Page 7

Flanked by her parents on either arm, Donati’s bride-to-be, Alora Clare, strides gracefully between the pews.

She’s a riot of lace, Jaylie thinks unkindly.

It’s exquisite lace, of course, and Jaylie suspects that magic was involved in the creation of the dress, but there’s so much of it that the woman herself is buried under layers of the ball gown.

The veil is thick, hiding Alora’s eyes behind sparkling thread.

All Jaylie can see are her pink-painted lips—and the small, polite smile she wears.

Even as guests beam and hold their hands to their hearts as they behold the bride, Jaylie suspects that not everyone is pleased to see her. As she wandered the gardens before the ceremony, Jaylie had caught some of the rumors.

One of his own students! one gnome whispered to another, both dressed in the red and gold of the Academy. It isn’t appropriate, is it?

I’ve heard she’s with child. There’s no other explanation for such a swift union, a tall elf tutted, scowling jealously at a stone statue of Donati blowing a kiss.

Money, a dwarf grumbled appreciatively, stroking a long blond beard woven with heavy golden rings. It’s always about money, and I can’t blame him. Her parents are the wealthiest family in the Great North, did you know? All thanks to their sorcerous inventions.

Whatever the truth of the matter is, Jaylie watches as Donati’s features soften at the appearance of his bride.

He squeezes his hands together to stop himself from reaching for her.

Alora’s veil flutters as she releases what sounds like a wistful sigh, and the music softens.

The last lines of the melody are plucked sweetly from the lute, and Jaylie suppresses a laugh.

Damned bard always has to get the final word in.

There’s a moment where all that can be heard is the breeze as it weaves through the greenery and the tinkling coins, which chime gently. All gazes shift to the couple, and then to Jaylie.

The priestess inhales, and then begins.

“ Mawiage —”

“Okay, Sadie, come the fuck on. ”

Liam looks positively distraught to have had his gorgeously described scene interrupted by such an obvious joke.

There’s a roar of laughter from Noah immediately followed by the girls dissolving into fits of snickering.

“You were literally asking for it, giving me this kind of responsibility!” I protest.

Noah is rolling, clutching his ukulele to his chest as tears of laughter gather in the corners of his eyes. He has one of those loud-ass, wholly genuine laughs that are immediately endearing, and I’m smug to be the cause of it.

Liam rolls his eyes skyward, probably sending up a prayer to the D&D gods, before returning a steady gaze to me.

I hold up my hands in surrender. “All right, yes, let me try this again.”

I catch a small dimple in Liam’s beard—a concession—as he gestures for me to continue.

Earlier, Jaylie was a little disappointed that she was not given the opportunity to write the script for the ceremony herself.

As a priestess of Marlana with a decade of service under her belt, she has found that marriage officiate is one of her favorite roles to play.

But Dorna stressed the importance of sticking to the lines provided by Donati, who even seems to laugh on cue, as if he planned every reaction.

But despite her strict guidance, Jaylie makes sure to sprinkle in a little of her Lady’s wisdom.

“There’s always a bit of luck in love.”

Donati’s eyes flash to Jaylie at her words, but his smile is wide and encouraging, and his eyes crease happily at the corners. Jaylie catches the sparkle of a grin through Alora’s veil.

“To exist within the same lifetime as someone, the same universe—to be more than fleeting glances across the road, or ships passing in the night…there is no greater fortune than for your stars to align with the one you love. There is no greater blessing than for the Lady of Luck to connect two souls as she has here.” Jaylie smiles beatifically at the couple and lifts her upturned palms toward them both.

Donati squeezes Alora’s hands, and Alora strokes her thumbs over his knuckles. Jaylie reaches to where a lily grows from the cluster of flowers embedded in the arch. The petals unfurl at her touch, revealing two rings.

“Lord Aurelio Donati,” Jaylie intones, turning back to the couple. “Do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“And Alora Clare, do you take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“Unlikely.”

Jaylie flinches at the venom in her tone. It’s the first time she’s heard Alora speak, and the strength of her deep voice catches the priestess off guard. But when she sees the girl’s lips part in a surprised “O,” it occurs to her that Alora never spoke at all.

Gasps echo throughout the garden as a clawed hand curls around the back of Jaylie’s neck, nails piercing through the silk of her gown to press into her skin.

Gingerly, Jaylie turns just enough to see a sharp grin set into the long, angular face of a human woman.

The woman’s violet eyes glow with magic, and her long black hair, shaved on the sides of her head, whips in the thrall of an unseen wind.

Behind her, a newly conjured portal yawns within the arch, undulating with glowing black-and-purple energy.

“She’ll be making no promises to you today, Aurelio.” The witch seethes, biting off every syllable of his name with barely contained hatred.

“ Guards! ” Donati shouts.

It takes Jaylie a few moments to realize that he’s referring to her.

The wedding erupts into chaos, and several things happen all at once.

The witch snakes her arm around Alora’s waist and tugs her forcefully toward the portal.

The arch itself begins to decay at an alarming pace, mushrooms and jagged thistles replacing the spring blooms. The druids from earlier descend on Donati, revealing thornlike blades hidden under their leafy skirts.

While most of the guests add to Donati’s enraged yell with their own yelps of terror and shock, a number of darkly dressed mages join the druids and summon shadowy pools of magic between their hands.

It looks remarkably like the same sinister power the witch wields.

We weren’t the only ones undercover.

“Well, fuck,” Jaylie says helpfully.

Just as Kain rips his buttoned shirt off—unnecessarily, but to Jaylie’s great amusement—and flies into a rage, Morgana lurches toward the druids with daggers gripped in her fists.

Jaylie’s brows draw together in confusion as Loren launches into a bawdy tavern song, but to her surprise, the music has a magic of its own.

From the bowl of his lute, tiny bolts of fire launch toward the dark sorcerers.

As her party flies into action, Jaylie realizes just how skilled they all are—and just how far away they are from what matters most.

Goddess, what a mess.

Desperately, Jaylie wraps her fingers around the witch’s flexed upper arm— Ooh, she’s strong —and sends a prayer up to Marlana.

A spell forms in her palm, one that would freeze the woman in her tracks.

But it fizzles out almost immediately, useless.

Behind Jaylie, Donati roars, and lightning crackles between his fingers—only to dissolve into a shower of sparks.

The witch snorts, and Jaylie realizes just how easily the woman dispelled their magic.

That’s very advanced spellcraft, Jaylie worries.

Jaylie swears the woman’s smile is almost apologetic as she pulls the bride tight to her side. “I’m terribly sorry, but we’ve got to be going.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you stayed. It would make my job a lot easier,” Jaylie says sweetly, her words high-pitched. Desperate.

The witch pretends to consider that. “I think not,” she decides, turning back to Alora. “Come, sweetling.”

And then, meanly, to Jaylie: “ Good luck. ”

Within three strides, Alora and her captor disappear into the portal.

Immediately the glowing magic disappears with a sudden pop, and the archway returns to normal.

Although the fighting continues in the gardens, Donati stills, his hands dropping uselessly to his sides.

In slow motion, he swivels his head and meets Jaylie’s gaze.

“You will find me my bride,” he snarls, and it’s his wide, white-toothed smile that’s the most unnerving. “Or I will have your heads. ”