father had explained that he had to be careful to choose land to give to Edyon that took from no other lord, that offended no one. Abask, it seemed, would offend no one, except perhaps March, but March wasn’t here.
Stop thinking about that bloody boy!
The table had already been removed and replaced by a low, padded velvet stool. A servant approached, carrying a large cushion on which rested the finely wrought gold crown.
Edyon looked at the crowd. The smiling faces genuinely and falsely happy. All of them strangers.
Not all of them. There’s Byron. Byron, the handsomest of the young men in court, who had handled the smoke demon-stration so well, was far to the back.
Edyon knelt on the stool. His father took the gold crown and held it above Edyon’s head.
“I crown my son, Edyon Melsor, as Prince of Abask and the future prince and ruler and defender of Calidor.” And he lowered the crown onto Edyon’s head.
Edyon stood. The chancellor passed the symbolic sword and shield to Prince Thelonius, who in turn passed each one to Edyon.
Edyon had to hold the sword upright and the shield out while the trumpets blared. Edyon held his position firmly. The chancellor stepped forward and Edyon repeated the words the chancellor spoke, swearing his allegiance to truth, honor, and his father. And also swearing that he would guard the independence of Calidor with his life.
That done, Edyon just had to hold this position while each of the twenty-three lords were presented to him. Lord Regan’s name was called first. He strode forward quickly, bowed, turned, and moved away.
Lord Brook was next. He was the oldest of the lords and could barely walk. It seemed to take forever for him to arrive.
Good grief, hurry up, man!
Brook bowed and then slowly stepped back and walked away.
Twenty-one to go.
Edyon could feel the sweat building on his forehead. They hadn’t practiced this in full the night before, and already Edyon’s arm was aching and a small shake began that was only subdued by holding the sword even tighter.
This sword must be the heaviest in all Calidor.
Edyon lowered his sword arm for a brief, blissful rest, just as Lord Arnan was called, and almost immediately he had to raise the wavering sword again. His jacket was now feeling too tight and too warm. Sweat had broken out across his chest and he felt a drop roll down his forehead and into his eye. It stung horribly, and Edyon tried to blink it away. Then he realized it wasn’t just sweat but the oil from his bath. Even worse, the oil was making his crown slip down. And though Edyon was keeping his head as still as possible, the crown was a terrible shape and horribly heavy. Another dribble of oily sweat ran down the side of his face. And the crown seemed to slip even further.
By the sixth lord, the crown was down at Edyon’s eye-brows and the oil was running down his nose.
Edyon’s hands were full with the sword and shield, so all he could do was use willpower and his facial expression to halt the crown’s descent. He raised his eyebrows as high as possible, pausing the crown’s slide and diverting the oil’s track down the side of his face. Another few lords went by.
Where are we up to? Tenth? Twelfth?
Hurry up, you old fool.
By the time the twentieth lord, Lord Grantham, was presented, Edyon had his head tilted back, with his eyebrows at maximum strain.
By the time the twenty-third lord’s name—Lord Haydeen—was called, Edyon’s arm was shaking and his eyebrows were at the breaking point. Lord Haydeen moved forward smartly but then looked at Edyon and seemed surprised at Edyon’s expression. It took a moment for Edyon to realize that Lord Haydeen was imitating his own raised eyebrows. Was this an insult, a joke, or an effort to curry favor? Edyon didn’t know or care.
Just hurry up and bow for goodness’ sake!
Haydeen gave a stiff bow, holding his lowered position for an eternity as Edyon’s arm shook and his crown began to fall down over his eyes. He couldn’t hold his eyebrows up a moment longer. Haydeen stood and turned away just as Edyon dropped his arm and the crown slid down, bringing with it a pool of oil that ran into Edyon’s eyes. The stinging pain was nothing compared to the relief of lowering his eyebrows. Now Edyon had to get rid of the sword so that he could raise his crown.