Page 36 of Wild Reverence

XXV

For Your Wife

MATILDA

I waited for him to laugh, to scorn my idea. To let me go.

But Vincent continued to hold on to me, his grip pleasantly tight on my arm, his gaze fastened to mine.

“Wife?” he echoed, paling.

It had not occurred to me until then, when I saw how worry lined his face, that he might already be bound by vows. Or perhaps there was another he loved?

“That is,” I was quick to say, “if you are not already married or promised?”

“ No. No, I am not.”

“Then let us take your uncle by surprise. When he sees me at your side, wed to you, he might reconsider his actions given that an attack on you will be one on me, and an attack on me will be one on my ally.”

“Your ally?”

“The god of war,” I said. “Bade. He is sworn to me.”

Vincent fell quiet. His gaze went absent, lost in thoughts and possibilities, but he continued to hold my arm, and our breaths entwined. When he exhaled, I drew air in, like we were counterparts, dependent on the other.

“What do you think?” I prompted him, feeling the night growing old around us.

The clouds were still weeping, drenching the earth with heavy rain.

But I would not let them fool me. I knew they could break at a moment’s notice, whether it was Shale who tore them with a gust of wind, or Luz who grew weary of her mourning and gathered up her veil, exposing the moon.

“It would be a ruse,” I added, in case he thought otherwise. “There would be no true vows spoken between us. But people would believe we had uttered them to each other in private. They would believe I am sworn to you, as you are sworn to me.”

I would never be so foolish as to let words bind me to another, even one like Vincent, whom I had once trusted.

But nor could I leave him to evade Death alone and face his uncle.

This ruse of a marriage would give me a reason to stay close to him.

To soothe my guilt, which was like a thorn in my palm.

Vincent parted his lips to respond, but we were interrupted by none other than Alyse, who had swung the door open with a late knock, as if she were keen to lay eyes on Vincent, ensuring he was still hale after being alone with me.

“Lord,” she said, pausing when she saw how close we stood. A dark blue dress was draped over her forearm, along with a cream-colored chemise, stockings, and a pair of golden slippers. “Garments for the lady, bestowed by one of the weavers. I believe they will fit perfectly.”

“Thank you, Alyse,” Vincent said, relinquishing me. “But there has been a change of plans.”

“Oh? How so?” The woman sounded as if nothing could surprise her.

By the set of her jaw, the tilt of her head, the glimmer in her eyes I could tell she had seen and heard it all in this castle over the years, and while I wanted to watch her reaction, I found that my attention drifted back to Vincent, my breath suspended.

He was already gazing at me, as if he needed to ensure he was not dreaming. That the room around us was not about to melt away, both of us waking in different realms.

“Alyse?” he said. “I need you to find Matilda a wedding gown.”

If I had thought my greatest challenge was to convince Vincent to pretend a marriage with me, I was wrong. It was convincing him that he could not leave my sight, nor I his, until I ensured Fate’s weaving had come unraveled.

“Go with Alyse,” he said. “She can gather up attendants for you, to help you dress. We can meet again in the courtyard before taking the bridge.”

Alyse was staring at us, her shock tangible as sunlight. The room suddenly felt far too small and hot.

“No,” I replied. “I cannot leave your side.”

Vincent arched his brow. “But I must dress, as must you.”

“I will avert my eyes.”

“Will you?” He was not doubting me. He seemed amused. “And what of me? Am I to stand here, nearby, while you are stripped down to your skin?”

“Yes.”

“Lady Matilda,” said Alyse, finding her voice at last. “That is simply not how it is done here in our realm. I do not know about the gods, but a groom and a bride must prepare themselves separately. It is tradition. Then they are to meet in the hall before witnesses, to say their vows before us.”

“I understand,” I replied, glancing at her. “But if you want your lord to survive this night, you will do exactly as I say.”

Alyse, at last, began to understand my purpose. I had not come here on a flippant whim to bed Vincent, or deceive him, or kill him myself. I had come to protect him, and I would do so by whatever means were necessary.

“Let me find a proper gown,” Alyse murmured, but she continued to stand on the threshold, frowning. “If I may ask, lord… is this real? Did the two of you exchange private vows?”

Vincent hesitated. Half of me went cold with dread, thinking he might insist on us performing some ritual before witnesses in the hall.

And as a divine with magic in my blood, I could be bound by vows.

