it, and the archbishop reached in and lifted out with both hands a fine shining mesh of gold and silver, almost like a net. The whole crowd murmured approvingly, wind rustling in spring leaves.
The archbishop held up the net and prayed long and sonorously, and then he turned and flung the net over the queen’s head. It settled over her gently and the edges unrolled, draping to her feet. Then to my surprise the monk stepped forward and put his hands on the mesh and spoke. “Yilastus kosmet, yilastus kosmet vestuo palta,” he began, and went on from there: a spell that flowed into the lines of the net and lit them up.
The light filled the queen’s whole body from every side, illuminating her. She shone atop the platform, head up straight, blazing. It wasn’t like the light of the Summoning. That was a cold clear brilliance, hard and painful. This light felt like coming back home late in midwinter to find a lamp shining out of the window, beckoning you into the house: it was a light full of love and warmth. A sighing went around the crowd. Even the priests drew back for a moment just to look at the shining queen.
The monk kept his hand on the net, steadily pouring in magic. I kicked my horse until she grudgingly moved in closer to the Falcon’s and leaned from my saddle to whisper, “Who is he?”
“Do you mean our gentle Owl?” he said. “Father Ballo. He’s the archbishop’s delight, as you might imagine: it’s not often you can find a meek and biddable wizard.” He sounded disdainful, but the monk didn’t look so very meek to me: he looked worried and displeased.
“And that net?” I asked.
“You’ve heard of Saint Jadwiga’s veil, surely,” the Falcon said, so offhanded I gawked at him. It was the holiest relic of all Polnya. I had heard the veil was only brought out when they crowned the kings, to prove them free of any influence of evil.
The crowd was jostling the soldiers now to come nearer, and even the soldiers were fascinated, the tips of their pikes rising into the air as they let themselves be pushed up close. The priests were going over the queen inch by inch, bending down to squint at her toes, holding each arm out to inspect her fingers, staring at her hair. But we could all see her shining, full of light; there was no shadow in her. One after another the priests stood up and shook their heads to the archbishop. Even the severity in his face was softening, the wonder of the light in his face.
When they had finished their examination, Father Ballo gently lifted the veil away. The priests brought other relics, too, and now I recognized them: the plate of Saint Kasimir’s armor still pierced with a tooth from the dragon of Kralia that he had slain; the arm bone of Saint Firan in a gold-and-glass casket, blackened from fire; the golden cup Saint Jacek had saved from the chapel. Marek lifted the queen’s hands onto each, one after another, and the archbishop prayed over her.
They repeated each trial on Kasia, but the crowd wasn’t interested in her. Everyone hushed to watch the queen, but they all talked noisily while the priests examined Kasia, more unruly than any crowd I’d ever seen, even though they were in the presence of so many holy relics and the archbishop himself. “Little more to be expected from the Kralia mob,” Solya told my half-shocked expression. There were even bun-sellers going around the crowd hawking fresh rolls, and from atop my horse I could see a couple of enterprising men had set up a stand to sell beer just down the road.
It was beginning to have the feeling of a holiday, of a festival. And finally the priests filled Saint Jacek’s golden cup with wine, and Father Ballo murmured over it: a faint curl of smoke rose up from the wine, and it went clear. The queen drank it all when they put it to her lips, and she didn’t fall down in a fit. She didn’t change her expression at all, but that didn’t matter. Someone in the crowd raised up a cup of sloshing beer and shouted, “God be praised! The queen is saved!” People all began to cheer madly and press in on us, all fear forgotten, so loudly I could barely hear the archbishop giving his grudging permission for Marek to take the