By custom, the king-to-be was required to promenade the city before presenting himself at the College of the Sisterhood, where the Paramount Sister would give her blessing and join the procession for the return to the palace and the ceremony of crowning. It was a progress that occupied a large part of the day and Kedryn was grateful for the hearty breakfast Wynett had cajoled him into eating as he paraded streets strung with garlands of flowers, folk hanging precariously from balconies and windows to add their shouting to the hubbub echoing over the rooftops. Down through the trading quarter they went, and along the harbor area, past warehouses and taverns, boats from whose masts cheering sailors hung, through streets narrow and wide, past houses large and small, over bridges and through gardens, until Kedryn’s head spun with the enormity of Andurel and he realized how little of the great island city he had visited. The muscles of his jaw began to ache with smiling and he thought that his arms had not felt so tired since the days of swordwork on the walls of High Fort, nor his ears so dinned with unrelenting clamor. Beside him Wynett smiled and waved as though accustomed to such public display, but as they followed the glittering armor of the vanguard down an alley so pinched no onlookers awaited them there she turned and sighed and said forlornly, “I fear my arms shall wither should there be much more of this.”

  “I doubt I shall lift a sword again,” he nodded, smiling encouragement. “Unless you have some potion to restore my strength.”

  Wynett was about to reply, but the alley gave way to a square and that was filled with folk whose enthusiasm made further speech impossible, and they readjusted their smiles and set to waving afresh.

  The progress took them around all of Andurel’s boundary, in a great circle from the harbor to the bridges linking the city with Kesh and on to the Idre cascades leading down into Ust-Galich, then back toward the bank of the Vortigen and again into the mazelike depths of the city. Finally they came to the blue-stoned square of the College, where Bethany stood between the ever-open gates.

  The cavalry halted there, forming in two ranks between which Kedryn and Wynett rode until they freed the silver- haired Paramount Sister. Kedryn dismounted, handing his reins to a smiling Sister and moving to help Wynett down. Together they walked across the sun-warmed stones to Bethany, who raised her arms and said, “I bid you welcome, Kedryn of Tamur, and Wynett of Andurel.”

  “I thank you for your welcome,” Kedryn responded, “and ask that you bless this coronation to which we go in the name of the Lady.”

  Two Sisters came forward to place cushions of blue silk upon the flags and Kedryn and Wynett knelt. Bethany placed a hand on each of their heads and said, “Go to your coronation with the Lady’s blessing, and may she be with you always.”

  They rose and turned back to their horses as a roan gelding was brought out for Bethany and the square rang with cheers. Kedryn helped Wynett onto her saddle and mounted the stallion. The vanguard formed again into a phalanx and Bethany took her place directly behind the couple as they rode once around the College and then began the return journey to the White Palace.

  The crowds had not diminished and the tumult was no less than when they had descended the avenue. Indeed, it seemed there were even more folk pressing in, for the procession had been collecting a following of walkers all through the city and now they surged through the gardens flanking the esplanade, adding their numbers to those already present until it seemed all Andurel clustered there in joyful besiegement of the palace.

  The road was bright with petals and ribbons and paper, a fresh bombardment greeting them as they ascended toward the gates. There, halberdiers raised pikes in salute and palace servants filled the courtyard as Kedryn reined in, grateful that he could now stop waving and allow his arms to drop. Wynett was already dismounted as he turned to her and he took her arm, leading the way into the palace with the shouting of the citizens outside still ringing in his ears.

  He was unsure of the time, though his stomach told him the hour was past midday and he hoped it would not rumble as he made his way across the great vestibule to the dining hall, which, the masons having been unable to rebuild the Throne Room in time, was to be used for the ceremony. As he had been told, he strode to the center of the room and halted, facing the chairs that took the place of the melted thrones. They were on the dais usually reserved for the high table, that removed for the moment so that the carved chairs stood in solitary splendor. Bedyr and Jarl, with Bethany standing tall between them, went to the foot of the dais. Yrla, Arlynne, and Ashrivelle moved to the left, Tepshen and Brannoc with Kemm to the right, while the rest gathered about the sides. From the corner of his eye Kedryn saw Galen Sadreth towering above the notables, his round face wreathed in smiles, his surcoat a startling crimson. The riverman caught his friend’s sidelong glance and winked hugely, threatening to disrupt the solemnity of the occasion by reducing Kedryn to helpless laughter.

