Papa nodded, and the clerk left to signal that the christening was to begin.
Just above us, the minstrels in the gallery at this end of the Hall struck up a lively, playful tune; this was to signal to anyone milling about in the antechamber that they needed to take their places. When that tune was over, the musicians began a stately march. That signaled the entrance of Archbishop Thomas, who would be performing the ceremony. This wasn’t actually a religious ceremony, since that would be an affront to the Dark Fae, so although the Archbishop was accompanied by six of his acolytes, they weren’t carrying holy symbols or swinging censers of incense. Instead of the aroma of frankincense, the air in the Great Hall was alive with the scent of the thousands of flowers that adorned every possible part of the room. The Archbishop looked very splendid in his scarlet robes with bands of gold embroidery and his matching ceremonial headgear. Wearing robes that matched his, the acolytes ranged in age from nine to twelve and were arranged according to height.
After the Archbishop came the choir in snowy gowns, mixed in both ages and sexes, who arranged themselves against the wall at the head of the Great Hall. When the march was over and the choir all in place, it was the choir’s turn to perform, and they broke into an old song, the words of which were mostly “hail to the King, hail to the Queen, hail to the Princess.” It might have been traditional, but the lyrics weren’t exactly brilliant, and when I looked through the peephole again, I saw the Dark Fae smirking.
As if you could do better, I thought resentfully. The Dark Fae are horrible at music and usually have to resort to kidnapping and bespelling human musicians to get anything decent performed in their courts and manors, and before they can do that, they have to trick the musicians into offending them. Then I squashed my thoughts. Best not to think anything about the Dark Fae.
The end of the song was our cue to enter. First Papa, then Mama with Aurora, then Melalee all done up in a white coif, veils, and a dress that seemed to be made of about eight hundred yards of amber-colored fine linen. Melalee looked as if she was not entirely certain that Aurora was safe in Mama’s arms. Her hands kept twitching as if she longed to snatch Aurora back.
Then Mama and Papa and I went to stand behind the traditional Christening Vessel, a very fancy waist-high pedestal terminating in a bowl, all made of carved alabaster, and we faced the Archbishop and the guests. Melalee stood at Mama’s left, and I stood at Papa’s right.
The Archbishop made a speech about the duty of parents toward a child and the duty of a child toward her parents. Then he turned toward the gathering.
“You are gathered here to witness that this infant is the rightborn child of King Karlson and Queen Alethia. That she is the heir apparent to the Kingdom of Tirendell. Do you acknowledge and hold by these things?”
“We do,” said the crowd. Well, I couldn’t tell if the Dark Fae did, but it didn’t matter. This was purely human business, and they didn’t have any say in it.
“Will the godmothers for this child please step forward?” the Archbishop asked.
Now, none of us had any idea which of the Light Fae who’d been invited had decided to be Aurora’s godmothers. We knew there would be at least one but not more than three. I have no idea if there is some competition among the Light Fae over who will be a godmother, or if there’s a meeting that chooses them, or how that happens, and neither does anyone else as far as I know. Of course, any of them would have been fine, but some were more powerful, and thus better protectors, than others. And should anything happen to Papa and Mama, that protection would be vital, since it would be their duty to whisk Aurora off to somewhere safe and train her so she could grow up and rule the kingdom wisely and well.
There was a reason for that. Those humans who were appointed Royal Protectors of infant kings and queens had a bit of a history of turning bad. Every kingdom that I knew of had had at least one who had let the power go to his or her head and decided that he or she would make a better ruler than the hereditary one. In the case of Tirendell, if it hadn’t been for one of Prince Lionel’s godmothers deciding to take matters into her own hands about three hundred years ago and kidnapping the boy just as his uncle’s assassin had been about to push him over the edge of the North Tower, Papa wouldn’t be here today.
So, obviously, we wanted really effective Fae for godmothers.
The first to step forward was a tall, dignified, green-haired Fae whose costume was a cross between a shimmering silvery gown and ornamental armor. That seemed promising. Her insect wings were protected by a shining green carapace that made it look as if she were carrying a shield made of emerald enamel on her back. “I am Bianca Stronghelm, and I shall stand godmother to this child,” she said in ringing tones that echoed around the Hall.
“Welcome, and well come, Bianca Stronghelm,” Papa said with a bow. “We are indebted to you for your favor.”
The Fae bowed back to him and came to stand at my right.
The second Fae came forward. This was a slightly shorter Fae with snow-white hair who wore long jeweled robes. When I saw that her dragonfly wings were veined with the silver the Fae used to reinforce wings that were weakening from use and that her face showed the very faintest of lines, I realized with a start that her hair wasn’t white from artifice, it was white with age. This, then, would be one of the oldest and wisest of the Light Fae of Tirendell. I nearly squealed with glee but managed to restrain myself.
“I am Domna Silvertree, and I shall stand godmother to this child,” she said quietly, and yet her voice echoed in the hall.
Papa welcomed her as he had Bianca, and she came to stand at Bianca’s right.
The third Fae looked as if she was barely older than I was. She had scarlet hair, scarlet bird wings to match, and a gown that looked as if it were made of flames. She also had the most infectious smile I had ever seen in my life, and I found myself smiling back at her. “I am Brianna Firehawk,” she said, and her smile increased just a little as nearly everyone but the Fae gasped. “And I will stand godmother to this child.”
Everyone in Tirendell knows who Brianna Firehawk is. She is the Fae who caught Prince Lionel up off the top of the tower and carried him to safety three hundred years ago. Papa bowed and repeated his welcome with not one jot of difference in how he had welcomed and thanked the other two. Which, of course, was proper. But I knew he must be nearly jelly inside. Mama’s eyes were certainly like a pair of saucers.
The Archbishop didn’t let any of this disturb him. Instead, he held out his arms for Aurora, and Mama placed her in his embrace. Despite Melalee’s tightened jaw, he held Aurora like a man who knows his way around babies. He bounced just a tiny bit on his toes, and Aurora’s delighted giggle rang out, making everyone but the Dark Fae smile.
He dipped his fingers in the water in the vessel and dabbed Aurora in the middle of the forehead. “Beloved child, the name that has been chosen for you is Aurora Chloe Serafina. Take this name upon you and grow in the light and love of your family and your friends. I give to you the protection and blessing of the Church and all her servants.”
Now came the time when the godmothers gave their gifts. These wouldn’t be tangible gifts like the ones piled up on the table at the back of the Hall. These would be… well… more important than that.