Farther back were guests from outside the queendom seated according to rank and protocol. The seating had been rearranged yet again, as Gerard Montaigne had sent his regrets, saying he would return home immediately. Raisa almost wished he were there, under her eye, where she could watch him. She couldn’t honestly say she regretted what she’d said, but maybe her timing could have been better.

Behind the throne, crowded to either side of the altar on the dais, stood Raisa’s ancestors, the Gray Wolf queens. They eddied and shifted like vapor, their brilliant eyes glittering in the light from the torches and candelabras overhead.

Raisa looked over at Han, wondering if he could see them too. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge them. He stood cradling his amulet, scanning the audience for potential dangers.

This is like a wedding, Raisa thought. The bride and her attendants at the front. The wizards on one side, the clans on the other, like two families that don’t get along. The Valefolk, as always, were forced to divide themselves between the two.

And me? I am marrying the Gray Wolf throne—the most jealous of lovers. She’d chosen it over Amon, over Han, likely over any chance at happiness in love.

Don’t be maudlin, she scolded herself. Life is full of difficult choices. At least I get to be queen.

Jemson walked to the center of the aisle and turned to face Raisa, his back to the crowd. He smiled down at her and winked. “Greetings, Gracious Lady,” he said. “Who are you, and what brings you to temple today?” It was the first of the traditional Three Questions.

“I am Raisa ana’Marianna, the Princess Heir of the Fells,” Raisa said, loudly enough to carry to all corners of the hall. “I have come here to claim the Gray Wolf throne.”

“By what authority do you claim the Gray Wolf throne?” Jemson asked sternly.

“My mother, Queen Marianna ana’Lissa, has joined our ancestors in the Spirit Mountains,” Raisa said. “I am Marianna’s heir, entitled by blood and ability.”

“What is your lineage?” Jemson asked.

Raisa recited the new line of queens, beginning with Hanalea, and ending with her mother and herself, familiar from all of the temple days of her life, familiar from her name day a year ago.

Jemson nodded. “I am satisfied that you qualify by blood, Your Highness,” he said. “Now I have three questions that relate to ability.”

These were new questions, ones she had not answered at her naming. It was assumed that a named princess heir would have time to become more capable before her coronation.

“To whom do you answer, Raisa ana’Marianna?” Jemson asked.

“I answer to the Maker, to the line, and to the people of the Fells,” Raisa said.

“How do you signify, Princess Raisa?” Jemson asked. “By what do you pledge?”