  Fortunately, Bethany spoke in time to forestall his amusement, commencing the ancient ritual.

  “Do you come forward, Kedryn, Prince of Tamur, and Wynett of Andurel.”

  They walked toward the dais, halting within arm’s length of the trio standing on the lowest step.

  “Do you, Kedryn, and you, Wynett, swear loyalty to the Three Kingdoms?” Bedyr intoned.

  “Aye,” they said together, “we do so swear.”

  “Do you swear to defend these Kingdoms?” Jarl demanded.

  Again they said, “Aye, we do so swear.”

  “Do you swear to defend and uphold the honor of die lLady?” Bethany asked.

  “Aye, we do so swear.”

  “On what do you swear?”

  “We swear this in the name of the Lady and on bur honor.”

  “Kneel,” Bedyr commanded.

  They knelt as Yrla and Arlynne came forward, each bearing a cushion on which rested a medallion of office, silver chains supporting disks of the same metal on which the tripartite crown was raised in gold. Jarl took one and Bedyr the other, handing it to Bethany, who placed it about Kedryn’s neck, saying, “In the name of the Lady, Kedryn, I pronounce you king.”

  “In the name ofTamur,” said Bedyr, “I pronounce you king.”

  “In the name of Kesh I pronounce you king,” said Jarl.

  He handed the second medallion to Bethany, who hung it about Wynett’s neck, pronouncing the same formula, echoed by Bedyr and Jarl.

  “Rise,” said the Sister, “and govern wisely with the Lady’s blessing.”

  A cheer arose then as they got to their feet and climbed the three steps to the makeshift thrones, stilled by Bedyr’s upraised arms. “Let there be no dissent on this day or any other,” he declared. “Who speaks for Ust-Galich? Let him come forward.”

  Gerryl Hymet stepped from the crowd, his thin face nervous, pale above a surcoat of green and gold.

  “Do you speak for Ust-Galich?” Jarl demanded.

  “I do,” Hymet said.

  “Is there any here who would dispute this man’s right?” asked Bedyr.

  There was silence and Bedyr added, “Then do you, Gerryl Hymet, in the name of Ust-Galich declare Kedryn your crowned king, Wynett your queen?”

  “In the name of Ust-Galich I pronounce Kedryn our king, Wynett our queen,” said Hymet, his voice high. He cleared his throat, achieving a deeper tone as he added quickly, “And I do swear my Kingdom’s loyalty, in the name of the Lady and upon my honor.”

  “Well said," Jarl approved.

  “So do I proclaim Kedryn king,” Bethany announced.

  The cheering that Bedyr had stilled rose up now, echoing off the walls. Gerryl Hymet turned to rejoin the Galichian contingent, but Kedryn rose to his feet, beckoning Hymet to stand before the throne. He placed a hand upon the man’s arm and motioned for silence. Curious feces looked toward him and he felt a moment’s alarm as he realized that he was about to make his first proclamation as monarch.

  “I thank you,” he said firmly, “and I announce to all here present that from this day Gerryl Hymet be Lord of Ust- Galich.”

  Hymet’s long face paled further, his adam’s apple bobbing m his throat as he swallowed. “My Lord,” he gasped. “I do not know what to say.”

  “Thank him,” suggested Jarl, his green eyes twinkling.

  “I do thank you,” Hymet said earnestly, “and I swear to serve you well. Ust-Galich is loyal, Lord Kedryn. While I live there will be no more ...”

  He broke off, aware that there were those present who had followed Hattim Sethiyan, a roseate blush suffusing his features. Kedryn smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “And I thank you for your pledge,” he declared, “you have our confidence.”

  Hymet smiled then and took Kedryn’s hand.

