The prior greeted me by name and bid me kneel as he touched my lips, my hand, my chest, and each closed lid, bestowing blessings on each, and lighting a candle over incense that made my temples throb and my throat itch.
Then he stood back and faced the entrance expectantly. The heads on every man and woman in attendance swiveled as well, watching eagerly, awaiting the king. Except my father. He did not turn his head. Neither did Lord Bin Dar or Lord Gaul. In fact, not a single member of the council turned toward the door. They all sat with their faces forward, waiting. A black knowledge sat on their features like ink, and I read it with growing alarm. They couldn’t know for certain that Tiras would not arrive unless they knew the king’s secret and had trapped him with it.
We waited in silence, the room a tomb of growing speculation. The questions of the congregation became so engorged, they burst the confines of private thought and pressed against me, stealing my space. Seconds became minutes, and minutes became an eternity. The curiosity in the cathedral reached its peak and started to wane, the burning query clearly answered. The king was not coming.
“Holy Prior, have mercy on the girl,” my father said, rising. “Dismiss the gathering.”
The prior nodded, his eyes wide beneath his domed hat. “Of course, Milord. As you wish.”
He raised his hands, bidding the people to be useful and well, a Jeruvian blessing, and the congregation rose, almost as one.
I did not rise from the altar.
“Milady, are you well?”
I lifted my eyes to his and nodded once, slowly, precisely.
“Do you understand, Milady? The king is not coming.”
I nodded again, in exactly the same manner, but I did not rise.
“Can you not even whisper?” the prior chided me.
I couldn’t. My lips could form words, my tongue could move around the shapes and sounds, but I could not release them, not even on a whisper.
“Is she deaf as well as dumb?” the people murmured, and Lord Bilwick repeated the question, raising his voice so it bounced off the stone walls. A few people gasped and some laughed, stifling uncomfortable giggles into the palms of their hands.
“Lady Corvyn, the king is not coming. You will rise,” Lord Bin Dar demanded.
I will wait.
He couldn’t hear me, but the words gave me courage, and I said them again, making them a mantra.
I will wait.
“You have been dismissed,” Lord Gaul insisted.
I will wait on the king, just as I was instructed.
“The law states the lady must reach the altar before the sun sets. But there is no law that dictates when the king shall arrive. Let her wait.” It was Lady Firi, her voice rising above the fray, and for a moment the congregation was silent.
Boojohni spoke my name from a dark corner, his worry making the word fly like an arrow through the assembly and pierce my quaking heart, but I didn’t turn toward him, though I took courage in his presence.
“Rise, daughter.” My father gripped my arm, his fingers biting, attempting to force my withdrawal.
I heard the hushed grate of metal hissing against the leather of a sheath. Then another sword was drawn nearby, and another.
“The lady will wait as long as she wishes. I will stay with her,” Kjell called out, and I could hear him approaching from the entrance where he’d stood to await the king.
“As will I,” another warrior cried out.
“And I,” Boojohni cried, moving toward the altar.
“Stupid girl.” My father’s desperate hiss was a sharp slap, far worse than his grip. He released my arm and stepped away. But he didn’t leave.
No one left.
I bowed my head and closed my eyes, and the murmuring around me faded with my concentration. I’d called the Volgar birdmen. I could ask the birds of Jeru to help me save the king.
All the birds in Jeru come,
Sing a song of martyrdom.
Every cage and every tree,
Set the birds of Jeru free.
If the king among you flies,
If the king among you dies,
Lift him up and bring him here,
To claim his troth to every ear.
I don’t know how long I sang the summons, the words pouring from my head, but when I felt the approaching wave, I raised my head, searching for Tiras among the throng. A sound, not unlike a sandstorm filled the cathedral, and within seconds became an ear-splitting cacophony of bird calls accompanied by the deafening clap of countless wings of every size and strength. Those in attendance began to rise in alarm or cower beneath their upraised arms. The door of the cathedral still stood wide, an invitation to an absent king, and with a whoosh and a roar, the cathedral was filled with birds moving in concert, the soaring ceilings obscured by a tornado of rushing wings. I searched for red tips and a silky white cap among the throng, praying for a miracle, my eyes clinging to the whirlwind spinning round and round over my head, but I could not make out one bird from the next, so great was the churning mass. A few of the onlookers ran from the church, screaming and fighting to get out the doors. Several of the lords pulled their cloaks over their heads and the guards raised their bows, letting arrows fly into the swarm. I searched for Kjell, anxious for him to call off the guard, but he was nowhere to be found. I set up a spell, urging the birds to exit.
Birds of Jeru
Where’s your king?
If he is here, then you must leave.
Like a flock of starlings, the birds began to dive and roll, a perfectly orchestrated finale, out the cathedral doors, until once again, the house of worship was an empty shell. Feathers fluttered through the air and clung to the altar before continuing to the floor.
“What in the world was that?” I heard someone say, and the prior muttered something about evil and the powers of darkness, as he lit another candle and waved incense through the air.