Page 6

Chapter

Five

“You have until the count of ten to explain to me why I’m dressed like this before I introduce you to the sharp end of my axe.”

The threat drips off of Kain’s fangs with menace, but Jaylie is more surprised to hear the man string together so many words at once.

“Oh hush,” Loren chides. “I think you look rather handsome.” With a flourish, the bard expertly ties off the black bow tie around Kain’s neck.

It appears comedically tiny when situated atop the tiefling’s broad chest and shoulders.

Below it, the fabric of his smart black butler’s suit strains against his muscles, two sizes too small.

They’d had to rip a hole in the seat of the pants to make room for his tail, which snaps back and forth with annoyance.

Jaylie is reminded fondly of her grouchy kitten, Charm, waiting for her at her Lady’s temple.

Teeth bared, Kain continues to hiss out his countdown. “ Seven. Eight. Nine… ”

“It’s part of the plan, Kain,” Jaylie stresses. “Remember?”

Back at the tavern, Dorna had laid out every detail. Their mission is simple: ensure nothing goes wrong at the wedding of their eccentric and rich employer, Lord Aurelio Donati.

Although Jaylie herself is no mage, even she’s heard of Donati, the city of Belandar’s most beloved wizard.

He boasts a seat on the Arcane Assembly, a professorship at the Arcane Academy, and a reputation for having boundless generosity and deep, deep pockets, so it’s no wonder Dorna is quite eager to please her newest client.

To stay in line with the groom’s wish not to have obvious armed guards in attendance on the happiest day of his life, each member of Jaylie’s party is given a disguise and a perfectly good reason to be at the wedding.

“Really, we gave you the easiest job of all. And the best opportunity for scouting,” Loren adds.

Morgana snorts from where she leans against the doorway, picking at her nails with the blade of her dagger.

“It’s an empty threat anyway, Kain,” she says dryly.

“You already hid your axe by the tree, in case you actually need it during the ceremony, gods forbid.” She’s dressed the part of a noblewoman, with delicate chains woven into her oiled beard and eyelids streaked with silver.

The slit in her blue skirt is provocatively high.

Jaylie suspects it’s more for ass-kicking practicality than to draw eyes, though she imagines Morgana is probably quite good at both.

Kain mutters something about not needing an axe to make them bleed for forcing him to suffer the indignity of a bow tie.

Casting one last glance around the perimeter of the small guest room Donati allowed them for their preparations, Morgana nods to herself. “Let’s get going, then. I could use a drink.” She swings the door wide, and Kain stalks behind her with a silver tray stacked with treats and champagne.

“Wait,” Loren murmurs.

As the others wander off, Jaylie turns.

“Your pendant’s crooked.”

Loren steps close and begins to fuss with the chain strung across Jaylie’s forehead and pinned into her curls, a gold coin medallion depicting Marlana’s winking face—her order’s symbol—hanging slightly off-balance above her left eyebrow.

As the bard presses his fingertips gently against her temples to tilt her head straight, Jaylie inhales slightly, her shoulders and neck tensing.

This close, she can tell his eyes aren’t fully green. They’re threaded through with warm brown, tiny spears of emerald, specks of amber…

His mouth curls into a teasing smile. “Nervous, priestess? You’ve got the most important role of all.”

The reminder grounds her, and her gaze slides past his face to the mirror behind him and meets the eyes of her reflection.

She’s dressed in ceremonial garb befitting her position as a priestess of Marlana.

Her robes are the color of flower petals, beginning with a pastel pink at her chest that deepens into a wine red near the ends of her skirts.

More tiny gold coins are strewn in chains all over her body: encircling her neck, draped across her bare shoulders, strung to her wrists, and wound in the newly straightened circlet that binds her free-flowing hair.

Jaylie offers a little smile to her reflection. She loves a bit of ceremony. She loves to dress up. And admittedly, none of her party would look even half as good without the bard’s skill for cosmetics and flair.

She exhales in a rush, standing tall. “I’ve officiated dozens of weddings, Loren. Nerves are long behind me.”

His brow arches in amusement. “Dozens?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t want to start off their marriage with a little luck?”

“I can’t argue with that.”

He offers her his arm, and they step out into the sun.