  A moment later all was confusion as the gathering clustered about the thrones, the nobles vying to present themselves to the new-crowned pair and swear personal oaths of loyalty. Bedyr clasped his son, murmuring, “That was well done, Kedryn,” then his place was taken by Yrla, who hugged him with tears in her eyes. Kedryn put an arm about Wynett’s shoulder, drawing her close as Jarl and Arlynne added their congratulations. Ashrivelle hugged her sister and planted a moist lass on Kedryn’s cheek. Tepshen Lahl put hands upon their shoulders, nodding without speaking, fierce pride in his dark eyes. Brannoc, grinning hugely, took their hands and said, “I swear you make the prettiest monarchs these Kingdoms have known.” Nobles pressed in from all sides, adding their felicitations and swearing their loyalty, parting as the vast bulk of Galen Sadreth cut through their ranks like some great ship surging through a flotilla of lesser vessels. “The Lady bless you both,” he declared, engulfing them within the compass of his massive arms. “Do we eat soon?”

  Kedryn laughed then, for the riverman’s blunt question lent a welcome normality to the unreal proceedings and reminded him that he was, indeed, mightily hungry.

  “Must we wait?” he asked Wynett. “Or may we command?” His new-crowned queen turned a flushed face toward him, her smile for him alone, and said, “I believe it is arranged, though we have a duty to perform first.”

  Kedryn sighed, remembering the protocols Yrla had discussed with him, and moved toward the doors. With his arm still about Wynett’s shoulders he crossed the outer hall and the courtyard beyond, their progress greeted with salutes and good wishes from the soldiery on guard. They climbed the narrow steps to the catwalk of the walls, looking out to the avenue and gardens, which were a solid sea of expectant faces. A cheering akin to thunder burst forth as they appeared, dying away as Bethany, her gown of Estrevan blue light as the sky, raised her arms and called out, “Let all the Kingdoms know we have a king, and that he has a queen. May the Lady bless us all.”

  The cheering reverberated afresh. Kedryn and Wynett raised arms heavy from waving to wave again, smiling down on their enthusiastic subjects, who shouted their names and called on the Lady to bless them. It went on and on, Kedryn felt his stomach grumble, reminded of food by Galen’s question. Wynett said, “That does not sound particularly regal,” and Kedryn, still smiling, answered, “I fear my belly does not know it now belongs to a king.”

  The crowd could not hear the exchange, but the expression on Wynett’s face as she began to giggle was clear enough and produced a louder chorus of cheers.

  Finally, when it seemed to Kedryn he must spend the remainder of the day on the wall, Bedyr suggested that they might decently adjourn to the dining hall and they turned about, descending the stairs with the tumult still ringing in the background.

  By now the dining hall was returned to its usual function, the tables replaced and minstrels ready in the gallery. Kedryn seated Wynett and took his own place, amused to see that none moved to raise their glasses until he had lifted his in toast to the woman beside him.

  “To my queen,” he murmured.

  Wynett smiled and lifted her own goblet: "To my king.”

  They drank, their toasts echoed by all present, and servants trooped from the kitchens with great platters of food.

  The feasting saw out the day’s light and Kedryn’s hunger, and by the time it was ended he wanted nothing more than to retire with Wynett to the privacy of their chambers, but could not, for no sooner had the tables been cleared than the minstrels struck up a lively tune and he was reminded that that part of the celebrations he had, perhaps, dreaded the most was arrived.

  They wait on us,” Wynett murmured, indicating the expectant faces turned toward the high table.

  Kedryn nodded and whispered, “I felt more confident when we faced the Messenger.”

  “You cannot disappoint them,” Wynett replied, her smile mischievous, and Kedryn sighed and rose to his feet, offering her his hand.

  She took it and he led her down to the floor.

  “The king is about to look foolish,” he murmured.

  “As king you may set a new fashion,” she answered, cheerfully implacable. And Kedryn took her in his arms and began to dance.

  They circled the floor once and then, to Kedryn’s immense relief, Bedyr brought Yrla down to join them, Jarl and Arlynne close behind, so that he felt less isolated, though nonetheless clumsy. Soon Ashrivelle appeared on Kemm’s arm, and then Gerryl Hymet with his red-haired wife, and before long the hall was filled with dancing couples and Kedryn felt his faltering steps were hidden by the press of bodies.

  Wynett forced him to remain for what she considered a reasonable time and then agreed that they might resume their seats, though she did not stay long for Brannoc claimed her and showed himself an accomplished dancer. Kedryn found himself alone with Tepshen and Galen Sadreth, the formality of the evening forgotten now. The kyo filled a glass and handed it to the younger man, the hint of a smile on his thin lips.

