Sisters Three (Completed)

33. Brenna (1/2)

The entirety of Anjeluund nobility stretched out in a sea before Brenna, their faces all trained on her and Robbin as they slowly made their way down the aisle toward the two gilt thrones at the end of the hall. The court musicians, once again restored to their jobs now that a monarch was in power, played with harps and flutes, weaving a heavenly accompaniment to their last procession as commoners. Brenna's hand, sweaty and warm in her glove, clenched Robbin's as they walked in time.

Ahead of them the coalition of priests guided them, their pale green robes looking faded and dull next to the abundant splashes of color that covered the nobles. To match the pale robes, they carried plain poles with red ribbons tied on the end. They represented some idea long forgotten, and now were just symbols of the priests. Brenna found herself staring at the red ribbon to distract herself from all the eyes that sought her out, and she nearly stumbled as they came to a stop at the bottom of the slightly raised dais where the thrones sat.

The priests peeled off one by one to either side like a wave breaking on a rock. As they filed into staggered lines, Robbin and Brenna slowly processed up the steps and onto the platform before the thrones. Brenna stared at the one in front of her, the way the cushion looked brand new though she knew it had been used by the late queen not so long ago.

As a door behind the thrones opened and a small procession of the more important priests came out, the room drew completely silent. Everyone watched mutely as the High Priest in his pure white robes wafted to the small space that separated the thrones. His long beard was perfectly groomed and his hair was braided and tucked under a white turban. In one hand was a golden scepter, and in the other he held what looked like a golden egg covered almost entirely in precious gems. Brenna felt her spine tingle at the sight, knowing that they were the symbolic representations of Anjeluund.

The High Priest began his long blessing in the ancient tongue. Brenna didn't pay attention, partly because she couldn't understand it, but also because she was struggling just to stay on her feet. She'd barely slept at all since hearing their good news, and her appetite had flown out the window. Since Robbin had returned from the battlefield Brenna had existed on almost nothing but her own excitement. It buoyed her up on the long and hard journey to Latterstill, and it kept her from worrying about Morna's sanity. But now, standing right in front of the throne she would soon own, dressed in a heavy gown with a ridiculously long train and an ermine cloak nearly as long, she found her fuel running low. Not that she wasn't still ecstatic, only that she now stood still and the last few days were able to catch up to her.

Robbin, sensing her faltering, moved a few inches closer, bringing his side near enough that she could lean into him without appearing too. He didn't look at her, but she stole a glance at his profile while the Priest started a new blessing.

While her feelings for Robbin had always been a complex mess, looking at him now her chest swelled with pride. He looked exactly like a king, with noble jaw and fierce eyes. She could barely believe that he was hers. No crown rested upon his hair yet, but she could imagine it and it filled her with a thrill. She knew all the noble women were seething with jealousy, not only that she was now going to be queen, but that she held Robbin's hand in hers. Having something that most other girls wanted was intoxicating.

After what felt like an interminable amount of time, the High Priest finally came to the end stretch of his ancient speech. Two small boys in black appeared from nowhere, carrying the crowns on plush cushions. Brenna's breath stopped in her throat as she watched the High Priest lift the silver and emerald one and bring it around to hover above her head. He muttered something and then lowered the crown to her brow.

Electricity and fire and everything that was pure power exploded in her stomach. She'd felt this once before, long ago when she'd tried on an iron crown in her aunts' home, but now it was even more alive. This crown was hers, and with it came the title of queen. Tears brimmed in her eyes but she didn't spill them. She didn't need to. She was the Queen of Anjeluund and she didn't need to cry ever again.

The Priest marked the skin on her forehead with a scented oil and then turned to place the heavier, golden crown on Robbin's head. She watched in rapt awe as a mantle of power seemed to straighten his shoulders, grow him, shape him. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back as the Priest marked him with the same oil.

The High Priest raised his hands to float above the crowns and chanted the binding. When he finished, Robbin and Brenna slowly turned to face their crowd, and the trumpeters blasted out the fanfare of the king. An eruption of deafening applause pushed against the new monarchs, the glittering nobility relieved that everything was finally back to normal.

With the trumpets still blasting, Brenna and Robbin took a step back and sat down on their thrones. The nobles, satisfied that they could now relax, split off into small groups to dance to the lilting music or work their way toward the vast banquet tables of refreshments. Brenna closed her eyes against the swirling forms. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she let herself believe that this was happening. She soaked it in.