Brenna raised both hands and, after several moments, managed to quiet the crowd. Her eyes shone with a familiar brilliance, something fervent. She leaned slightly toward Serena.
"At long last," she whispered excitedly, "we have a true chosen one. A real successor. Ambassador, you are fortunate to witness this."
Serena forced a nod, unsure what expression she ought to wear. Confusion tugged at her, yet she kept her composure. She did not trust her voice to answer.
On the dais, the older woman continued her prayers, stronger now, rising in tempo. Margaret knelt motionless, her face streaked with red, eyes closed as though bracing for what came next. In the slight reflection of the water still pooled in the ceremonial bowl beside her, Serena caught a glimpse of the young woman's expression.
It was a striking mix between fear and the resolve of accepting your duty. What a burden for someone who looked no older than Serena herself.
