Women had ruled the Matile Mara Empire in the past, but only when the previous monarch produced no male heirs. One Empress, Shumet, was almost as legendary as Jass Issuri. Under her command, Matile armies had pushed the Empire’s borders far to the south, deep into Thaba territory. Shumet had also recaptured Gondaba, a city that had attempted to break free from the Empire just as the Uloan Islands had later done.
As a child, Tiyana had learned the history of Shumet. But she never imagined she would one day emulate that legendary ruler.
As Empress-in-waiting, Tiyana found that a distance had developed between her and those she had known since their shared childhood. Before, she had been only one of many in her generation of the Jassi, the Matile nobility. Now, as the future sovereign, the lives of everyone in Matile would one day be in her hands.
She knew the questions that the others were asking themselves now. How much would Tiyana remember about the past? What grudges did she hold? What slights and insults were hidden in her heart, never forgotten? And what favors did she give or receive that would one day demand reciprocation?
But none of those concerns mattered to Byallis. As an outsider and an Adept of the Almovaads, the intrigues of Matile royalty were irrelevant to her. Thus, Byallis was free to become Tiyana’s confidante, the ear into which she poured her hopes and misgivings about the new direction upon which she and her people had embarked. Byallis listened ... and sometimes, she advised.
Byallis was swathed in a blue chamma that left one of her plump shoulders bare. Her hair was braided Matile-style, with blue beads woven through its length. The sun had finally darkened her skin, although it was still much lighter than Tiyana’s.
Her face bore the serenity typical of the most unwavering Believers. Unlike Tiyana, Byallis harbored no qualms about the future. Whatever happened would be Almovaar’s will, and whatever that will might be, she would accept it without question.
The acolyte, a Matile girl not much older than Kalisha – whom Tiyana had long-since forgotten – finally finished her work. Tiyana’s hair was now a fall of silver, amber and gold beads, framing her dark face. Her chamma was the color of a cloudless blue sky, and it hung in immaculate folds from her slender frame.
After inspecting herself in the mirror one last time, Tiyana turned to the acolyte.
“You have done well,” she said. “Thank you.”
She would never have said anything so complimentary to a shamasha. The girl smiled shyly in acknowledgement, then departed.
Tiyana looked at Byallis for a moment. The coronation ceremony was new to the Fidi woman, and the preparations had been at once elaborate and meticulous. But Byallis showed no signs of apprehension, regardless of what she had said about being nervous.
One day, I might have such serenity, Tiyana mused in her mind.
“No one among the Matile has ever tried what we are about to do,” she said aloud to Byallis.
“No one among us has, either,” Byallis returned.
Byallis smiled as she spoke. The smile became a giggle, then a laugh. Despite her nervousness, Tiyana soon joined her.
Then, within the part of their minds that all Adepts shared, a Summoning to the Oneness came. And the women’s laughter stopped.
“It’s time,” Byallis said.
Tiyana nodded and rose from the bench. Arm-in-arm with Byallis, she went to the place in which all those who were participating in the coronation ceremony were to gather.
4
The silence inside the pavilion had stretched from moments to many minutes. Anticipation – but not yet impatience – hung like a low cloud over the vast assemblage of people who awaited the coronation.
Along with the other surviving members of the White Gull’s crew, Captain Pel Muldure stood in a place of honor at the forefront of the crowd, along with the Matile who had fought valiantly against the Uloans. Lyann was, as always, at his side.
Muldure was resplendent in full Matile regalia: embroidered tunic and trousers, and a white chamma with sea-green stripes. A leather band studded with silver held his hair in place. If he was still brooding over the destruction of his ship and further loss of crew members, neither his eyes nor his demeanor showed it.
Lyann had eschewed Matile clothing, saying it was uncomfortably confining. She was clad in a shirt and breeches made to her specifications by Matile seamstresses. Her only concession to the culture of her new locale was a single strand of multicolored beads woven into a lock of her unbraided hair.
Her well of patience wasn’t as deep as that of the others.
“When is this thing going to get started?” she grumbled.
“When they’re ready,” Muldure said.
“Or when the Seer decides to pull the strings,” Lyann snorted.
“Don’t say that!” a voice admonished sharply.
Both Muldure and Lyann turned to the source of the comment. It was Herrin Junn, formerly one of the rowdiest and most profane seafarers Muldure had ever come across. Now, Junn’s burly body was wrapped in the blue robes of a Believer. The forces that had vanquished the Uloans had also shaken Junn’s lifelong cynicism and, like several other White Gull crew members, he had pledged himself to the Almovaads.
Lyann found Junn’s new piety amusing. For Muldure, however, it was insufferable.
“The Seer does not rule this place,” Junn said. “He merely advises.”
“Of course,” said Muldure. “And the White Gull’s sitting at anchor out in the harbor, waiting to take us home.”
Junn’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into a thin line of disapproval.
“Do not mock the Seer!” he hissed.
Lyann’s sharp elbow to the ribs suppressed the sardonic retort that came to Muldure’s mind. He expressed his annoyance with a scowl instead.
Suddenly, the air above the platform shimmered like a pulse of heat on a sun-scorched savanna. And a bang loud as a thunderclap caused everyone in the pavilion to close their eyes and cover their ears. Many cried out in surprise and, in more than a few cases, fear. Some even fell to the ground. When
