Clarke dreamed of Lexa. It started as one image, two, and burst into a stilted reel of what they shared.
Your heart has no weakness.
May we meet again.
I swear fealty to you…
Clarke rolled over and sat up before Lexa finished. Still, she heard Lexa. Don't be afraid. Clarke wondered whether she was losing her mind. She had no time to indulge her grief. She was expected to be present today. She wondered what clothes Roan had for her. What she wore, although nice, was not suitable for anything as important as the day's events. She got up and notice the trunks beside the wardrobe. Clarke went over and knelt to open one. She immediately wished she hadn't. It held Lexa's things. Clarke immediately recognized the scabbard on top and the hilt of Lexa's sword sticking out of it and slammed the lid shut.
She stood up and decided to get a drink. Maybe someone out there could tell her where to find her clothes. Roan was all ready at the table, several sheets of paper in front of him.
"Hungry, Clarke?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You must eat. It will be a long day and a longer night."
"Yeah," she sighed.
"Your clothes will be here shortly if you wish to bathe first."
"Why are Lexa's things in my room?"
"Would you prefer someone else have them?"
"No."
"That is why."
"Thank you."
"Thank Ontari."
Clarke twitched. "I'm going to take a bath."
"I will have your clothes taken there. We will eat when you are finished."
Clarke nodded and headed for the bath. She didn't linger this time, and was getting out when one of the guards brought in a pile of clothing and a new pair of boots. "I will braid your hair while you eat," she told Clarke.
"Mochof," Clarke answered, and finished drying herself before putting on her new clothing. It took longer than she expected. There were buckles, buttons, and ties to figure out. The boots, at least, were simple. The clothes were black, and Clarke wondered why for a moment. It had to mean something, but she couldn't figure out what.
Murphy was at the table when Clarke arrived. Roan called for food, and Clarke asked for wine rather than the water she usually drank. Had she been in Arkadia, she would have asked her mother for a mild sedative, but in Polis, wine would do.
Clarke stayed still while she ate, and the guard stood behind her putting in the numerous braids the grounders wore. Murphy was thankfully silent, but kept giving her looks that she couldn't read. Roan was engrossed with his papers, probably reports from scouts and spies. When he finished, he looked at Clarke and Murphy. "This is an important day. It has been many years since Ascension Day."
Clarke bit her lip and took a deep breath before finishing her wine.
"You are to observe. Do not engage anyone in conversation," he told Murphy pointedly. To Clarke he said, "You are an ambassador. No one there can touch you. They fear Wanheda. Remind them why."
She nodded. She had plenty of rage to share. "No ceremonial daggers?"
Roan laughed. "Not today, Wanheda. The guards will thoroughly search everyone, even Fleimkepa. There will be no weapons except those Heda bears."
"Probably for the best. Should I put on warpaint?"
"Sha. It is not war, but it is a day for warriors. I can apply yours, if you wish. I remember the design."
"Please. I only got a glance in the mirror."
"Look well when I finish and sketch it." He pulled a leatherbound pad from under his papers and handed it to her. "I will ensure that your other drawing materials are retrieved by the end of the day."
"Mochof, Roan." She smiled at him briefly, and tried to keep the last time she drew anything out of her mind.
"Come, Wanheda, we must leave soon."
She followed him to his room and stood while he painted her face. When he finished, he handed her a mirror and left her.
Clarke studied her face for a few seconds and wondered if she would ever recognize herself again. She took a deep breath, opened the small sketch pad and took one of the charcoal sticks from the small pouch on the inside of the cover. It didn't take long for her to get her warpaint design down on paper. She put the mirror on the nearest dresser and tucked the book into one of the pockets on her pants, took another deep breath and returned to the main room.
Murphy came out of his bedroom without bandages on his face, dressed in new clothes. His wounds were sealed, but far from healed. Roan was nowhere in sight, so Murphy went to Clarke. "What's happening today?"
"A ceremony to recognize the new commander."
"And tonight we leave for Camp whatever."
"Arkadia," Clarke corrected him.
"How the hell are we going to save those idiots from themselves?"
"I don't have a clue," Clarke admitted. She walked to the table and poured some more wine. She drank it quickly and put the cup down before turning to Murphy. "This is important. Do not fuck it up. All you have to do is stand around and look interested. Don't get separated from your guard."
"Got it."
"I mean, it, Murphy."
He joined her near the table. "Roan threatened me with my life last night. I get that it's important. We're in this together now, Griffin. I have your back, because if I don't, I'm a dead man."
"All right."
"Time to go," Roan announced as he came from a part of the suite they hadn't seen yet.
100 – 100 – 100
Clarke had no idea what to expect. Given the nature of the ceremony, there would probably be blood, declarations of fealty, food, and alcohol. She expected to kneel before Ontari again, last in the line of ambassadors, kings, queens, and generals representing their krus. Skaikru was hanging on by a thread, and she had to figure out how to keep them from cutting it.
She was surprised that Roan had a seat beside him reserved for Clarke. Murphy would sit below them, with the guards who weren't on duty. The other clans sat with similar arrangements in a semicircle facing heda's throne. A red carpet covered a path to the throne and ended behind it. Azgeda guards already waited behind it, and the area was ringed with guards holding spears.
Clarke saw the place where Lexa lay defenseless on her back and worked on controlling her breathing. She would be glad to leave Polis tonight, even if the road she traveled would also be full of memories of Lexa. Here, they were too fresh, and being around Ontari confused her. Maybe someone in Skaikru could tell her something about the A.I.
Clarke watched the ceremony. Ontari walked the carpet, two guards between her and Titus. Everyone stood when they saw Ontari and remained standing. She stood in front of the chair; Titus stood to the side.
"The commander's spirit has chosen wisely," Titus bellowed. "Ontari kom Azgeda is Heda."
The crowd roared its approval, but became silent when he raised his hands. "Heda belongs to all of us. She protects us, shares in our joy and our sorrow, swears to lay down her life for us. She swears this by her blood. On this day, the first of her reign, she shares her blood with you, as she will on the last."
He called each clan and one by one the highest ranking member present walked the red carpet. "Yujleda. Boudalan. Louwoda Kliron. Ouska Ejon Kru. Ingranarona. Defilkru. Podakru. Sangedakru. Floudonkru. Trigedakru. Azgeda. Skaikru." Each representative knelt and offered a palm. Ontari sliced each one and squeezed a few drops of her black blood into it. She said a few quiet words to each leader when he or she rose.
Clarke recognized several of the leaders who came forward, but not the Trikru representative. She worked again to steady her breathing when her turn came. Clarke ignored Titus and focused on Ontari, who seemed to squeeze extra hard to force more blood from her fist into Clarke's palm. Clarke was the only one to whom Ontari offered her hand to rise, and Clarke wondered what was going on as Ontari pressed her bleeding palm into Clarke's. "Ride quickly, Wanheda. Their lives depend on you."
Clarke lowered her head and answered, "Sha, Heda."