Page 8

8

I woke late on the day of my wedding to persistent rain and the worst flare I’d had in months. The ceremony itself would take place at dusk, and I’d intended to make the most of the day before then. I had plans to meet with Evito this morning to review the treaty and begin discussions on how to enact its provisions, as well as be briefed on other pressing matters of the Gilden court. But nausea gripped me too hard to let me stay on my feet, even after I’d swallowed a dose of tonic. I was barely able to perform my toilette before I fell back into bed, curled on my side with my fist pressed into the churning knot of my stomach.

Shame washed through me along with the nausea. Bitter experience had taught me that forcing myself through the flare would only make it worse, but this was an ocean away from how I’d wanted my new life to begin. The only mercy was that my parents weren’t at the door demanding to know why I wasn’t up and at my duties.

“Here, my lady.” Julieta appeared beside me, proffering an earthenware mug wreathed with steam. “Drink this.”

I forced myself to sit up and accept the drink. The first sip carried the spice of imported ginger root and the bright taste of mint, along with the generous sweetness of honey. I closed my eyes in relief. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Julieta.”

“You’d be absolutely fine, my lady. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” She smiled, but it was a distant look, not a happy one.

Which reminded me of my earlier resolve to ask Julieta about remaining here. I lowered the mug, looking at her through the steam. “Julieta… if you would rather return to Damaria, I wouldn’t stop you. I want what’s best for you.”

Julieta was silent for a moment, her expression inscrutable. “My lady,” she said finally, “I hope this isn’t too bold, but I have long viewed you as more than an employer. I care for you as deeply as a daughter, your Grace, and I will do whatever is required to keep you safe and well.”

My heart filled, relieving some of my nausea. Julieta rarely spoke about the family she’d lost before joining my staff. I had never presumed to replace them, though I’d often secretly, traitorously wished she could replace certain members of mine.

I reached out and clasped her hand. “I feel the same. Which is why I ask again whether you would be happier at home.”

Julieta shook her head firmly. “My home is where you are. I’m staying.” She squeezed my hand and stood, the set of her jaw offering no room for further protest. “Now drink the rest of that tea. Every drop. I’ll bring you your correspondence.”

My correspondence, it soon became clear, was no small matter. Apparently half the Gilden court had written to me in the scant hours since the welcome ball, all eager to position themselves for my favor. I paged through the teetering pile of sealed letters, trying to determine which to open first. My eye fell on a deep green seal, stamped with the silver insignia of a winged horse wearing a crown. The same seal I’d seen on the treaty. Aric’s.

I broke the wax without delicacy, both eager and apprehensive to learn what the man I was marrying in a few hours thought important enough to send me on our wedding day. An apology, perhaps? A retraction of his hand in marriage?

The parchment held a single line, written in a rounded, infuriatingly flawless hand.

The heir apparent wishes to know whether her Grace will deign to appear at breakfast.

My brows rose. So now he was ordering me about with thinly veiled insults, attempting to dictate the terms of my life here. As if I hadn’t already moved to a different country for this marriage.

I reached for a pen before I could think it through and dashed off a quick answer.

If the heir apparent wishes her Grace’s presence, her Grace suggests he might deign to ask her in person.

I sent my reply off with a courier and returned to the rest of my letters. But my mind was only partly on the task. Aric’s note lay on the bed beside me, a taunt I could ignore no more easily than a pebble in my shoe. Would he write back to me? Show up at the door demanding I come down to dine?

Oh seas, I should have thought my reply through. The last thing I needed was for Aric to burst into my bedchamber and realize I wasn’t well. I cast a look at the door dividing our suites, wondering if Aric was on the other side. Likely not, if he was missing me at breakfast. But it was all too easy to picture him storming through and… what? Thrusting a pastry into my face?

I was being ludicrous.

His reply came late enough that I’d half given up on receiving one. This time it was not only a note, but a parcel wrapped in silk. I opened the latter first, stopping in confusion as the fabric fell back to reveal a silver circlet.

First he insulted me, and then he sent me a gift?

I opened the accompanying letter. Like the first, it was brief.

The heir apparent hopes her Grace will deign to wear this for the ceremony tonight.

