Perspiration rolls down her back. If she screws up this mission, she won’t be able to escape the Mokarran. Once again, she’s the linchpin of Reynard’s plan. No one has ever put faith into her before. He holds her in high regard; no one has done that since she was fifteen and then…
She pushes the memory from her mind.
She doesn’t want to remember.
Amye won’t fail. Nerves are normal. She takes in a deep breath. Having trained under a Calthos warrior, she knows how to reach a state of calm. Being calm will prevent her from revealing her fraud. She keeps a firm grip on her bouquet. Her group of flower girls waits as jugglers balance and toss metallic balls from their heads to their hands and off their feet.
Riders of some wingless avian trot forward wearing the finest of silk garments. They draw golden sabers with yellow diamonds in the hilts.
Bead-covered dancers shake and clack the beads together, creating a rhythm with their movements and waves of rainbow light deigns to awe the spectators. The claps never cease. The applause increases as new performers enter, displaying their beauty, gifts, or talents. The precession halts. This gives the crowd moments to take in the entire splendor.
A wall panel drops into the floor, revealing a fully body-armored contingent of warriors painted in the royal court colors. Interrupting the parade, they march forward, each with a long-barreled rifle with a circumference large enough to eject a basketball.
Once they have disappeared before the procession and the crowd’s applause lulls, masked acrobatic dancers with ribbons trailing their costumes vault forward in a dazzling display of twirling colors.
Amye forces a tear back down its duct. She realizes this grand spectacle is all for one person to have the most monumental of ceremonies to celebrate a day she most likely has been preparing for since birth. The princess, about to be united in matrimony and assume the throne of her planet, is behind her in the parade line and will never witness what those in attendance see. Dignitaries from across the galaxy will speak at dinner functions of this event for a decade, and the princess won’t get to enjoy a single moment of it.
Amye’s not sure she ever wanted to marry. Kymberlynn talked of having a regal ceremony when she met the right man, but even she wanted to be the first pilot to…Amye doesn’t remember. Why can’t she remember what her sister wanted to accomplish?
More tumblers and dancers vested in jeweled costumes venture forth to the cheers of the crowd.
The herald guides Amye and her group of flower bearers to take a single step forward toward the door. A second group of battle-armored warriors step from the side chamber. They are metallic black in color, and around their necks hang the Aurora Medal of Valor. These men have all served their planet in the highest of distinctions. They march forward.
The cheers and claps instantly halt.
Amye notes that within the perfect formation of soldiers, one man is missing.
The herald waves the flower bearers forward a single step.
Dozens of diapered children are ushered in and run out of the chamber dropping flower petals as they joyously scream forward.
Four men carry a steaming cauldron between them. Amye has no idea why. The herald waves the flower bearers forward. A wedding dirge plays, and the thousands of guests stand in unison. Amye keeps her eyes forward. As they march over a bridge built to a dais in the center of a lake surrounded by fountains, along the outer walls the spectators remain at quiet attention.
The Medal of Valor recipients line each side of the bridge, and on Amye’s right they leave a gap in their formation the width of one man to signify those lost in combat. After the distinguished warriors are set in place, royal guards hold their weapons ready to fire in the air. Amye spots the diapered children, now out of flower petals, disappearing down a hidden ramp just before the dais.
On the spiral-stepped platform the future husband-king waits before the presider of the ceremony. The prince has more metals and honor cords than most battalions earn.
Amye wonders whether this man has even fired a weapon.
Mokarran bodyguards sporting black sashes across their naked metallic gray chests have medals as well. A kneeling chair that looks more like a torture contraption awaits the princess. Before the flower bearers reach the hidden ramp and the last child disappears in the hole, the ramp raises.
She steps into the brightly illuminated walkway leading to a dais in the center of a pool of spurting fountains. Amye quickly surveys her surroundings.
The four men carrying the cauldron halt near the end of the bridge. They pour molten gold from the vessel onto the walkway all the way up the steps to the bride’s place next to her husband. Steamy liquid splashes down each step.
Amye moves her foot to glance at the underside of her heel. She knew they felt heavy, but she figured that was a part of the costume. Now she realizes the metal sole prevents the heat of the gold from melting them.
All the flower bearers promenade in union. Amye matches their steps as they proceed forward on the bridge. Amye and the other flower bearers march around the body ring of the dais and spin around in unison brandishing the bouquets.
Thousands of flame-orange birds are released and flutter to the ceiling of the stadium-sized cathedral roof. Amye had no idea this place was as big as it is. The long peacock tails flutter in waves of orange. Freedom is what they seek.
Amye smiles, Did they all have a chance to crap before they took flight?
Cannons fire.
Amye resists the urge to glance back and consternates on keeping
