and will you preserve unto the clergy of this realm, and to the churches committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges as by law do or shall appertain unto them, or any of them?"
“All this, I promise to do.”
After bowing once more, Garin removed a small, weathered book from his robe pocket. It was a miniature copy of the Holy Bible—a soldier’s Bible, battered and dulled, perhaps over the span of centuries. Her breath caught in her throat; it was probably the copy he’d brought into battle all those years ago. Beside it, a smattering of miniscule red and white crumbs sat between the indents of his fingers.
Lilac’s eyes widened. Adelaide’s scarlet mushrooms. She’d helped him, after all.
Garin cradled the pocket-sized book within his palms in front of her. Trembling harder than ever, with a deep breath, she placed her right palm upon it while taking extra care not to touch the crumbs.
“Repeat after me,” he prompted slowly, each word carrying the weight of the world. “The things which I have here promised, I will perform and keep...”
As he spoke, Lilac eyed the sprawling forest. Through the glens and the grottos, and the trenches of the Low Forest—something was happening. The wind of the wood picked up, visible first in the Brocéliande canopy, then carrying on and upward toward her with a flurry of fluttering beech leaves in its wake. The gale first enveloped Garin, who took no notice. Then, it vortexed briefly around Lilac.
With one breath, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking? and with the next, a sense of assurance and affirmation seeped into her stomach like warm honey. Shoulders pulled back, she lifted her chin so that she spoke to the crowd instead of the floor, and answered in a voice that was clear and unfamiliar.
“The things which I have here promised, I will perform and keep.” She gulped, and then added, clearly pronouncing every syllable, “I pledge to do so for the entire Kingdom of Brittany, including the Forest Brocéliande before me, and for both the magic and mortal realms contained therein.”
For Aife and her korrigan clan, Lilac thought silently. For Freya, and her children, whom she’d one day find. For the mixed families like Sable’s, caught in between kingdoms, love, and loyalty.
For Garin.
“So help me God,” Garin finished, over the susurration from the crowd.
“So help me God.”
With the closing line, Lilac’s voice reverberated in her skull, and she froze immediately. If she hadn’t known she’d answered in the Darkling language, the immediate uproar from the villagers below confirmed it. To her utter shock, her mother and father got up to stand beside her.
“Stand tall, for Christ’s sake,” her mother snapped through her smile, pinching the small of Lilac’s back. More surprised than ashamed, Lilac re-squared her shoulders and straightened her jaw. Adelaide’s tincture hadn’t taken effect, after all.
“Your attention, please,” Henri boomed, clutching his sceptre as if for dear life. He stared down at the villagers; remarkably, most did quiet, though half looked afraid and the others, on the verge of violence. In front of the crowd of commoners, the noblemen and clergymen exchanged glances and shifted nervously.
“The woman before you,” Henri said, clearing emotion from his throat before he continued, “our daughter, is now the sole heir to my throne. Must I remind all of you, my own reign was never without fault, nor was my father’s reign before mine. I implore you to consider this as we proceed. Anyone who dare interrupt Lilac’s signing of the Oath shall be silenced by law.”
Hearing her parents speak in her support for the first time in years was simultaneously painful and exhilarating. Noises of discontent could be heard throughout the crowd, but Lilac willed herself to ride the adrenaline. Somewhat confident in her course of action and intention, she knew all would one day benefit. She would win them over yet, through credence instead of fear.
The king nodded at the scribe, who scuttled forward to proffer her the enormous quill. Heart pounding, Lilac took it from him and marveled at the scroll the scribe had unraveled before her. She dipped the nib into the ink jar and scrawled her name upon the vacant line.
Garin turned to the crown bearer next. With a brief glance at the smaller crown meant for her, a subtle smile spread upon his lips. Then, he gestured for Lilac to come forth. When she bowed forward, he placed Sinclair’s crown—larger, the one that had always been hers, by right and by