But then the moncat did something no common cat would have—something no common cat could have—done. It reached up with its left front foot—no, its left hand—and wrapped its fingers and thumb around Lanius’ forefinger. The grip was gentle; the moncat’s flesh was just a tiny bit warmer than his own. Its claws weren’t the curved needles an ordinary cat would have had. They were still sharp at the tips, but broader than a regular cat’s claws—halfway between claws and nails, in fact. The beast didn’t try to scratch with them; they were simply there.
From behind Lanius, Lepturus said, “Looks like it likes you, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, it does seem so,” Yaropolk agreed. “Good. I am glad.” He bowed.
Even with that small, warm, furry hand wrapped around his index finger, Lanius went on stroking the moncat. Its purr, if anything, got louder. “It does like me,” he said, wonder in his voice. He wasn’t used to being liked. He especially wasn’t used to being liked for himself, for his own sake, and not for the sake of whatever he might do for whoever was talking to him at the moment. That sort of liking was the curse of kings. But the moncat couldn’t know anything about it. It was only a beast, but it was sincere.
Grus won’t mind if I breed moncats, Lanius thought. He won’t mind at all. He’ll think it’ll keep me out of mischief. He tried to summon up scorn for the commodore who was promoting himself to a higher rank than any naval officer had ever enjoyed in all the history of Avornis. He also tried to summon up scorn for the idea of spending a lot of time breeding moncats. With the moncat’s hand on his, he had more trouble finding that scorn than he’d expected he would.
When the time came to be crowned King of Avornis, Grus had expected to be nervous. He’d expected to be, but found he wasn’t. He’d been nervous going into rights against the Menteshe and the Thervings. He’d had reason to be nervous, too. If anything went wrong in a fight, he wouldn’t have the chance to make amends—he’d be dead or maimed.
If anything went wrong at his coronation… He shook his head. The most that was likely to happen was that some people might laugh at him. He knew he could live through that. His nerves stayed calm.
Estrilda, on the other hand, did get nervous. “What if Lanius betrays us?” she said a few minutes before the ceremony was set to begin. “What if Bucco betrays us? What if—”
“If Lanius betrays us, we make him sorry for it, and Bucco still puts the crown on my head,” Grus told his wife. “The arch-hallow won’t betray us, because he’s hated Lanius since before the little know-it-all was born, and I haven’t done anything to make him angry.”
“What will you do if he gives you trouble?” Estrilda asked.
“When Bucco gave Mergus trouble, Avornis had itself a new arch-hallow the very next day,” Grus answered. “I can do the same thing Mergus did, and Bucco has to know it. Everything will be fine. You look beautiful.”
“Oh, foosh.” Estrilda did her best to wave away the praise. Grus had distracted her, though, as he’d hoped he would. He hadn’t even been lying. The glittering royal robes the palace servants had found for Estrilda played up her coloring and, with their jewels and thread of precious metal, made her look like a noblewoman born.
What struck Grus about the royal robes was how heavy they were. He might almost have had on a shirt of mail, instead. He wondered if they made him look like a king. He suspected it would have taken more than robes to pull off that trick. On the other hand, anyone who wore royal robes would likely find himself obeyed, at least for a while. And Grus did have practice at giving orders.
He glanced over to his son, whose robe was almost as gaudy as his own. Ortalis looked handsome as a prince—which suited Grus fine, for Ortalis was about to become one. Maybe rank and being able to get whatever he wanted as soon as he wanted it would cure the nasty streak in him. Grus hoped something would.
He wished his own father could have seen this ceremony. Crex’s father had been a peasant. Crex’s son was about to become King of Avornis. Grus smiled. You couldn’t come up in the world much more than that, or much faster, either.
Grus smiled again, this time at his daughter. Sosia looked like a princess from a fairy tale. Grus thought she would have even without her robes, but knew he was prejudiced. Still, no one could deny she’d done a lot of growing up the past couple of years.
“Are we ready? Is it time?” Estrilda asked.
A glance at the hourglass told Grus they still had a quarter of an hour to wait. A glance at his wife told him he would get in trouble if he told her to look at the glass. Even if he was about to be crowned, that didn’t make him sole ruler in his own family. All he said was, “Not quite yet, dear.”
As the sand in the glass ran toward the end, a servant came through the door and said, “This way, please, everyone.” Though he said please, he assumed he would be obeyed—and he was right. Grus and his wife and children followed the servant as meekly as though he ruled Avornis.
For the past several days, the sounds of hammering had filled the square in front of the royal palace. Now Avornans filled the square—men and women, some children beside them, others on their shoulders to see better. Marines and royal bodyguards kept the throng away from the platform and away from the roll of carpet that led to it from the palace gate. Grus and his family strode along the carpet and up the hastily knocked-together stairs that took them up onto the platform.
Arch-Hallow Bucco and King Lanius already waited there. When the crowd saw Grus, they went from buzzing interestedly to cheering. Grus waved to them. As he waved, he stole a glance at Lanius. The young king looked disappointed to hear those cheers. He’d probably hoped people would shout “Robber!” and “Usurper!” at Grus and ruin the coronation. If he had a few more years and a little more craft, he would have made sure there were people out there shouting “Robber!” and “Usurper!”
Grus thought. Not quite yet, though, and gods be praised for that.
Bucco raised his hands in a gesture that both offered the crowd a blessing and asked for silence. Little by little, people quieted down. “Avornis finds itself in danger,” the arch-hallow said. “The barbarous Thervings have ravaged our land. They have even dared to lay siege to the city of Avornis itself. In the south, the Menteshe are an ever-present danger, and the shadow of the Banished One hangs over their every move. In times like these, we need a man of courage and might to lead the kingdom, and King Lanius is only a child.”
Lanius stirred angrily at that. He had some reason to stir; he wasn’t far from coming into his majority. But Bucco was putting the best face on things he could. He went on, “No one did more to make King Dagipert leave the city of Avornis and go back to Thervingia than Commodore Grus, commander of our river-galley fleet. Who, then, is better suited to lead Avornis in years to come than he?”
More cheers rose. Grus had made sure the audience held people who would applaud at the right time. Lanius wouldn’t have thought of that. Arch-Hallow Bucco gestured to the young king. Lanius stepped forward, almost to the edge of the platform. “People of Avornis!” he called. “People of Avornis, hear me!”
Grus tensed. If Lanius had the nerve, this was the moment when he might try to incite the mob against Grus. If he called for folk to rise against the man stealing his throne… Grus’ hand went to the hilt of his sword. He may pull me down if he tries that, but he won’t live to enjoy it.
“People of Avornis,” Lanius continued, “this is a time when we truly do need a strong king, a king who is tried in war. I am willing—I am pleased—to share my crown with Commodore Grus.”