I would be held by anything uttered in a formal way, any agreement that would seal us together, and I wondered if Vincent knew this.

How easily he could snare me, if he wanted to.

“No,” he answered. “This is a bluff. A secret that must remain between the three of us. I need the people of Wyndrift to believe it has happened. I need to likewise convince my uncle and his forces that Matilda is mine by vow, as I am hers.”

Alyse gave a sharp nod, understanding.

She departed, and I walked to the wine, taking another long draw. My nerves were singing; my thoughts ran like tangled, crooked streams.

“Are you regretting this ruse already?” Vincent asked.

I turned to gaze at him. “Gods are not familiar with regret.” Yet another lie. We did taste it, just like mortals, but rarely confessed to such. “You?”

Vincent was leaning against his bed, arms crossed, gazing at me with inscrutable eyes. “I’m not certain yet. I think it will depend.”

“On what?”

He did not answer. He only stared at me, and the space between us seemed to warp until another knock sounded.

“I heard a bride has arrived by window,” said a robust, cheerful voice through the door. “Although I will not believe it until I see it, Vince. I thought you had sworn off marriage.”

Vincent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. To me, he uttered, “My brother, Nathaniel,” before saying louder, “Yes, come in, Nate.”

The door swung open and Nathaniel entered the room.

He was nothing as I remembered from Vincent’s dreams, when he had been a young boy with pudgy cheeks and short-cropped hair, dragging a blanket behind him everywhere.

He had come of age while I was away, and was nearly as tall as Vincent now, although much broader in the shoulders and waist. His skin was tawny from the sun, his hair a chestnut brown that sat in waves to his collarbones.

He was handsome in a rugged way, and his smile was generous—his teeth were perfect with a gap between the front two, which only made him all the more charming—and eyes were an amber brown framed by thick, curling lashes.

He was cast from the same mold that Finnian and Marcher had been, favoring their father.

The Beckett blood. And where they had been broad and loud and warm as sunlit earth, Vincent was their counterpart.

Pale, slender, dark-headed, and quiet, like moonlight on the sea.

He had been the only son to take after their estranged mother, drawing attributes from his maternal line.

Sometimes, I had seen flashes of her in his dreams, and I knew she had been a singer, a weaver, a lady from the stormy western coast of Cambria.

“Hail, goddess,” Nathaniel said to me, sketching a deep bow. “You must be the famed Matilda.”

“Famed?” I echoed. “I have only just come into my power. I did not realize mortal kind knew of me.”

“Oh, Vince once told me all about you. His dearest friend, Matilda. Although he called you Red, then. The girl with crimson hair. ”

“Did he?” I could not help but glance at Vincent, who had flushed. His brow slanted in a scowl as he glared at his younger brother.

“I used to be jealous, in fact, because you did not visit my dreams and slay my nightmares,” Nathaniel continued.

“And yet here you are, as real as flesh and blood can be, after all these years of me thinking my brother’s imagination had created you under duress.

What has brought you to us on such a night?

I assume you noticed the war camp on the eastern bank? ”

“A message,” I said. “For your brother.”

“I am far more devout than Vince.” Nathaniel laid his hand upon his breast, and small golden rings flashed on his knuckles.

“Although I am certain he would agree with me when I say that you have come at just the right moment. The mood here is somber, anxious. After ten years of peace, we are now braced for the worst, and this night feels like it will be a very long, uncertain one. And yet… the mere news of your arrival has stirred hope amongst us. As I speak, the hall is being set for a wedding feast, to be enjoyed after the parley.”

“Wedding feast?” Vincent growled. “We do not need one of those.”

“Of course you do!” Nathaniel cried. “Besides, it is not truly for you, but for us. For your wife. We want to see you and Matilda together. This goddess who has come to save us all.” He looked at me with a soft smile. “As I am certain you want to likewise meet the people of Wyndrift.”

Did I?

This ruse suddenly felt like the river, growing deeper and stronger the more I waded within its current.

It was one matter to deceive Grimald with the faux marriage, but another to fool a fortress full of mortals.

Vincent’s people, whom he guarded and loved.

I did not want to become any more entangled with them than I needed to.

I did not want to feel fastened, tethered, tied down.

Movement was my survival. To stay in one place was dangerous.

I had taken too long to reply.

“Yes,” I said, a crack of a word. “I would like to meet them.”