It always sounded like nonsense to me. We had no records, no real proof of their existence, just a bunch of old buildings and a collection of legends. Everyone knew the names of at least twenty of the Forgotten, but even these were just tradition. As far as I was concerned, the Forgotten were just an excuse. People saw things they couldn’t even dream of creating, and decided that they must be divine.
I kept my eyes on the Minster now, staring at one of the grimacing male faces above the doorway. Crowds had gathered on either side of the path, but I couldn’t let myself look at them, couldn’t let the fear take hold. All I had to do was walk.
My legs shook underneath my skirts, but I did not fall.
The inside of the Minster had always amazed me. We were rarely allowed inside—once a year for the midwinter celebration, once a generation for a coronation—and every time we were, I spent more time staring at the ceiling than I did listening to the words of the priest. I glanced up again now, taking in the carvings and paintings sixty feet above me. How? I wondered, every time I saw them. How had anyone climbed so high to paint?
The people inside rose. I fixed my eyes on the altar at the far end of the Minster—miles away, surely, from where I now stood. The rear pews were crammed with the commoners invited to see my coronation—the merchants, the bankers, the lawyers, the doctors. All here for a glimpse of this unknown queen.
They had already judged me, I was sure. The moment I stepped through the door, they had decided what sort of queen I would be.
The front half of the Minster was almost empty. I should have expected it, should have known, but my stomach still dropped when I saw empty pew after empty pew. These boxes were designed to fit at least five hundred nobles. Less than twenty stood there now—the remnants of the court, or at least those willing to see me crowned. It was possible, possible, that some of them had decided not to attend. Possible, but unlikely. None of them would want to miss this.
I glanced at the back of their heads—who were they? I didn’t know most of them well enough to tell from a quick look at their hair, but I recognized Naomi. Her black hair was in a simple bun at the back of her head, strands falling loose. Her brother was not beside her.
My stomach dropped, and I dragged my gaze away. I had to concentrate. I couldn’t think about . . . I couldn’t get distracted. I focused on the steps ahead of me, the platform, the gold throne, and the chanting priest.
Somehow, I reached the dais, and the hours of practice clicked. My knees hit stone as I knelt for the priest’s blessing. I bowed my head as he dabbed oil on my forehead. I sat on the throne as someone handed me the ceremonial scepter and orb, as a red sable cloak was placed over my shoulders, as the priest stepped behind me and balanced a crown on my head. The ritual flowed past, like someone else was moving my body, and I was just watching, too.
“All kneel before Queen Freya, first of her name, ruler of Epria. Long may she reign!”
The priest stepped back, and the crowd fell to their knees.
“Long may she reign!”
I let myself glance at the nobles before me. My eyes went straight to Naomi, and she gave me a gentle smile. But she was alone.
Maybe Jacob was ill. Maybe he was shunning me. Something. It didn’t mean he was—her brother wasn’t dead.
My father knelt with a group of men and women I vaguely recognized—some of the king’s old advisers, I thought. Torsten Wolff knelt by another pew, and Fitzroy. A smattering of people.
This couldn’t be everyone who had survived. It couldn’t be. The others must have simply stayed away, unwilling to see me crowned queen. That was all.
Don’t lie to yourself, I thought, anger rising out of nowhere. No one else was left.
The priest quietly cleared his throat. It was nearly over. All I had to do was leave, and lead the court out of the Minster. Just one more thing. I stood, and the priest lifted my cloak so it did not snag on the throne before spreading it out behind me.
I wasn’t allowed to touch the cloak. My father had told me over and over last night, and this morning as well. I couldn’t touch the cloak. I couldn’t lift the cloak. But I definitely, definitely should not stand on the cloak.
But I had no idea how I was actually supposed to do that. Even at five foot ten, I was too small for this thing. It must have weighed more than I did, and the train that spread out in all directions. I took a small step forward and teetered on my jeweled heels.
Another step, and another, and I had reached the edge of the dais. Five stairs between me and the courtiers, and then a straight walk to the door. Easy. I stretched my right foot out, feeling for the steady reassurance of the step below. Once I found it, I shifted my weight and brought my left foot to meet it. Four steps to go. Three steps.
My heel caught on the hem. The cloak yanked down, jerking me backward. I wobbled, fighting for balance, but the crown was too heavy, throwing me off, and I stumbled, falling to the left. I spiraled my arms, fighting to stay upright. My knee slammed onto the step.
The crown tumbled. It landed on the step with a clang that shook my teeth. Priceless jewels scraped against the floor.
I couldn’t react. I watched as it rolled, bouncing down one step, then the next, each time landing with a sound like a gong. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The entire room stared at the crown.
It stopped just below the bottom stair. Undamaged, I thought, but still on the floor, not on my head, and I didn’t know what to do. My face felt like it was on fire, and my cloak was still tangled around my shoe. Should I retrieve the crown myself? It might be bad luck for me to touch it, like it was bad luck for me to touch the cloak. Would it be unqueenly to hurry after my own jewels? Even more unqueenly than falling and tossing them to the floor to begin with?
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was a queen. Officially now. I could deal with this. It was the first test, and I would handle it. I had to handle it.
I reached down and untucked the cloak from the jeweled heel of my shoe. I spread it carefully out behind me, away from anywhere I might step. And then I stood.
At least nobody was laughing. Everyone was staring, but no one made a sound.
The priest hurried forward and picked up the crown. “Rulership does not sit comfortably on any worthy head,” he said, in the same ringing, serious voice he had spoken in before, as though this were all part of the ceremony. “Our sovereigns may be guided by the Forgotten, may they one day return, but their power should be a weight, a burden, and not something they grasp with both hands. But Queen Freya, we beg of you to take on this duty.” And he placed the crown on my head again.
I could have hugged him.