Page 69 of Swordheart #1

Zale listened to Sarkis’s explanation of marriage price, nodded seriously, and proceeded to ask most of the same questions that Halla had. Then they steepled their fingers and considered.

“On the face of it, it seems obvious,” they said. “Halla has considerable wealth, so her price should be quite high. You, on the other hand, are an itinerant swordsman and also dead.”

Sarkis inclined his head to acknowledge both of these points.

“On the other hand, you come attached to a magic sword, the value of which is considerable.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“Hush. You ask the Rat to stand as kin, and the Rat will do so in His own fashion.” Zale frowned.

“Now, what constitutes a fair price among your people? You have been expressing things in terms of land and trade goods, but the relative value of trade goods to your people may be different than ours, depending on scarcity and distance to sources. We do not even have an agreed upon exchange rate between our respective currencies.” They rolled their sleeves up.

“I am afraid, my dear Sarkis, that we are going to have to do a great deal of math.”

Sarkis put his head in his hands.

“You gentlefolk enjoy yourselves,” said Halla. “I’m going to go feed the chickens.”

Sarkis and Zale spent three days negotiating, arguing about comparative values of precious metals, and during one particularly exhausting period, comparing the trade routes of spices to determine their relative cost between Archenhold and the Weeping Lands.

Since Halla also had Sarkis carrying heavy furniture and beating rugs, this meant that much of the negotiation was shouted across the house.

“Clove oil is not that expensive!” shouted Zale from the front room, where they were working on the catalogue.

“It’s worth its weight in gold!” Sarkis shouted back, dragging a particularly hideous nightstand out of the bedroom.

“Not here, it isn’t! We’ve got a direct trade route with the Devilspine Islands. In your day, it had to go overland through about eight kingdoms and was marked up accordingly!”

“Decadent southern trade routes!”

“ Behold the worm that chews upon the throne of the gods! ”

Halla put her face in her hands and wondered if she actually did want to marry Sarkis that badly after all.

I must, to be putting up with all this …

On the fourth day, he stomped into the kitchen, slammed a small, clinking bag down on the table, and said, “There!”

“There what?” said Halla.

“The marriage price. Zale negotiates like each coin is a childhood friend, but we’ve agreed.”

“All right,” said Halla, gazing dubiously at the coins. “What do we do with it?”

“If you accept it, then we can be wed.”

“You know I don’t need this,” she said.

“ I need this,” he said. “Because otherwise I will never feel that I have done enough to deserve you.” He scowled. “I’m still not sure…”

“A good marriage is one where both parties feel that they got the better deal,” said Zale from the doorway.

A thought struck Halla. “Wait—where did you get the money?”

“Courtesy of the Rat,” said Sarkis. He scowled. “I’ve agreed to talk to some of their scholars.”

Zale coughed. “And to a dedicate of the Many-Armed God.”

“Gods,” said Halla. “You’ll have earned it, talking to one of them. Obnoxious people.” She prodded the bag with one finger. It clinked. “So now what?”

Sarkis took both her hands in his. “Will you accept me as a husband now?”

“Yes?” said Halla. And then, realizing it sounded like a question, “I mean, yes. Definitely. Yes.”

“Then we’ll be wed.”

The priest of the Four-Faced God performed the ceremony in the end, because Zale said that they could stand for the bride’s family and the groom’s family, but not if they were also expected to lead the vows.

“You should ride to the priest on one of my horses,” said Sarkis, as they approached the church.

“You haven’t got any horses,” said Halla practically.

He considered this. “Perhaps we still have time for me to steal one…”

Halla laughed and took his arm. “And afterward you can put the countryside to the torch.”

“Naturally.”

Zale, walking behind the couple, rolled their eyes.

The ceremony was short, simple, and dignified.

The priest beamed at both of them as he tied the red cord around their forearms, binding them together.

In theory, a representative of each of the families was then to take one end of the cord and unwrap it at the same time, but since Zale was standing for both, they had to take an end in each hand and loosen the cord rather awkwardly.

“It’s a good thing I have a lot of experience with being tied up recently,” they muttered. The priest of the Four-Faced God looked worried. Halla laughed. Sarkis scowled, but in a genial fashion.

Brindle was pressed into service as a witness, which he bore with aplomb, and signed his name to the parchment by dipping two claws in ink and swiping them across the page.

As soon as they left the church, the Widow Davey rushed up and soaked Halla’s collar with happy tears. “Oh, my dear! My dear! You’ll be so very happy together!” Halla patted the woman’s shoulder and gave Sarkis a helpless look. The priest of the Four-Faced God moved in and gently detached her.

“She cornered me in the kitchen during the wedding supper,” said Halla that evening. “And she tried to give me motherly advice about the wedding night.”

Sarkis, who was lying on his back next to Halla, enjoying the warm afterglow of his wedding night, choked and had to sit up and grab for the mug of water on the table beside the bed. He nearly knocked it over and Halla pounded his back enthusiastically while he wheezed.

“She what ?” he gasped.

“I know, I know.” Halla shook her head. “I kept telling her I’d been married before, but she was determined to have her say. You’ll be happy to know that while it may be uncomfortable at first, you want to please me and it’s just a matter of nudging you in the right direction.”

“I’m going to put my pants on and go stab her.”

“That’s your solution to everything.”

“It’s worked for five hundred years.”

“Well, you’ll have to come up with a different one. I thought maybe we could give her Silas’s bird.”

Sarkis laughed. “Diabolical,” he said. He pulled his wife’s head down against his chest. “The great god has clearly sent me to keep your wickedness in check.”

“Oh dear. And here I thought I was so very respectable.”

“It is a very respectable wickedness.”

She chuckled. He kissed her forehead. “I much prefer you sleeping here,” she said, “instead of in front of the door.”

“It was not a hardship. I’ve slept on stone with—”

“Snow coming in the window, yes, I know.” She poked him in the ribs. He laughed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

He would not be Sarkis if he wasn’t scowling at everything, but if I can keep him laughing, too, I think we’ll manage. Mortal flesh may not last as long as immortal steel, but it will last long enough to be happy.

“I love you,” she said.

At first she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he kissed the top of her head. “And I, you. The great god has sent me a reason to go on.”

Halla smiled, wrapped in her husband’s arms, with her cheek cradled against the silver scars.