“I’m of the opinion that the dress uniform could use gloves,” Jerinne said, holding out her hand for Amaya to inspect. “I think they go quite nicely.”
“I don’t disagree,” Amaya said. “But the Grandmaster is here. He will also notice, and he will probably say something.”
“Oh no,” Jerinne said flatly. “Perhaps I’ll lose ranking among the third-years.”
“Don’t joke,” Amaya said. “You haven’t been ranked on the bottom in two months.”
While true, she had still been in the lower half. Jerinne’s time of being repeatedly ranked dead last ended shortly after mentors had been assigned. She had assumed it had been an orchestration to specifically deny her a formal mentor.
Dayne’s position as her mentor was, after all, unofficial and informal. Denied a proper mentorship with one of the Masters or Adepts, Madam Tyrell—
Amaya, she corrected herself.
Amaya wanted Jerinne and Dayne to work together, away from the rest of the Tarians at the chapterhouse. She had been vague about why, but Jerinne trusted her.
Jerinne spotted Dayne across the courtyard next to Lady Mirianne, looking slightly uncomfortable talking to several nobles. She noticed that Mirianne was not dressed like most of the noblewomen present, at least the older ones. No flowing dress with crinoline petticoats or whalebone corsets. Instead Lady Mirianne wore a deep blue suit jacket, tight-fit trousers, high boots, and a leather cap.
A glance at the crowd showed that many of the younger noblewomen, while not matching Lady Mirianne’s defiant style, wore the same cap.
“We seem to be out of the fashion,” she said to Amaya.
“Ah, the Marikar suncap,” Amaya said. “She did say she would make it the thing for ladies in Maradaine this season, didn’t she?”
Jerinne tried to make her way toward Dayne, but the crowd between them started to move together toward a raised platform. Jerinne didn’t see for what purpose at first, but then she noticed several people stepping up on the platform. Including a young man who was devastatingly handsome.
That was not a thing Jerinne had a habit of noticing in any man. That’s how pretty he was, that even she had to acknowledge it.
Then she saw the silver circlet he wore on his head, and realized who he was.
“Ladies and lords and gentlepersons of all persuasions,” Prince Escaraine said with a voice that washed over the crowd like it was carried by doves. “Thank you all for joining us on this glorious day. We are here, of course, to formally give the royal blessing to the newly elected members of Parliament, so they may start to do the good work of the crown and throne in the name of the king.”
The crowd gave a polite smattering of applause.
“Normally, this benediction before the ceremony is given by my sister, but unfortunately she was unable to return to Maradaine at this time.”
Jerinne noticed that a few of the noblewomen near her whispered to each other, usually with a throaty chuckle or a sigh of exasperation. Perhaps there was some gossip or poorly kept secret about Princess Carianna. Jerinne didn’t know it, nor did she feel a burning need to know it.
“Needless to say, I’m sure she would echo my sentiments on this day, as my cousin the king does, of how blessed we are in this country, that we have stood together for over two centuries, with a continuity of the throne, and continuity of the Parliament. That we have a civilized rule of law, governed by the people, presided over by the blessed line of Maradaine. This is what makes us Druthal, the great jewel in the crown of the world.”
More applause, now thunderous.
“And now, can we have the new and re-elected members of Parliament come forward.”
The men standing on the back of the platform—twenty-three of them—stepped forward. Jerinne only recognized one of them: Ret Issendel, the former bishop whom Dayne enjoyed arguing with. The rest were just a sea of pompous-looking men in suits.
Jerinne realized she was stuck in the middle of the crowd, no easy way to escape without making a scene. Yet another slog of political theater to endure. She glanced about to see where Dayne was. He, smartly, had placed himself at the back of the crowd. Of course, at his height, standing in front of anyone would be rude. Dayne was many things, but rude was not one of them.
“Now take a knee for his Royal Majesty, King Maradaine the Eighteenth.”
Jerinne presumed that was for the prospective members of Parliament, but then everyone in the crowd dropped to their knees as well. Jerinne quickly did the same, as Amaya half-pulled her down to the ground.
The king was so very normal, so average. Prince Escaraine stood on the stage like a presence, as if the light of the sun shone inside him. King Maradaine XVIII walked up in a half slouch, in somber gray clothing that matched his energy, violet mourning sash lazily draped over one shoulder. He just looked exhausted.
“Thank you, cousin,” he said quietly. He clapped his hand on the prince’s shoulder, and the prince reached up and squeezed the hand briefly. The king stepped away and went to the first new member of Parliament. “Do you pledge to serve this nation, to honor the Rights of Man, to be deliberate and wise as you serve the people, and honor the trust put into you with their just and true votes?”
“I do, in your name, and in the name of God and every saint,” the parliamentarian said. The king touched his thumb to the man’s forehead and moved on to the next. This ritual continued with each one, with quiet dignity and respectful efficiency. In just a few minutes, they were all pledged and blessed.
“Thank you, all,” the king said as he came to the center of the platform. The prince had taken a few steps back to yield the stage to his cousin. “I happily bless these good and true men to serve the office they have
