Chapter 141: Nereida’s Voyage
The whole family, dressed in their finery, were escorted by guards to the royal entrance to the Throne Room. Basiano was not yet there, but his two remaining wives and his children save Diego were present. Aeljo and Egaz held hands, in their matching vests, trousers and tunics. They looked quite sharp, like proper little heirs, though their vivid blue hair set them very much apart from their red-haired cousins. They were lined up to come in by the royal siblings’ birth order. Nereida and her family would be last, which meant, unfortunately, that they had to stand in the hallway the longest.
A triumphant trumpet sounded, and Basiano came up the hallway, flanked by two guards, the trumpeter, and his son Diego. The boy was dressed as a miniature version of his father. They both wore well-fitted jackets of red velvet, white tunics and grey slacks. Basiano’s head was bare, his hair trimmed and styled flat, ready for the crown that was about to define the rest of his life. Diego wore a band of silver on his curly, wild hair. His mouth was set in a grimace, as if he were trying to appear as commanding as his father. Basiano barely looked at any of them, and he had a haunted look about him. He only stopped at the entrance to the throne room. He placed his large hand on Diego’s shoulder protectively.
“I love you all,” he declared, his tone gentle. “Remember that today.” He did not look at Nereida, but she felt the weight of his words. What was her brother going to do?
Basiano moved into the throne room through the large door. The sound of cheering echoed from the throne room, which was likely full of nobility and the most wealthy merchants. Nereida shivered, feeling exposed, and she caught herself wishing she had her bracelet on, that her children had their heads covered. She knew the story of the siren princess was being spread about, but she had spent her life hiding. It seemed so much safer to be unknown. She drew closer to Aella, and noticed how tense her wife was. She gently, subtly, touched Aella’s leg, reminding her wife they were not unarmed. Aella’s smile at her was tight, and did not reach her eyes. The Admiral kept glancing at their children, her worry clear. Damara was trying to get the little bow out of her hair. She was oblivious to the tense atmosphere. Nereida gently took the baby’s hands off her bow, and cuddled her closer.
Through the door, they heard the herald call out Basiano’s titles, his voice ringing out over the suddenly quiet crowd.
“His Majesty, King Basiano the second. Long may he reign!”
“Long may he reign!” The reply was terribly loud, even though closed doors.
“Presenting his Highness, Crown Prince Deigo, may his wait be long and he years full of grace.” The herald continued his introduction.
“Long may he wait!”
The herald then began leading the oath of loyalty. Nereida looked up at her brothers in shock. They were supposed to be out there! The order was supposed to be that his family, then his siblings and their families would be called, and then, finally, their mother. Yet, no one had called for any of them, and when Leevan moved up toward the doors, the guards moved to block him, their polearms sliding in front of the door almost lazily.
“His Majesty’s orders,” one said with an apologetic shrug. “You’ll be called when it is time.” Leevan moved back to Caleb and took his hand, both men looking worried. Ango began pacing, his spouse whispering soft words of calm. Aella reached for Nereida’s hand as well, offering comfort. They could only listen as a cacophony of voices declared that they would defend and serve the new King, that their loyalty belonged to him alone. Nereida glanced back at Basiano’s wives, but they were calm. They had been let in on Basiano’s plan.
Finally, once the oath had been spoken in full, the herald called out for Basiano’s wives and children, introducing both women as Queen, another break from tradition. There was supposed to be one wife above the rest, usually the mother of the heir. But Priscilla had been Camina’s mother, not Deigo’s. A restless whisper tore through the gathered crowd loud enough that Nerieda could hear.
“It is true,” Basiano announced, his voice rough, full of emotions. “I have only two wives now, and neither is above the other. You shall have two Queens. The last will be stricken from history, and will only be known henceforth as the traitor, for it is by her conspiracy that my daughter Camina is dead. She will be dealt justice.” There was more murmuring, but it trailed off quickly enough.
Basiano continued to speak about Camina, his voice rough with grief and tears. He told them how she died to save a family member, noble of spirit to the end. Nereida closed her eyes, listening to her brother’s eulogy for his daughter, feeling guilt settle on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. He spoke of her brightness, of her willingness to help everyone. He made her sound perfect. And Nereida’s heart broke more, knowing he would never share with his people how a toddler Camina had broken things, or how she sometimes teased her brothers and sisters, or how she desperately did not want to be heir. She just wanted to have a life that was her own. And now she never would. Soon, he moved on, introducing his other children by name, giving them the titles of Prince or princess. He even titled the baby, introducing Iria, his siren daughter by adoption. Several younger women in the audience cooed at the sight of a child so young, and the little one, unaccustomed to so much noise, began to cry.
“This is our future,” Basiano declared. Nereida pictured him holding her up, so that all could see her soft blue hair. “A future where family is defined by love. Where allies keep us safe, and we, in turn, keep their most vulnerable in our hearts.”
Nereida realized that she was crying only when Aella carefully brushed the tears from her cheeks. The Admiral kissed her softly on the head, not speaking, just offering her support and love. It was enough to ground Nereida, and she found strength enough to stop crying. She couldn’t look like a miserable mess when she stepped up on the platform to support Basiano.
