“Surely there is a ceremony of mourning, which the new king should attend—”

Glances again shifted around the table. “Well … yes …” Belvarin said reluctantly. “But as custom requires, he was interred on the fifth day …”

“I must do something,” Kieri said. “He was my relative on my father’s side, though I never knew him. I have had no chance to honor or grieve for any of them—my parents, my sister, the others—”

Paks, down the table, nodded at him; he could see for himself that the other nobles and even the elves were relaxing a shade more.

Belvarin’s brow furrowed. “Sir King, you would wish to combine all these into one ceremony?”

“I do not know your traditions,” Kieri said again. “I depend on you for guidance—but surely the late king’s memory must be honored now, before I am crowned.”

“It would be better,” said one of the elves, “if the other ceremonies—at least for the elfborn and half-elven—were separate, since their deaths were long ago in your human terms. Each life deserves its own measure of respect; they are not kindling wood, to be bundled together.”

A few shocked looks from the human nobles, but no disagreement.

“Thank you,” Kieri said. “I mean no disrespect and will be guided by your counsel—all of you—in this matter. Now, Sier Belvarin, tell me what is appropriate in the matter of the former king.”

“It is what we call laying the boughs,” Belvarin said. “It can be public or private, with someone to guide you through the ritual, but it should be soon.”

“I will be ready whenever you say,” Kieri said.

“And then your coronation …” Belvarin said.

“I see no need to rush,” Kieri said. “At the regular time, after the days of preparation. You are not like to change your minds, I hope?”

A quick murmur of negatives.

“You came on an auspicious day,” Belvarin said. “Forty-five days after he died. And four hands more brings us five days from the Spring Evener. Your coronation could be on the Spring Evener or another day that hand.” Then, seeing Kieri’s expression, he went on. “Nine times a hand, Sir King—the elves consider nine auspicious for deeds of power.”

Kieri nodded; he knew the elves cared far more about numbers for their own sake than any other race.

“This is, I presume, an unusual—perhaps a unique—situation in your history?”

“It is indeed,” Sier Halveric said. Though he was Aliam Halveric’s elder brother, he looked younger and sleeker—he had not spent his life leading an army in battle, Kieri thought. “For that reason, it is my belief your coronation must be more elaborate—”

“We must consider our resources—” Sier Galvary said.

Kieri had no idea what resources Lyonya commanded. What did a kingdom covered with forest and full of elves and a few humans produce? He had only the vaguest memory of seeing goods identified as coming from Lyonya in Tsaian markets. Where else could they trade? What did they trade? Aliam Halveric had taught him long ago that finance was the foundation of a successful mercenary company—or steading—or kingdom.