Underneath, as if it were an afterthought:

It is customary.

Now I did wish Aric had shown up in person, if only so I could give him a scathing look. I turned the circlet in my hands. So that was all. No apology. No change. Barely even an acknowledgment that we were to be married in just a few hours. He had merely wanted to hand over a ceremonial object.

I put the circlet and letter aside with a faint and unplaceable feeling of disappointment. Perhaps it was only the nausea; it wasn’t as if Aric handing me the crown himself would have been an improvement. In fact, his rudeness might be for the best: the less I saw of the man, the better. It prevented me from saying something I might regret.

I spent the rest of the day in bed, drinking teas and tonics and answering letters—and trying hard not to think about this evening. But as the arboretum darkened towards dusk outside my window, I could put off neither the event itself nor the thought of it any longer.

My wedding was at hand.

Julieta helped me into my dress just before dusk. I breathed through waves of nausea as she fastened the pearl buttons at the cuffs of my sleeves. The silk was as cold as Aric’s reception, in both temperature and hue. In Damaria, weddings were as jubilantly colorful as spring. But I’d bowed to Gilden traditions: my dress was winter white. A barren color. Its only sparks of brightness were the golden lilies embroidered on the skirt and bodice, a concession to my House and family.

A family who wouldn’t even witness my wedding. I was almost grateful that my parents couldn’t leave their duties with the Council, so I wouldn’t have to endure the sting of their judgment. But I wished they’d allowed Tatiana to come. I would have given anything to have my sister teasing me now, distracting me from my dread by raising my ire.

My fingers closed around the locket at my neck. She’d made me a protection charm. I could have used a spell for a happy marriage, or at least a cordial one, instead.

“You don’t need to be afraid, my lady,” Julieta said. Jolted out of my dark reverie, I glanced at her in the mirror. She stood behind me, putting the final touches on my hair. I held still as she settled the circlet on my head.

“I’m not afraid.” My denial was a reflex. But it occurred to me, now that she’d suggested it, that perhaps I was. That the roiling sensation in my abdomen was not merely my condition flaring, but also my nerves at play.

I didn’t have the luxury to be afraid. I’d agreed to this match, and I would see it through. This marriage must take place—for the sake of the peace between our nations, and the thousands of lives that would not fall to cannon fire or saber’s edge. They would not fall, because I would not let them. This was my duty: first and foremost, to my people. Not to my heart.

I touched the locket one more time, lifted my chin, and turned towards the door.

The procession to the throne room felt like a waking dream. Distantly, I knew that I was flanked by my own retinue of guards. That both courtiers and commoners lined the way, watching me with looks as delving as needles. That the great hall from the night before had been redecorated: rows of seats set up for spectators, banners hung from the walls, lanterns arrayed every few feet so that the room dazzled with light. But it all felt indistinct, as faded as the details of a nightmare come morning. I passed through my environs feeling as slow and buoyant as if I were underwater, barely taking any of it in. Perhaps it was the pain that washed through me in waves, making it difficult to concentrate on anything besides remaining upright. Perhaps it was an enchantment, a folly of light or atmosphere.

When I reached the dais, however, my surroundings cut abruptly into focus. Aric stood at the dais’s edge, dressed in white as I was and freshly shaven. A circlet adorned his head—the same one he’d worn last night, gold to contrast my silver. He held his hand out to me, a gesture as sharp as broken glass.

I took it and stepped onto the dais. We turned towards one another, and our gazes locked. Today his eyes were the dark blue of a stormy winter sea. They held mine for only a moment before sliding away.

I followed his gaze. At the entrance to the throne room, an older woman with steely coils of hair had appeared between the open doors. All eyes trailed her as she made her way down the aisle. Silver robes hung from her shoulders, embroidered with green tendrils that snaked like living vines. In one hand, she bore a chalice brimming with red liquid. In the other, a knife.

The room tilted around me. I hadn’t been prepared for bloodshed.

Aric flexed his fingers, and I realized I was still holding his hand, far too tight. I loosened my fingers, expecting him to pull away, but he didn’t. This must be another part of the ceremony, since judging by the tension in his grip, he certainly wasn’t holding my hand for his own comfort.

