Surprisingly, given the way Kolonya had initially reacted to Zofi, the nobility had warmed to her since Andros’s death. Perhaps it was because they’d seen Audrina, seen what a truly terrible ruler could look like. Or maybe it had more to do with the Travelers’ new status as the Sixth Reach and Zofi’s brand-new title of ambassador.

If you asked Akeylah, however, she’d attribute it to her sister’s forthright attitude. Zofi was always unapologetically herself. There was something trustworthy about that. Even if she despised you, at least you knew where you stood.

“I’m excited to be here tonight,” Zofi was saying, “Because tonight marks a change. Not just for our family, or for Kolonya, but for all the Reaches. We have an Easterner ascending our throne, and the Sixth Reach has been granted a voice of its own.” A smattering of applause dotted the crowd, mostly from the ambassadors and visiting nobles from the north and south.

Akeylah spotted Danton cheering.

Zofi’s offer to help distribute the crop blight cures, a process she’d already begun with the help of her mother’s well-connected friends, probably helped her popularity, too. In fact, Zofi had become something of a trendsetter—Akeylah spotted more and more young girls in trousers and men’s shirts dining in the Great Hall.

“I know the past several weeks have been just as trying for the Reaches as they have been for our family.” Ren took over now. “My sisters and I thank you for standing by us, and for being ready to move forward into a new era with a new leader to guide us.”

At her signal, acolytes stepped up to the dais. One laid a cushion before the throne. Another picked up the sword and stood at the ready to present it to Akeylah.

Her stomach knotted around itself, tighter than a sailor’s rope.

“Princess D’Andros Akeylah.” The lead acolyte took center stage. “Step forward for the blood oath of royal office.”

Akeylah stepped forward and extended her right arm. Her left was still wrapped in the silver cuff she’d donned after their showdown with Audrina, hiding her scar.

She accepted a bloodletter from the acolyte. Like the one they’d used during the Blood Ceremony, it was ornate. Golden, and sculpted like a stormwing feather. She held the blade to her forearm.

The blood oath in this case was a formality. A way to add weight to the swearing-in of a new monarch. Still, sweat prickled her brow. She’d never performed this tithe before.

Zofi had reassured her it was a simple process. Tithe, speak only the truth, and you would be fine.

Lie, and the oath would burn you alive. No pressure.