At close quarters, none of them looked particularly pleased with their role. Like a group who'd agreed, while blind drunk, to jump into the freezing sea in the morning but now, with the sober dawn, were thinking better of it.
"Well," grunted Monza, as the musicians brought their piece to an end and the last notes faded. "Here we are."
"Indeed." Sotorius swept the murmuring crowd with rheumy eyes. "Let us hope the crown is large. Here comes the biggest head in Styria."
An ear-splitting fanfare blasted out from behind. Cotarda flinched, stumbled, would've fallen if Monza hadn't seized her elbow on an instinct. The doors at the very back of the hall were opened, and as the blaring sound of trumpets faded a strange singing began, a pair of voices, high and pure, floating out over the audience. Rogont stepped smiling through into the Senate House, and his guests broke out into well-organised applause.
The king-in-waiting, all in Osprian blue, looked about him with humble surprise as he began to descend the steps. All this, for me? You shouldn't have! When of course he'd planned every detail himself. Monza wondered for a moment, and not for the first time, whether Rogont would turn out to be a far worse king than Orso might've been. No less ruthless, no more loyal, but a lot more vain, and less sense of humour every day. He pressed favoured hands in his, laying a generous palm on a lucky shoulder or two as he passed. The unearthly singing serenaded him as he came through the crowd.
"Can I hear spirits?" muttered Patine, with withering scorn.
"You can hear boys with no balls," replied Lirozio.
Four men in Osprian livery unlocked a heavy door behind the platform and passed inside, came out shortly afterwards struggling under the weight of an inlaid case. Rogont made a swift pass around the front row, pressing the hands of a few chosen ambassadors, paying particular attention to the Gurkish delegation and stretching the applause to breaking point. Finally he mounted the steps to the platform, smiling the way the winner of a vital hand of cards smiles at his ruined opponents. He held his arms out to the five of them. "My friends, my friends! The day is finally here!"
"It is," said Sotorius, simply.
"Happy day!" sang Lirozio.
"Long hoped for!" added Patine.
"Well done?" offered Cotarda.
"My thanks to you all." Rogont turned to face his guests, silenced their clapping with a gentle motion of his hands, swept his cloak out behind him, lowered himself into his chair and beckoned Monza over. "No congratulations from you, your Excellency?"
"Congratulations," she hissed.
"As graceful as always." He leaned closer, murmuring under his breath. "You did not come to me last night."
"Other commitments."
"Truly?" Rogont raised his brows as though amazed that anything could possibly be more important than fucking him. "I suppose a head of state has many demands upon her time. Well." He waved her scornfully away.
Monza ground her teeth. At that moment, she would've been more than willing to piss on him.
The four porters set down their burden behind the throne, one of them turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid with a showy flourish. A sigh went up from the crowd. The crown lay on purple velvet inside. A thick band of gold, set all around with a row of darkly gleaming sapphires. Five golden oak leaves sprouted from it, and at the front a larger sixth curled about a monstrous, flashing diamond, big as a chicken's egg. So large Monza felt a strange desire to laugh at it.
With the expression of a man about to clear a blocked latrine with his hand, Lirozio reached into the case and grasped one of the golden leaves. A resigned shrug of the shoulders and Patine did the same. Then Sotorius and Cotarda. Monza took hold of the last in her gloved right fist, poking little finger looking no better for being sheathed in white silk. She glanced across the faces of her supposed peers. Two forced smiles, a slight sneer and an outright scowl. She wondered how long it would take for these proud princes, so used to being their own masters, to tire of this less favourable arrangement.
By the look of things, the yoke was already starting to chafe.
Together, the five of them lifted the crown and took a few lurching steps forwards, Sotorius having to awkwardly negotiate the case, dragging each other clumsily about by the priceless symbol of majesty. They made it to the chair, and between them raised the crown high over Rogont's head. They paused there for a moment, as if by mutual agreement, perhaps wondering if there was still some way out of this. The whole great space was eerily silent, every man and woman holding their breath. Then Sotorius gave a resigned nod, and together the five of them lowered the crown, seated it carefully on Rogont's skull and stepped away.
Styria, it seemed, was one nation.
Its king rose slowly from the chair and spread his arms wide, palms open, staring straight ahead as though he could see right through the ancient walls of the Senate House and into a brilliant future.
"Our fellow Styrians!" he bellowed, voice ringing from the stones. "Our humble subjects! And our friends from abroad, all welcome here!" Mostly Gurkish friends, but since the Prophet had stretched to such a large diamond for his crown… "The Years of Blood are at an end!" Or they soon would be, once Monza had spilled Orso's. "No longer will the great cities of our proud land struggle one against the other!" That remained to be seen. "But will stand as brothers eternal, bound willingly by happy ties of friendship, of culture, of common heritage. Marching together!" In whatever direction Rogont dictated, presumably. "It is as if… Styria wakes from a nightmare. A nightmare nineteen years long. Some among us, I am sure, can scarcely remember a time without war." Monza frowned, thinking of her father's plough turning the black earth.
"But now… the wars are over! And all of us won! Every one of us." Some won more than others, it needed hardly to be said. "Now is the time for peace! For freedom! For healing!" Lirozio noisily cleared his throat, wincing as he tugged at his embroidered collar. "Now is the time for hope, for forgiveness, for unity!" And abject obedience, of course. Cotarda was staring at her hand. Her pale palm was mottled pink, almost deep enough to match her scarlet dress. "Now is the time for us to forge a great state that will be the envy of the world! Now is the time—" Lirozio had started to cough, beads of sweat showing on his ruddy face. Rogont frowned furiously sideways at him. "Now is the time for Styria to become—" Patine bent forwards and gave an anguished groan, lips curled back from his teeth.
"One nation…" Something was wrong, and everyone was beginning to see it. Cotarda lurched backwards, stumbled. She caught the gilded railing, chest heaving, and sank to the floor with a rustling of red silk. The audience gave a stunned collective gasp.
"One nation…" whispered Rogont. Chancellor Sotorius sank trembling to his knees, one pink-stained hand clutching at his withered throat. Patine was crouched on all fours now, face bright red, veins bulging from his neck. Lirozio toppled onto his side, back to Monza, his breath a faint wheeze. His right arm stretched out behind him, the twitching hand blotched pink. Cotarda's leg kicked faintly, then she was still. All the while the crowd stayed silent. Transfixed. Not sure if this was some demented part of the show. Some awful joke. Patine sagged onto his face. Sotorius fell backwards, spine arched, heels of his shoes squeaking against the polished wood, then flopped down limp.
Rogont stared at Monza and she stared back, as frozen and helpless as she had been when she watched Benna die. He opened his mouth, raised one hand towards her, but no breath moved. His forehead, beneath the fur-trimmed rim of the crown, had turned angry red.
The crown. They all had touched the crown. Her eyes rolled down to her gloved right hand. All except her.