She shook her head, struggling wildly against his grip. She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut.
She was forbidden to scream in the Chamber of the Ordeal!
She was in the chapel once again, her hands tight over her mouth. Luckily Jonathan was in some kind of trance, unable to notice her antics. Slowly she lowered her hands, trembling. What did today have in store?
When the first rays of sun slid through the high windows of the chapel, the priests came. Jonathan rose to go with them, still in a trance. Gently they conveyed him to the Chamber and ushered him inside. Alanna tugged at her earbobs, trying to think of nothing at all.
When the door swung open, fifteen minutes later, she was the first one there to catch Jon, as he had once caught her. He smiled at her tiredly, murmuring, “Not bad—if you like ordeals.”
Alanna bit back a laugh. Gary came up to take Jonathan’s other arm; they helped him to his rooms, where he could sleep for a few hours. With a sleepy wave, Alanna parted from Gary and went to the nearby chamber that had been prepared for her. The last thing she saw as she drifted off to sleep was her gold-washed mail, glimmering at her from the rack in the corner.
In his suite of rooms, Alex of Tirragen sharpened his sword. He was dressed in black and wearing breeches—he did not plan to attend the coronation. Testing the edge of his blade, he smiled.
Delia of Eldorne fussed with her hair at the mirror. Unlike Alex, she was in full court regalia, her emerald silk with its stiffened skirts rustling as she put last-minute touches on her appearance.
“Aren’t you the least bit nervous?” she asked, adjusting a hair ornament.
“Why should I be?” was the cool reply. “He’s thought of everything.”
“What if Josiane succeeds?”
Alex chuckled. “Delia, have you no faith in our Champion? We have an appointment today, though she doesn’t know it.” He held up the sword, his eyes dreamy. “She won’t let a madwoman like Josiane prevent her from coming.”
Squire Henrim knocked and stepped into the room. “Lord Alexander, I let the men-at-arms into the back corridors near the Hall of Crowns. They’re concealed in the storerooms. Captain Chesli says the Eldorne men have taken their places inside the hall, among the crowd.” He bowed to Delia, who smiled.
Alex stood, sheathing his sword. “You’ll be with the men on the dungeon level. Before you go there, remind both captains they are not to act until the signal, which will come after the crown rests on Jonathan’s head. After the crowning, understand?”
The squire hesitated. “But—surely—he will be bound to the land. He will use Tortall’s magic against the Duke—”
“Idiot!” Delia snapped. “Do you think Duke Roger hasn’t planned for that? Don’t question your betters!”
Henrim bowed, shamefaced. “Forgive me, Lady Delia.”
With a sniff Delia turned back to her mirror.
“Follow your orders exactly,” said Alex. “If you fail, you will pay.”
“I won’t fail!” the squire promised hotly.
“Take the hidden stair, then. Dismissed.”
The youth bowed. “Good luck, my lord. And—long live King Roger!”
“Fool,” Alex whispered when the door closed. Of them all, he alone knew Roger’s real plans. He alone knew that those like Delia who planned to steal Jonathan’s throne so they could have power were in for a disappointment. He picked up his dagger and tested the edge. “Now—to work.”
From her position along the wall near the altar, Alanna watched with pride as the Mithran priest and the Priestess of the Goddess, acting as one, blessed the silver crown and then Jonathan, who knelt before them. She was grateful that her duties didn’t call for her participation in this part of the ceremony. After keeping vigil with Jonathan all night, she was sleepy. Somehow repeated yawns did not seem right for such a memorable occasion. Instead, until it was time to present Jonathan formally with the Jewel, all she had to do was stay put and look impassive. On her left, Gary and Raoul did the same.
Raoul winked as she covered a yawn. Unlike the King’s Champion, the Knight Commander had spent the night in bed, disturbed only by his nerves. She had to admit he may have gotten as little sleep as she had: Jon’s safety today was the responsibility of the King’s Own.
She let her eyes drift over the crowd that packed the vast hall. Mourning was officially over; nobles and commoners alike bloomed with color. She could see Myles and his companions—Eleni, Thayet, Buri, and Rispah—all wearing their finest. She picked out other familiar faces: Dukes Baird and Gareth, Sirs Douglass, Geoffrey, and Sacherell. Many wept openly, moved by the beauty of the day and the moment.
A halt in the chanting brought the knight’s eyes back to the altar, just as the crown was lowered onto Jonathan’s head. Immediately it sparked and glowed, the magic of the land reaching down to envelop the new king. People gasped with awe as Jonathan flared with brilliance; they knew the joining of Tortall and king was complete. Smiling, Alanna touched the ember at her throat.
Jonathan was brilliant with the crown’s silver glow, his own magic showing through as threads of sparkling blue. She looked down, and felt sick. The floor of the chamber was awash in blood-colored fire.
“Jonathan!” she yelled as the earth moaned and shook.
Sudden pain, combined with the vibration beneath her, knocked Alanna to her knees. For a moment she could only clutch her belly and scream with agony. It receded, then flared again.
In the Hall, chaos reigned. From the vaulted ceiling mortar dust and chips of stone fell, an ominous hint of the destruction that could occur. People screamed in fear as the ground rolled underfoot like a ship at sea. Alanna was deaf and blind to it all.
The pain was grinding; she felt as if every nerve in her body was being pulled out through her skin. Thom, she realized, struggling to get up. Something’s happening to Thom, and I can feel it. I have to go to him!
“Guard the king!” she yelled to Raoul, lurching to her feet. Faithful was at her side as she hurled herself out of a nearby door, running as quickly as gold mail would allow for her brother’s quarters. Pain ripped into her again; she bit her lip to fight it and stumbled on, determined to reach her twin.
Strong arms caught Alanna from behind, helping her along. She looked up into George’s eyes and fought to smile. He was dressed as one of the King’s Own.
“What is it, darlin’?” he asked. They never hesitated in the long strides that took them up the stairs to the second floor.
“Thom,” she whispered. “He’s being attacked. The earthquake is magic. It’s the color—of Thom’s Gift, all blood-red—”
“Blood? But his is purple, like—”
“Corrupted,” she gasped as they flew down the hall that led to Thom’s rooms. “Turned blood-color.”
“What color would purple and orange make?” George asked as they came to a halt. “Roger’s Gift and the Trebond Gift?”
Alanna felt even sicker.
Inside Thom’s parlor the air was heavy, almost liquid; the light was greenish yellow. Alanna froze, wary.
“What is it, lass?” George whispered. He was tense, feeling the menace as she did.
She fumbled at her waist, taking the pouch off her belt. “The Jewel!” She pressed it into his hands. “You have to take it to Jon. What was I thinking of, to carry it away from him? George, please!”
The pouch was lost in the thief’s large hands. “Alanna, I can’t be leavin’ you—”
“You have to!” she cried. “I can’t use it. Jon can. And I have a feeling he’ll need it!”