[LEGACY VERSION] The Enemy of Time (Book 2 - The Kaireyeh Chronicles)

Chapter 44 - Damon

Campa placed the platinum circlet on Damon's head and stepped back. Her face was solemn, but there was a glint in her eyes, a ghost of something from a different time.

"Long live Damon Barenin Alyras Kynaston," she breathed. "Emperor of Caelia."

Those gathered in the mess hall behind him, all that could reasonably fit and keep the air recyclers from overtaxing themselves, repeated the words with an equal solemnity. It felt like a funeral. And Damon, in his beaded and brocaded clothes, felt like a sham.

Landon stood behind Campa, facing him. His wrists were bound with a black silk cloth that he'd tied himself--a part of the ceremony. The death of his official status, titles, and any birthrights. Damon glanced at the knot then back up at Landon. Landon's jaw was set, but his nostrils flared. He met Damon's gaze and held it, his own intense.

Did he really want to give this up? Was it too late for Damon to say no, and give back the crown, and never have to look at it again? It wasn't heavy, but it was a weight on his head.

Landon's eyes shifted to the crown. He'd lived nineteen years as a slave. He'd chosen to remain a slave. Had wearing a crown been so horrible that he'd run that far to get away from it?

Damon was supposed to turn around now, to turn his back on the former ruler and all that ruler represented. To formally declare that ruler as dead to him--but Landon wasn't. Luc wasn't. His father wasn't dead.

In traditional politics, Landon had told Damon as he'd prepped him on the fly, Landon would have gone into exile. He would have taken himself out of every social circle where he could have any influence. A century ago, he might have been encouraged to take ritual suicide.

Damon had to turn around. He had to turn his back on Landon, it was part of the ceremony. And an hour ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, he'd been that mad. But he didn't know what he felt now. He only knew he didn't want to turn.

But he did. He dropped to his knees on the rug they'd spread on the deck, then bowed to the crowd assembled around him.

There was a deep and absolute hush. Not even the rumble of the engines, with the ship in Kaireyeh. This was supposed to be the one and only time an emperor bowed, Landon had said. It was a signal that he was a servant of his people.

Then Damon rose, and he forced himself not to flinch as everyone fell to their knees and bowed to him. Three times.

"May his rule be wise and strong," Campa said. "May the gods of the stars and the earths guide him as their vessel. May his deeds be great and his name be remembered throughout time eternal."

Damon couldn't help the shiver as he looked toward the back of the mess hall where Alexi stood; the only person who had not bowed. Alexi was still Aezthena, and still walled off. Alexi had been remembered throughout the ages as Barenin Lyr.

The crowd rose on cue, and then it was done. A cathartic sense of relief rippled throughout the crowd, and tension broke. People began to study him. They'd been around him these last few weeks--they'd seen him as slave, as an awkward Kynaston, and as a dangerous Aezthena. What did they see in him now?

Campa was at his elbow. "Sire," she said softly.

Damon jumped. No one had told him that would be part of this.

"No," he hissed. "Don't call me that. Damon. Call me Damon."

"In private, but not in public," she said. "Do you wish to make a short speech? It is customary, but not required."

Landon had thrown a deluge of information at him in the ten minutes before the ceremony, but Damon didn't remember anything about a speech. No, wait, Landon had said about talking to people. Damon just hadn't thought it would be in front of all the people. He felt the blood drain from his face.