the occasion. She knew from Simon that he had landed safely in Dahomey, but that was all she had heard.
The abbey grounds had been decorated for the occasion, but her heart was beating hard in her chest and she barely paid attention to her surroundings as she entered the main gates, glancing up at the tall archway and blinking back at the bright sunlight. A large platform had been erected in the middle of the courtyard where the ceremony would take place. She saw the canopy screen being held in the ready. On each side of the courtyard, benches had been constructed, and the choir from Assinica had assembled, a group of at least a hundred men, women, and even children.
She saw Aldermaston Wyrich awaiting her at the head of the platform, a tall, stately figure. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he stared at her with a peaceful, reassuring look, as if he saw her fears and concerns and hoped to soothe them.
The constant regret of what had happened to her in the lost abbey pressed down on her more than ever. But she marched forward, determined to face her humiliation with as much dignity as possible.
The inner courtyard was teeming with the nobles of the realm. Flags fluttered in a small breeze. Those bearing the royal regalia mounted the steps in front of her and arranged themselves around the Aldermaston. Maia came forward and then knelt on a cushion in front of him. He gave her a warm smile and winked affectionately, a final attempt to calm her.
The Aldermaston turned to those assembled. “My friends, here present is Marciana, rightful and undoubted inheritrix by the laws of maston and man to the Crown and royal dignity of this realm of Comoros. This day she is appointed by the peers of this land for the consecration, inunction, and coronation of said most excellent Princess Maia.” He smiled benevolently, his voice easy and unpretentious, his accent only adding to the richness. He was an excellent speaker. “Will you serve, at this time, and give your will and assent to the same?”
Maia trembled on her knees, waiting to hear her people’s pledges. They came in a rush of sound, filled with enthusiasm and forcefulness.
“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”
The sound sent shudders jolting through her, and she felt, for the first time that day, the whispering of the Medium. It brought a feeling of warmth, of approval, and most importantly, of peacefulness. Within the grounds of Claredon Abbey, she had found the reassurance she had not felt in the palace. She closed her eyes as the Aldermaston laid his hand on her head.
“Please close your eyes,” he instructed those assembled. She sensed him raising his hand in the maston sign.
“Marciana Soliven, by Idumea’s hand, I Gift you on this, your coronation day. I Gift you with the wisdom to rule and lead this mighty people, to defend your realm against its enemies. I Gift you with patience and understanding, so that you may judge not after the manner of men, but in accordance with the will of the Medium. I grant you a feeling of peace on this day and with . . .”
His voice dropped off. Maia felt a prickle of unease. A strange darkness settled on her soul as he started to speak again, his voice choked with emotion. “Maia . . . I Gift you with . . . hope. When the storm comes. When night shrouds this land and your heart. When you are at the brink of utter despair, I Gift you with hope that will see you through.” He forced the words through his teeth, his turbulent feelings clearly roiling beneath the surface. “Even the darkest night will give way to the dawn. Remember this, Maia. Remember this, our queen. Make it thus so.”
The words he spoke sent a pall over those assembled. He lowered his arm from the maston sign, and Maia opened her eyes and looked up at his face. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he stared down at her with deep sympathy, and she shuddered at what it meant. What had he seen as he had performed the Gifting? It was clearly a premonition of something horrible.
Aldermaston Wyrich extended his hand to help her rise. As she came to her feet, the choir from Assinica began to sing.