  “So, you are king.”

  “Aye,” Kedryn nodded, sipping the wine. “It feels strange.”

  “You bore yourself well,” said Tepshen. "That matter of Gerryl Hymet was well done.”

  “Thank you.” Kedryn smiled, pleased by the rarely given praise. “It seemed as well to settle the question swiftly.”

  Tepshen ducked his head in confirmation and added solemnly, “But you should learn to dance.”

  Kedryn spluttered wine and Galen bellowed laughter, pounding his goblet against the table. It was as well, Kedryn thought, that Sister Lyassa had declared herself too old to travel to Andurel, for she would surely have had sharper words to say on the matter of his Terpsichorean abilities, having spent so much time with him in Caitin Hold striving to teach him what she deemed the “courtly arts.” He wiped his mouth, looking over the swirling throng, and experienced a renewal of alarm as he saw Ashrivelle approach.

  Her color was returned and her blue eyes shone, her full lips parted in a smile as she curtsied and asked, “Will you dance with me, Kedryn?”

  Feeling it would be uncouth to refuse, he nodded and escorted her onto the floor. The minstrels had slowed the pace of their tunes as the night grew older and he found himself holding Wynett’s sister close, aware of the perfume she wore and the way she gazed at his face. He remembered

  Wynett’s joking comment and wondered how deep it might be rooted in truth.

  “I am not very accomplished,” he remarked apologetically

  “I think you do well,” Ashrivelle replied.

  Kedryn smiled, suddenly aware that her gown was somewhat less demure than her sister’s, revealing a pleasant cleavage that conjured an abrupt picture of her breasts as she had lain despondently on her bed. He felt momentarily confused, aware that his face reddened, and fixed his gaze on her eyes, only to find that was equally disturbing for she looked at him with an expression embarrassingly close to adoration.

  “I owe you my gratitude,” she murmured.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Your forgiveness,” she said, “and for persuading me to attend. I find I enjoy myself.”

  “I am pleased,” he responded, wondering how long the tune might last before he could decently excuse himself.

  Ashrivelle lowered her gaze as if she sensed his discomfort, and he was able to look over her head and find Wynett, willing her to rescue him. His wife smiled over Brannoc’s shoulder, and when the music faded came with the half-breed to lay a proprietorial hand on her husband’s arm.

  “I claim my lord,” she smiled. “Brannoc, will you not dance with my sister? Ashrivelle, you will find him a most excellent partner.”

  Ashrivelle seemed almost reluctant to relinquish Kedryn’s arm, but she allowed Brannoc to lead her away as Wynett moved into Kedryn’s grip.

  “My sister appeared to enjoy herself,” she said equivocally-

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” Kedryn answered.

  “Did you need rescuing?” Wynett’s finely arched brows rose in amusement.

  “I believe you were right.” Kedryn frowned, his voice serious.

  “That you have made a conquest?” Wynett laughed, drawing closer as they spun about to brush her lips to his mouth. “Of course you have—how could any woman resist you?”

  “Easily,” he said gallantly, and quite seriously, “when the only woman I want is you.”

  Her own expression grew serious then and she ignored all decorum as she pulled him tight against her and kissed him firmly.

  He did not realize they had stopped dancing until die kiss ended and he became aware that they stood within a circle of beaming onlookers who began to clap and cheer and shout their approval as he looked up, his face flushed. Wynett was unabashed and cheerfully led him into the dance again, returning the hall to a swirling mass of color and laughter.

  It went on long into the night and Kedryn felt he had danced sufficient for a lifetime as the sky paled into dawn. Yrla had claimed him, and Arlynne, too, and after them it seemed every woman there sought to circle the floor at least once with the new king. Many of the men, no more enthusiastic than Kedryn, had forsaken the round to settle in conversation, and now slumped, somewhat die worse for wine, at the tables. None, he realized, would leave the hall until he retired and he found Wynett, suggesting that they might decently go to their beds. She was breathless, her face flushed prettily with excitement, but when he spoke to her she yawned, nodding, and he turned to his parents, asking if he might not end the celebration.