The Voice from Heaven
The enthronement ceremony proved far simpler than anyone had anticipated. The archbishop bestowed blessings of water and oil upon the couple who would become ruler and consort, then read aloud from the liturgical text—a formal petition asking the divine to permit the succession of the new sovereign and their spouse.
“...O Lord, grant the succession of Prince Richelle.”
“Is that all there is to it?”
“Quiet, Your Majesty Philip. The archbishop is still—”
Even as the two men whispered, the archbishop’s voice addressing the newly wedded pair reached their ears.
“According to the liturgical text, my part ends here.”
“The archbishop says it’s finished?”
“Ah, Your Majesty Philip.”
The archbishop responded to Philip’s murmur. “My duties are complete, yet the text itself prescribes no formal conclusion to the rite.”
“Then is it not over?” Richelle rose from where she had knelt. She extended a hand toward Marion, but Marion instead clasped Philip’s hand and stood. Richelle no longer possessed the spirit to quarrel over such a slight.
“But Your Majesty—” Richelle fixed Hubert with a piercing stare. Hubert corrected himself at once. “...No, Your Majesty.”
“It is of no consequence. Speak.”
“Thank you for your mercy. However, Your Majesty, only the Archbishop of Clondel may read the text, so I cannot display it... yet the rite is not concluded. The scripture instructs us to await the Lord’s reply.”
“Why? If your task is finished, must someone else perform another duty?”
“...Were I a properly ordained Bishop of Clondel, I would be able to explain in greater detail...” Hubert’s words faded. He glanced nervously at Richelle. She waved a dismissive hand.
“Speaking is permitted. Say what you will.”
“This renders me unable to conduct the enthronement with propriety.”
“A fine excuse. And how long do you intend to postpone my coronation on these grounds?”
“......”
Hubert sealed his lips tightly. Richelle continued, “Naturally I cannot simply order the coronation to proceed. You would then accuse me of bypassing proper procedure. Is that not so, Archbishop?”
“...The Lord has commanded that only a queen shall rule the Kingdom of Zylan.”
“Do you truly find it worth dying for a children’s tale that claims a god once spoke those words?”
“I am the Archbishop of Clondel. I cannot dismiss the sacred traditions of the Zylan Church as mere fable.”
“No, no. Until last month you were nothing but a university student.”
“I am the archbishop now.”
Richelle bored into Hubert’s eyes with a gaze sharp enough to pierce flesh. Unable to endure it, Hubert finally lowered his head, avoiding that unrelenting stare. In stark contrast, Richelle addressed him in a voice ringing with absolute confidence.
“I see. Then, Archbishop Hubert?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Even now, with every conspiracy laid bare, would you still oppose my enthronement—choosing to spare your own life and those of your potential successors instead?”
Once more the miter slipped from Hubert’s head. He fumbled to right it before answering.
“Of course not, Your Majesty.”
He could no longer deny it. He had been defeated, and in his defeat had become an instrument in the destruction of a custom preserved for three hundred years. No excuse remained. His plan to feign obedience, to reassure Richelle only to later undermine the proceedings on technical grounds, had been stopped cold. Nothing was left to him now but the single promise that his life would be spared.
“Then find the means to move to the next step at once.”
Hubert could not obey the command immediately. It ran counter to every conviction he possessed. He racked his brain desperately, searching for any path that might allow him to preserve both his faith and his life.
Yet Richelle’s voice—soft, almost gentle, yet weighted with irresistible force—pressed him.
“Hurry.”
“Understood.”
Hubert released a tiny sigh, careful to keep it hidden. In the silence of his heart he prayed.
Lord, I have violated the covenant You established.
Hubert lifted his face and prayed aloud into the empty air.
But Lord, why do You merely watch as the covenant You forged crumbles away?
As that thought formed, he opened his mouth. Or tried to. A voice thundered inside his mind.
No. The covenant shall be upheld. I am the guardian of the law.
Hubert’s head snapped upward in shock. The voice had come from above, from the sky hidden beyond the roof.
Richelle frowned at the archbishop’s sudden movement and began to urge him onward, but the voice halted her.
“Fitting indeed for the heir of Chloris.”
Then the sound descended from on high—the same voice that had spoken within Hubert’s mind.
“Who are you?” Richelle shouted, eyes sweeping the chamber.
The voice from heaven answered, “I am that I am.”
“Lord! Is it truly You, Lord? Father of Heaven?”
Hubert cried out in awe and terror. When the Archbishop of Clondel—the Apostolic See’s representative in Zylan—spoke those words, every gaze in the sanctuary turned to him.
“Yes.”
“Have You seen all that has passed?”
“I know all things.”
The Lord of Hosts, He who establishes kings, He who brought the Kingdom of Zylan to earth and anointed and blessed its first queen Chloris, declares:
The descendant of Chloris’s sister Jane, Richelle, Prince of Zylan, is qualified to receive My blessing. Her spouse Marion is also qualified to receive My blessing. According to the covenant I made with your first queen, you shall become the Queen of Zylan and her consort.
At that moment, as though by unspoken command, every person in the chamber knelt once more before the sanctuary altar. Only Philip gave voice to his astonishment.
“My God. It was real?”
“What did you imagine the traditions of the Zylan Church to be? Of course it is real! King Philip! You will conduct yourself more like a proper hostage!”
“Rio! Be silent! The Lord is watching!”
Richelle’s rebuke had limited effect. Rio quieted, but only just. He continued to glare at Philip with open resentment.
Richelle let out a long sigh. If only the boy were half as obedient to me as he is loyal.
While the thought lingered, the voice from above spoke again.
“Let the one who would inherit the crown of Zylan receive My blessing.”
“Richelle stands before You, Lord.”
Richelle bowed her head with reverence. Yet her ears still caught the ongoing quarrel. Rio had not relented in his criticism of Philip, while Philip—his earlier bravado evaporated—protested that no reasonable person could have taken such a legend as literal truth.
Richelle felt exactly the same. Her own faith had always been shallow and formal. If that was the depth of her belief, how could the church’s ancient traditions have seemed any more credible? She had dismissed the founding myth—that only women could inherit the throne of Zylan—as nothing but a convenient fairy tale.
She had been wrong.
She was speaking with God. And God spoke of the covenant. The divine voice filled the sanctuary.
“Let the spouse also receive My blessing.”
“Marion stands here, Lord.”
Richelle and Marion—the pair who had only just become husband and wife—knelt side by side before the altar, hands folded, heads bowed.
Richelle stole a glance at Marion to her left and thought, The god was real. The covenant was real. And its terms were absolute: the throne of Zylan may pass only to a woman.
Then am I not qualified to inherit it?
She wondered what punishment might await her. In the eyes of God she was one who had sought to shatter the covenant He Himself had forged. One who had claimed the covenant never existed, who had gone further still and denied the very existence of God, one of the two parties to that sacred pact. If their positions were reversed—if she were God—she knew she would never forgive such defiance. She could not even imagine the judgment that might fall upon her.
Just as that dark thought reached its peak, the voice from heaven answered the question she had not dared to speak aloud.