Aldermaston Wyrich took out a small delicate vial topped with a jeweled stopper, which he unsealed. “The Chrism oil,” he said. Then he dipped his smallest finger into the vial and anointed her forehead, temples, shoulders, and breastbone with the pungent-smelling oil.
The wetness and warmth of the oil felt strange against Maia’s skin, yet it did not burn or hurt. It did not mark her as something counter to the Medium. “This coronation ritual has existed for centuries,” the Aldermaston explained. He spoke louder, his voice carrying past the curtain for the crowd to hear. “This oil is pressed from fruit in a certain garden in Idumea. The Garden of Semani. Called the Chrism oil, it is used to anoint Aldermastons. And in this case, a queen. I bestow upon you the rights and stewardship of the kingdom of Comoros as sovereign ruler. May you keep and preserve your oaths as you defend this people.”
“Amen,” uttered the four men holding the canopy. As she looked at each of the men holding the canopy, she saw nothing but respect and loyalty. She felt their support and was silently grateful.
Suzenne then opened a wardrobe chest and removed the queen’s regalia, a gown befitting Maia’s rank, though one that was less adorned than the ones Lady Deorwynn had favored. She quickly helped her dress, covering her from the sight of the men who now knew her secret. With the binding sigil removed, they would be free to speak of it with others. She silently hoped that they would not, that the power of the Medium they had felt would be enough to silence their tongues.
Once she was dressed in the ceremonial gown, they lowered the covering and revealed her to the rest of those assembled in the courtyard. The Aldermaston then summoned the implements of her authority—the sword of state, which he girded around her waist as if she had been a king, the scepter of power, and the Cruciger orb. Then in front of everyone assembled, the Aldermaston put the coronation ring on her finger—marrying her to the kingdom—and the crown on her head, giving her full authority over it. This finalized the ceremony.
As she felt the metal of the crown weigh down her hair and press against her temples, the choir of Assinica started to sing again, and this time their anthem was more festive and celebratory. Their song signaled to the crowds that the coronation was over, and the cheer that began outside the walls shook the very platform on which Maia stood. People on rooftops visible over the abbey walls waved hats and screamed her name. There were so many people in the street, on porches and verandas and roofs, it was almost a riot. She would have to pass through them to get back to the palace, and the very notion of doing so was daunting.
The choir continued to sing as the procession began to return to the castle, leaving in the same order that it had entered. The sea of onlookers strained against the wall of pikemen who had formed to prevent the people from converging on the street.
“Are you relieved it is almost over?” Suzenne whispered from behind her.
“Over?” Maia asked, straining with a smile and twirling the scepter as she waited for their turn to walk. “My troubles are just beginning.”
The coronation was celebrated with an enormous feast at the palace that evening, though Maia felt disgruntled by the mood of revelry in the hall, by the freely flowing spirits. But she had harkened to the lord mayor’s counsel not to change the tradition. Doing so would have risked offending the nobles and the common people, who expected to celebrate such occasions. The audience hall had been turned into an enormous banquet—after removing the benches, the palace servants had brought in tables and arranged them in a giant square. Now Maia sat on a raised dais with her councillors. Her seat, by tradition, was higher than all the rest. She had eaten sparingly, still nervous about the first official day of her reign. Part of her poor mood had to do with her father. She could not stop thinking about how he had managed to convince himself that the authority invested in him by an Aldermaston could be superseded by royal decree. It was unthinkable. The solemn occasion had touched her deeply, and she felt the marks of the Chrism oil almost as if they were a palpable burden laid on her by Aldermaston Wyrich. How could her father have deceived himself and bucked the traditions of the realm so completely? Another qualm she felt about the celebration was that this display of wantonness, greed, drunkenness, and celebration did not seem to acknowledge the true state of the kingdom. They were on the verge of being attacked by the Naestors and their limitless cargo of bloodthirsty warriors, who hoped not just to steal their treasures, but to put every one of their victims to death.