“I now call up my family,” Basiano said. “Beginning with my brother Leevan, his husband and their children.” Leevan and Caleb gathered up their young ones and headed through the door. Basiano gave more speeches, speaking on how his siblings were his first friends, before he could make fire enough to light a candle, they were with him. Nereida smiled as he told a harmless tale of their childhood, of exploring the castle’s secret passages (in truth, the servant corridors, but young them did not know that). How they dreamed of being great adventurers, who came to save a dragon from a creeping evil. Nereida and Ango exchanged glances at that. They had been great adventurers plenty of times as children, but the dragons were never in their play. What was Basiano doing?
But then his speech changed, and he recognized his brother for always being beside him. Named him Regent, should something happen to him before Diego came of age. Leevan thanked him, his words faltering. He had clearly not been expecting that. To Caleb, as a gift, he granted him the honorary title of Prince to match his husband.
“For we have been brothers of blood and fire,” Basiano said, his tone grandiose. Nereida snorted. That he meant that literally, none would ever know. Caleb’s thanks were clearer and stronger than his husbands, but Nereida heard the worry in his tone. Basiano did not stop there, however; breaking with tradition, again, he welcomed each of their children by name, giving them the titles of Count or Countess, despite the fact that all three were too young, too immature, and had not passed the trial of power officially. There was muttering, but Basiano ignored it.
Next, the king called Ango and his spouse forward, along with their child. Nereida watched them go, and turned to Aella. Her wife’s mouth was quirked in a frown, and she had furrowed brows.
“He’s up to something,” Aella said after a moment. “I just don’t know what.”
“Maybe Uncle Basi is being nice,” Alejo suggested, coming up beside them. “Elena can only light a candle since last week. She’s scared that they are gonna send her to live far away, because she’s broken.”
“She’s not broken,” Nereida replied, trying and failing to keep the anger from her tone.
“I know that, I’m not a dummy,” Aeljo replied, returning her anger back to her with a stomp of his foot. “And I can’t hear what Uncle Basi is saying now!”
A few moments later, Basiano was done speaking about Ango’s family, and was calling for Nereida. Aella kissed her on the cheek, and took Damara from her arms. Together, the five of them stepped out of the shadowy corridor into the bright throne room. There were more people than she had expected, and amongst the sea of well-dressed, very rich folk, she only recognized a handful of the older ones. Someone hissed, and it carried through the throne room. Nereida felt her cheeks heat up, and Alejo and Egaz pressed in on her, holding her skirt as she moved.
“The Princess Nereida,” Basiano declared. He walked over to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, “and her wife, Countess Aella. Their heir, Countess Epelda, is sadly on a military excursion, and could not return in time.” Aella shifted, as if she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Basiano’s voice boomed uncomfortably loudly as he stood behind Nereida. “Their other children, Count Alejo, Count Egaz and Countess Damara.” He gently reached down to take the baby from Aella, who hesitated only a moment. “This is my sister, she has always been water-touched, but fire-raised. Those who seek to harm her will be swiftly dealt with.” He cradled Damara calmly, though his voice was hard. “To my sister, to be passed through her eldest son, I give not land, as I have to my brothers, but the seas of Lagrias. Let all know that they are hers, and that should she choose not to let us use them, it is her prerogative.”
There was a moment of worry that spread through the crowd. Basiano handed back Damara, and strode over to the throne. He lowered himself into the great chair, looking out over the nobles and merchants gathered.
“They did not swear fealty!” an old man’s voice rang through the silence. Nereida could not see who had spoken. She did see the guards tense, and start to move, but Basiano made a curt gesture that stilled the guards.
“I know the loyalty of my family, and words will not change that.” His voice was cold, so much so that Nereida shivered and drew instinctively closer to her wife. Basiano stood back up. His steps were heavy. He wore the crown, now, not their fathers’s crown but another. The crown had seven points, but the middle one was broken. Nereida could not help but stare. Choosing a broken crown was a statement. “Tell me, Duke D’Ardienta, were you in the palace when the attack occurred?”
“Yes, your Majesty, I was asleep in bed.”
“My eight year old nephew, who has known me only a few months, ran through the sleet-covered streets in his slippers, trying to heal Camina. He bled, his mother too. My own brothers and all our spouses took up fire and arms against the incursion. They were there, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder and did not flee. Tell me, Duke, should I ask for their words now, when I have their action?” His voice rumbled, and there was fire in his tone. The nobles closest to the stage flinched back. But Basiano did not lose control of his fire, despite the pain and anger in his voice, in his stance and on his face.
The hall was quiet, and the old Duke, dressed in his finery that was forty years out of date, ducked his head and shifted behind someone taller so that Basiano could no longer look directly at him.
“Traditionally, there is a celebration now,” Basiano continued, his voice calmer now, back to steel. But steel was less volatile than ice or fire, and Nereida would take that. She risked a glance back at her brother, at her king, and found his face had gone carefully blank. It was unnerving to see him like that, and did not suit him. Someone coughed, and Basiano paused, as if the sound was a crime. Once it settled, he finally continued, his voice hard, emotionless, as if he were inviting people he did not much like to a garden party. “Tonight, instead of dancing, we invite you to join us at Camina’s pyre.”