The woman reached the edge of the dais and stopped.

“We gather tonight by the Lady’s grace to witness these two hearts bind together in marriage.” Her words—spoken in Gilden—echoed throughout the entire chamber. Perhaps it was the effect of a spell, though her brown eyes didn’t bear the gold flecks of a magic wielder. “Aric of Gildenheim. Bianca Liliana of Damaria. Do both of you agree to this union, of your own free volition, and without any prior ties?”

I lifted my chin, willing my voice to be steady. “Yes.”

Both of us looked to Aric. His gaze flickered for an instant.

“Yes,” he said, the word barely audible.

“Then with the Lady’s blessing, you may recite your vows.”

My tongue felt suddenly numb. I looked at Aric, panic speeding my breath. I didn’t know the Gilden wedding ceremony by heart. Only that it involved the chalice the dignitary was holding—and, apparently, a knife.

Aric held my gaze this time. His eyes were chips of ice.

“I, Aric of Gildenheim, promise to take you as my wife. I swear to protect you, honor you, and stand by you. To hold you first and care for you as long as this union binds us.”

His gaze didn’t waver from mine. The entire hall was waiting. I swallowed.

“I, Bianca Liliana of Damaria, promise to take you as my husband.” Each word burned like a paper cut dipped in lemon. “I swear to protect you, honor you, and stand by you. To hold you first and care for you as long as this union binds us.”

Aric’s hand tightened on mine, his fingers a vise, and then released me.

“I seal these vows,” he said, “with my blood.”

My heartbeat rushed in my own ears. I should flee, as Catalina had urged me on the ship. Seize the knife and fight my way out of this trap before its jaws closed fully.

I couldn’t.

The dignitary handed Aric the knife. Did he mean to stab me? Was armed combat part of Gilden marriage ceremonies? Seas have mercy on me, I should have worn my wrist dagger after all.

Aric took the knife in his right hand and held out his left. He braced himself, failing to conceal a grimace, and then pressed the knife to the tip of his fourth finger. A line of blood welled up, shockingly red.

The dignitary proffered the chalice. Aric let a single drop of blood fall into the vessel’s liquid, which glowed momentarily white.

My heart sped with fear—and the stirrings of anger. This ceremony wasn’t mere symbolism—this was magic.

They say their royal family can cast spells with blood. The rumors Tatiana had mentioned were true. I forced away the urge to grasp my locket. What spell was Aric casting? What had he tricked me into?

Aric handed the knife to me. My hands shook with fine tremors. I should stop now. End this madness, despite the cost.

“I seal these vows with my blood.” My voice was steady, years of practice coming to my aid. My pulse thudded as loudly as a warhorse’s hooves. At least only I could hear it.

I pressed the knife to my fingertip. It was sharp, the cut almost painless. Blood welled immediately. I shook a drop into the waiting chalice, which flared white once more.

The dignitary passed the chalice to me. I looked at Aric over the heavy vessel, unsure what to do with it. I was tempted to throw its contents in his face.

Aric gestured, indicating that I should offer it to him. Grabbing for the remaining shreds of my poise, I held the chalice to Aric’s mouth so he could drink. His eyes fluttered closed as he swallowed.

Aric took the cup from me. He lifted it towards my mouth, watching me over the rim with a challenge in his eyes. As if he dared me to refuse to drink.

I met his gaze with a challenging look of my own. Virtues guide me, I would not back down now.

Aric put the chalice to my lips. The cup shook slightly, as if he wanted it to spill. I caught his wrist, his bones pressing sharp into my palm, and held him steady. The rich taste of the wine flooded my mouth, too sweet, with an undertone of iron.

A shock buzzed through my veins, overriding the nausea of my flare. The fine hairs stood up along my arms.

Whatever this spell was, it was cast on us. On me.

I nearly knocked over the chalice. My eyes met Aric’s over the vessel.

“By the grace of the Lady,” the dignitary proclaimed, “you are now pledged in marriage.”

A roar of applause rose like distant thunder, shaking the room. It was done. A cut, a sip, a spell, and now, for better or for worse, Aric and I were wed.

The roaring turned into a whine in my ears. My knees folded, and the dais rushed towards me.