The sprawling gardens of Lord Donati’s estate stun Jaylie for the second time that day.

She and her party had toured them that morning when making last-minute security preparations, but now that all the guests have arrived, the grounds are bursting with life.

Nobles draped in jewel-toned dresses and coats flutter among the hedges and rosebushes like butterflies while wizards stand in clusters near the fountains, heads bent together in scholarly conversation.

A group of young students in formal black robes pauses to stare at the pale towers of Donati’s small castle, its iron gates bookended by pale blue banners, emblazoned with his sky lily crest in white, swaying in the breeze.

As they meander through the crowds, Jaylie turns to regard the statue at the center of the nearest fountain.

This figure, like at least half of the statues in the garden, is sculpted in Donati’s likeness.

Although Jaylie hasn’t met Donati yet, she doubts that he could possibly be as handsome as the piece makes him out to be.

Here, he poses with his arm outstretched, water bursting from the tip of the wand clutched in his fist. His stone hair is perfectly coiffed, marble teeth clenched in a grin.

It’s better than the one of him standing atop the back of a galloping unicorn, at least.

Arrogant prick, Jaylie thinks.

“Cocky bastard,” Loren murmurs under his breath.

She doesn’t stop the laugh that bubbles out, and Loren smiles conspiratorially.

As they make their way toward the ceremony tree, Jaylie’s ears perk at the sound of music drifting from a different direction, and she turns to see another fountain with water spouting from a pointed wizard’s hat atop Donati’s smiling stone face.

There, a group of nobles lingers near a trio of musicians plucking out the gentle chords of a love song.

Morgana, deep in conversation with two halfling women, catches Jaylie’s eye.

She nods to Loren and juts her chin to the side.

Jaylie squeezes the bard’s arm briefly. “I think that’s your cue. ”

“So it is. Best of luck, Jaylie.”

She smiles. “Of course.”

With the sun almost at its highest point in the sky, Jaylie knows the ceremony is about to begin, and she quickens her pace to the base of the large tree at the garden’s center.

When she steps into its wide pool of shade, a wistful sigh escapes her lips as she pauses to admire it.

It was clever of Donati to hire a group of druids to decorate for his wedding, using their connection with nature to conjure a scene of such beauty.

The tree is so large that even if Jaylie’s whole party stood in a ring around it and held hands, they wouldn’t be able to encircle its entirety.

Facing an array of benches, two of the tree’s roots have been magically coerced to rise from the ground to form an arch, their ends twining together in the middle.

Dozens of sky lilies bloom impossibly from the roots in bursts of blues, whites, and pinks, gently swaying in the wind.

A tall elven druid in leafy green skirts casts one last spell over the arch, summoning a handful of illusory blue butterflies and glowing orbs of soft light.

Although Jaylie had nothing to do with the decorating, she’s gratified to see strands of Marlana’s coins threaded throughout the arch and to hear the gasps and coos of amazement from the guests as they arrive and take their seats.

Jaylie takes her place at the center of the arch and prepares to wait, but it doesn’t take long.

Near the back of the crowd, Jaylie spots Loren and the musicians murmuring together.

The half-orc violinist taps their bow once, twice, and then launches expertly into the music, right in time with the rest of the group.

It’s a grand song, full of power and pride, though Jaylie thinks it’s a touch too upbeat for the soft ambience of the setting.

It’s only a few moments after the first measures are played that she gets her first glance at Donati.

If the man looked anything like his garden statues, the song would be a fitting entrance.

But he doesn’t.

He looks sweet. Approachable. While his statues scream might and strength, the professor himself exudes an air of gentle charm, friendliness, and come-to-my-office-hours-for-tea energy.

Still, he looks very proud as he paces toward the ceremony tree, dressed handsomely in a deep navy suit and subtly platformed boots that still don’t get him to the height of his supposedly life-sized statues.

His light brown hair is styled in its signature coif, carefully gelled in place.

As he nears the tree and stands to Jaylie’s right, he gives her a small bow of his head.

“Thank you again for your services today, priestess.”

“It is my pleasure.” Before she can say anything further, Loren’s lute takes the lead, and the music swells into a melody more romantic—and much more beautiful.