The Poet King by Ilana C. Myer

Author:Ilana C. Myer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

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THE king sat on the throne. So far this ceremony had not gone the way Rianna had expected. She knew it was usually the high priest of the Eldest Sanctuary who performed the rituals, with prayers to the Three.

The priests had been invited, but watched from the crowd, in their gold-belted robes of purple. It would have been an insult too great not to have them here. But nonetheless, Rianna wondered if it was much better to have invited them, if they were to have no part in the ceremony. It was a break with centuries of tradition, a surprising one. She’d have thought Elissan Diar would want the support of the priests of the Eldest Sanctuary. Every king did.

Instead, Elissan Diar followed quite another rite, one that involved only the Chosen. Before the crowded hall he had stripped off his shirt, his impressively muscled torso and its scar showing to effect. The gentle light of sunset caught the droplets that one of the Chosen sprinkled on Elissan’s naked shoulders from a golden bowl.

“Kiara,” Elissan called, “see me cleansed. The last rite of purification is performed.”

An uneasy stir in the crowd. It comprised nobles, mostly, and landed gentry, and the wealthier merchants and artisans. Just outside the doors rank dissolved, and anyone who managed to elbow their way through could bear witness to the rite.

To invoke Kiara alone of the Three was forbidden. A heresy. Though one that throughout the centuries poets, without fanfare, had practiced. Elissan Diar now made the heresy public, legitimized it as king.

After the sprinkling of the water, Elissan was given a white towel to dry himself. And then a white tunic, belted with gold, which he put on.

Rianna wondered if the city had ever seen a display quite like this.

“Kiara,” said Elissan Diar. “I clothe myself in pure garments, to honor thee.” That was when he sat upon the throne. On the dais, to either side, three Chosen stood. Others took various positions on the steps. They seemed not to notice the ceremony, yet were perfectly attuned to Elissan’s movements, as if he was their center. Rianna imagined that if someone were to, for example, fling a knife at the king right now, these men would throw themselves in its path. There was no misreading their intensity by this time; they were, one and all, prepared to die.

One of the Chosen held the red cushion where reposed the crystal crown. “Kiara.” Elissan’s voice. “See my coronation dedicated to your worship, now and for always. Everlasting.”

Everlasting. Rianna swallowed hard. She was far from the dais, from everything. Her failure a knot in her throat.

The crown was set on Elissan Diar’s head. He looked down at those assembled. His expression one of beatific solemnity. As if at last he was at peace. The crown with its intricate design seemed to writhe, its points to grow and twist as if it were alive. Its pale glow settled upon him.

In its light, the mark of the Seer blazed for all to see.

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