Page 11 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)
Eleven
CLASP HANDS.
The command seemed to come from inside of her. Alizeh, who’d been haunted by the devil since birth, never fared well with disembodied voices. She looked around reflexively, searching for the source, but when she felt Cyrus draw near her body, she stopped breathing.
His fingers slid slowly down the sheer tulle of her veil, which fell to her waist in the front but trailed several feet down her back.
He found the sensitive skin of her wrist just below the silky border, then moved lower, pressing into the hollow of her palm, and there his fingers gathered, closing.
Her heart electrified in her chest, beating so hard now that she could hear it.
When he took her other hand, she looked up.
Cyrus was staring at their clasped hands, the tension in him so palpable it seemed dangerous.
Alizeh felt better prepared to go to war than she was for what happened next.
Soon she and Cyrus would be bound together in yet another magical covenant, and though the stakes felt considerably lower, Alizeh was reminded that there was a reason most people refused to enforce wedding vows by magic.
Most people, after all, didn’t care for the weight of such bonds, opting instead for simple ceremonies conducted by friends or family.
Only the most hopeless couples—romantic or deluded—bound themselves with an enchanted vow, for it was considered an extravagant gesture of commitment.
Breach of contract was punished by death.
Sovereigns, of course, were not allowed a choice in the matter.
The magical binding of kings and queens was ancient tradition.
So often were royals betrothed to the sons and daughters of neighboring nations that the practice was considered standard security, a bulwark against possible treachery.
More, wedding vows conducted by a Diviner were personalized to each participant; there was no standard, as a result, for what a person might be called upon to promise.
Alizeh had summoned every store of self-possession to survive these unknown oaths with serenity, and still she could not cease the tremble of her body when his thumb brushed gently against her knuckles. It was a small, artless motion. It did not repeat.
Her head filled with steam.
Cyrus refused to look at her, but Alizeh was free from such compunctions.
She studied him then as if she might somehow draw the image of him inside herself.
The unforgiving cut of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose, the soft curve of his lips.
His head was lowered so that she couldn’t see his eyes, only copper lashes fanned against gleaming skin, a sleek lock of hair sliding across his forehead.
She listened to him breathe, wishing she might press her hand to his chest to feel the movement of his heart.
She knew he could feel her watching him and she surprised herself with a cruel impulse to provoke his discomfort, if only to inspire him to meet her gaze.
“Cyrus,” she whispered, her hands tightening around his.
He took a sudden, unsteady breath, but he did not lift his head. Then the voice, again, unbidden—
Once your vows have been spoken, you will be bound together as husband and wife in a sacred pledge, to journey together henceforth through joy and hardship as equals. Do you freely give yourselves to this covenant?
“I do,” said Alizeh.
It was nearly a moment too long before Cyrus said roughly, “I do.”
A single band of light wove around their wrists, and they both stiffened.
Queen Alizeh. You stand at the precipice of greatness.
Your people have sworn their allegiance to you, and soon your king will do the same.
Should a crown be placed upon your head, a tremendous burden will be set upon your shoulders.
You shall carry the responsibility of countless others, expected to fight and strive, always, in the service of those oppressed.
Do you vow to carry this burden with the devotion required?
Alizeh looked out upon the heaving masses. She felt her heart pound. She was thinking of her parents, of their years of sacrifice, of the suffering of her people, when she said, softly, “Yes.”
The crowd erupted into chaos.
A second band of light twined around the first, tightening the coil at their wrists. Alizeh was forced forward as the binds contracted; she and Cyrus were suddenly so close that were she mad enough she’d need only lean forward to press a kiss against his throat.
Her breath hitched.
She was ensconced in the familiar, darkly floral scent of him. She felt the slight tremor in his hands, the price he paid to withstand her. She wanted to relieve him of his torment, for she shared in his suffering. She wanted to comfort him.
To comfort them both.
Instead, she lifted her head, stunned to discover that Cyrus had dared to meet her gaze, his expression hunted. He seemed to forget himself as he stared, the fear in his eyes softening into hunger, then liquefying into a need so great her knees nearly gave out.
His eyes closed, severing the connection.
King Cyrus. You have chosen for yourself no ordinary bride.
Your decision today will change not merely the course of history but the trajectory of your life.
You once vowed to devote yourself to the priesthood, to the relentless study of all things existential, elevating the needs of others above your own.
Will you vow now to elevate the needs of your bride, forsaking all others to ensure the protection and safety of your queen, whom we entrust now into the canopy of your care?
She watched him turn it over, the slow movement of his throat drawing her eyes to the column of his neck.
He exhaled the word: “Yes.”
A third glowing band then threaded with the others, three lengths forging themselves into a braid that wound several times around their wrists, each twist ratcheting them more tightly together.
Soon their bound hands were locked between them, spirals of light growing, expanding, twining faster and faster around their bodies.
The dazzling scene was like nothing Alizeh had ever experienced; in moments she was blinded to everything but the sight of the man before her, deaf to all but the sound of his breaths and beating heart.
Bands of luminescence swelled to fill the sphere, screening them entirely from view.
Only then did the coils at their wrists release, unspooling like snakes.
And only then, after they’d drawn slowly apart, did Alizeh feel a slight weight to her left hand, which she lifted to her eyes.
There, upon her fourth finger, glittered a gold band.
Alizeh could hardly believe it: the deed was done. She was married. She was now queen of—
At once, horror flooded her heart.
A familiar darkness violently crested the swells of her mind. Curls of cold smoke seemed to wrap around her legs and climb, inch by harrowing inch, toward her throat. She cried out, her eyesight diminishing, and felt the iron of Cyrus’s arms come around her as she stumbled.
“Alizeh,” he said urgently. “Are you all right?”
There once was a girl , came the whisper.
“No,” she gasped. “Not now—not today—”
There once was a girl , he whispered again, forged from fire and ice.
“Tell me what’s happening,” said Cyrus desperately. He lifted her veil in a panic, exposing her face to better search her eyes. “Is it me? Did I do something to hurt you—”
“ Please ,” she cried, losing strength in her legs. “Please stop—”
Once more:
There once was a girl
forged from fire and ice
In her body were bones
marked for cold sacrifice
The devil knew then
looking into her cradle
that she’d make a fine queen
that her heart would be fatal—
“Angel, please, talk to me—”
The devil has plotted
and planned for this day
for the resurrection of Jinn
for the destruction of Clay
We come to you now
on this joyous event
not to deliver you harm
but to express our content—
“He’s here,” she said breathlessly. “He’s in my head—he’s inside my skin—”
We come to you now
in a gesture of peace
to offer best wishes
to the bride of Iblees—
Alizeh screamed.