Exile's Honor

'Oh, that they call me, other things among,' Alberich replied. 'And 'Great Stone-Face,' or 'Herald Stone- Heart.'' He permitted himself a sardonic little smile. 'They take me, perhaps, for granite.'

Talamir and Selenay both blinked at him. 'Was that a joke I just heard?' Talamir asked, in utter disbelief. 'A pun?'

'Not possible,' he replied blandly. 'No sense of humor have I. All know this.'

It was too late for any retort, for the trumpets sounded just beyond the double doors of the Great Hall. The doors themselves were opened from inside, and Selenay stepped forward, followed closely by her two escorting Heralds.

The Great Hall was crowded as full as it could be with every highborn and notable who had been able to get here in time for the funeral and subsequent coronation. All six of Selenay's little Tedrel pages, decked out in the dark blue of the Royal livery, preceded her as she paced up the narrow path between the two halves of the audience, in time to the music. Each of them had a basket of fragrant herbs, which they scattered in her path with meticulous care. Initial rehearsals had them either dumping handfuls and running out halfway up to the dais, or being so stingy with each leaf that they still had full baskets when they got there, so they were taking immense care to do it right this time. The looks of fierce concentration on their little faces were quite endearing.

All of the doors and windows were flung open to the summer day outside the Hall, so at least it wasn't as close in here as it could have been. But the crowd glittered like the contents of an overturned jewel chest, garbed in so many colors that, after a fortnight of the stark blacks and whites of mourning, it hurt Alberich's eyes to look at them. The sunshine pouring in the windows glanced off gold and jewels, and the crowd glittered with every tiny movement.

Selenay set the pace, they only had to follow her; she looked meditative, as if she was taking a stroll in the gardens, not walking up to the throne that she would officially take in a few moments. Alberich thought that she looked as beautiful and fragile as a snow spirit in the gown that had been made for this moment, a gown of some soft, silky, draping stuff based on Herald's Whites, but with winglike sleeves and a train that trailed out behind her, glittering with tiny moonstones and gold beads, and a chaplet of moonstones and beads in her unbound hair. He would much rather that she had worn her armor, truth to be told. He would have preferred to see her marching up to the throne like a conquering battle maiden. Who would take this sweet young girl seriously as a monarch?

The army. Anyone who was with us on the battlefield. Perhaps those who heard her eulogy for her father. But the others? Highborn and notables from across the land? They knew only what they saw—a girl, a mere girl, come to govern.

Well, she'd better learn how to handle them. It was her job to make them take her seriously.

With perfect timing, they reached the dais just as the music ended. And in a silence remarkable for a room holding so many people, the three of them ascended it.

Waiting for them there were the chief members of the Council, ranged in a half circle behind the throne—the Seneschal, the Lord of the Treasury, the Lord Marshal, and the chiefs of the Heraldic, Bardic, and Healer's Circle. Representing all of the various and varied religions of Haven was the Patriarch Pellion d'Genrayes; Alberich didn't know which sect and temple he represented, but he looked every inch the part—white- haired, bearded, in robes of purple and white that were absolutely stiff with white embroidery, and an imposing staff capped with a huge globe of amber.

'Who comes before the throne of Valdemar?' the Lord Marshal thundered, placing his hand on the hilt of his purely ornamental sword.

'I, Selenay, daughter of Sendar, and rightful Queen of Valdemar,' she replied, in a voice as cool as mountain snow. 'In the name of the gods, I lay claim to the throne of Valdemar.'

'By what tokens do you claim the throne?' asked the Seneschal, who looked nothing near as imposing as the Lord Marshal. Truth be told, he looked as if he should be asking, 'Have we got the order of precedence right?'

Selenay answered the challenge as her father's daughter should. 'By the token of my blood, of the line of Valdemar, first King of this land. By the token of my Choosing, by the Companion Caryo. By the token of my mind, trained to rule this land as wisely as the first King. By the token of my heart, that is given to the service of the people of this land. And by the token of my right hand, that will wield the sword of war or the staff of peace over it as need be.' She held her head high, and her voice remained steady and clear.

'And who vouches for these things?' the Lord Treasurer asked.

'I vouch for her blood, of the line of Valdemar, for my Healers saw her born of Sendar's consort,' said the Chief Healer.

It was the Chief Herald's turn. 'And I, that she is Chosen by the Companion Caryo, for my Heralds saw her trained and granted Whites.'

'I,' the chief Bard said, somehow putting far more theatrical flourish into the words than anyone else, 'vouch for her mind, for my Bards have tested her training, and found it complete.'