"THERE'S AN easier way to do this," Jonmarc said to Carina as they waited for the royal wedding to begin.
"What, elope?" Carina shot back. Beside her, Cam snickered.
Trumpets blared as the guests in Shekerishet's great room jostled for a good look at the bride and groom. Tris and Kiara entered together. Kiara's wedding gown was in the Isencroft tradition; red silk, slim cut, slit almost to the hip, and below that, billowing silk trousers in vibrant orange, the colors of flame, sacred to the Aspect Chenne. The colors made her dusky skin glow. A wide, ornately embroidered sash accentuated Kiara's waist, and flowing sleeves almost covered her hands. Her auburn hair was loose and long, and a lace-like headdress of golden mail, finely crafted and embellished with small gems, fitted closely over her hair, framing her face. Around her neck glittered an opulent necklace in the Eastmark style with matching earrings of gold that cascaded nearly to her shoulders. On her right hand was the signet ring of the heir to the Isencroft throne.
"I'm just saying it doesn't have to be this complicated," Jonmarc replied. "Out in the borderlands, it's a lot simpler. Make and accept the proposal, give a gift and make a vow, 'act' on the commitment—and that's it. You're married."
"You wouldn't expect anything at court to be that simple, would you?" Cam whispered with a grin. "It would put people out of work."
Tris tugged at his waistcoat. Jonmarc knew it had taken Crevan and Coalan nearly the full candlemark to put together a suitable replacement for his ruined wedding finery, and despite his dislike for court politics, he was well aware that the gossips would be alert for any impropriety.
Coalan and Crevan had made a suitable replacement. Tris wore a long coat of black brocade with wide cuffed sleeves ornamented with golden buttons and trim. The coat reached below his knees over high black boots and black breeches. A waistcoat of midnight blue gave a nod to Margolan's traditional wedding colors. His sword hung beneath the long coat, less noticeable but easily within reach, and the waistcoat and high, ruffled silk shirt hid a layer of thin mail beneath it. A more formal crown replaced the circlet he preferred. On his right hand, Tris wore a gold ring with the seal of the crown of Margolan. At his throat, Jonmarc knew Tris wore the metal chit on a leather strap that they had found on their journey, the talisman that dispelled magicked beasts. Tris confided that he had not removed it since discovering its meaning at the Library in Westmarch, and saw no reason to set it aside now. From the way Tris walked, Jonmarc could guess that his ankle was throbbing.
"So tell me, Jonmarc. How are weddings done in Dark Haven?" Cam asked in a casual tone. Jonmarc swallowed wrong on his wine and began to cough. Carina glared at Cam and slapped Jonmarc on the back.
"Cam," Carina said warningly. Jae, who was curled up on Carina's lap until Kiara and Tris were finished with the ceremony, raised his head questioningly, and then lay down again.
Cam grinned. "Just checking. If the guests are supposed to bring armor or drink blood, I just want to be prepared."
Jonmarc cleared his throat and took a sip of water. "I leave that kind of stuff up to Gabriel. But I don't think we'd get this many people if we invited everyone in Dark Haven."
The great room was crowded with the kings and their retinues and with the invited nobility and special guests. Hundreds more filled the bailey, anxious for a glimpse of the royal couple. Carroway and his band of minstrels performed from a stage in one corner of the room. Candles and mirrors glittered, filling the room with light. Velvet banners and colorful ribbon streamers hung from the ceiling.
Tris and Kiara moved down the center aisle on a wide blue carpet that marked the way to the dais at the front. The dais was banked in candles over reflecting basins of water. Large vases filled with fresh flowers made a semi circle within the banks of candles. Out-of-season blooms were the handiwork of a land mage. Their sweet smell filled the room.
"I've been to a lot of Isencroft weddings, and they didn't look like this," Cam said to Carina.
"It's a ritual wedding. Most of the weddings you've seen are closer to what Jonmarc talked about. They're a handfasting. It's all most people bother with. A ritual wedding joins soul as well as heart," Carina replied. Jonmarc took her hand and met her eyes so intently that she blushed and looked down, giving his hand a squeeze.
Tris and Kiara reached the dais. They knelt facing each other. Tris heard it rumored that a ritual wedding bound the soul. Now, as a Sum-moner, he was sure of it, just as he was equally sure it was the commitment he wanted to make.
Sister Landis spread her hands in blessing as they knelt, and made the sign of the Lady above their heads. She began to chant and walked a protective circle around the wedding couple. Tris could feel the warding she set in place. Within the circle of power, Landis took a heavy chalice from a small altar. Landis raised the chalice four times, one to each corner of the room. Then from a flagon on the altar, Landis poured red wine into the chalice.
"Blessed be the elements. Wine from the soil. Fire from the sun." A tongue of flame flickered briefly over the chalice. "Waters of the oceans," she said, magicking a stream of water from her cupped palm into the chalice, "and the winds of the sky." She made a swirling motion with her free hand, palm down, over the cup, so that its contents made a vortex.
"Do you consent to be bound in life and in death, in body and soul?"
Tris and Kiara answered as one. "We do."
Landis took Tris's left hand and turned it palm up. From a sheath at her belt, she withdrew a ceremonial dagger. Landis drew the tip of the blade across his palm, opening a thin red cut in one half of the Lady's symbol. She flicked droplets of the blood into the chalice, repeating the same action with Kiara. Then Landis took the mantle from around her shoulders. She pressed Tris and Kiara's hands together so that their palms touched, wrapped her mantle around their wrists, and folded it over their hands. "Drink."
Landis held the cup first for Tris and then for Kiara. All around him, Tris could feel the aura of old, strong magic. His palm burned where the fresh cut mingled their blood. He remembered what it had felt like during the final battle with the Obsidian King, when he had entwined Kiara's soul with his own. And while he spoke no words of power himself, he felt something shift in his own soul, a sense of her presence. Landis held the cup for Kiara, and on the Plains of Spirit, Tris could feel the nearness of Kiara's spirit as the wine made its bond. Landis lifted the chalice toward the sky," and a wave of fire swept across the banks of candles.
"Rejoice," Landis proclaimed. "You are joined in the law of the kingdoms and in the presence of the Lady, in life and in death—and beyond."
Tris leaned forward and kissed Kiara, and the crowd cheered. Landis removed the stole from around their wrists, and when they unclasped their hands, the cuts were healed on their palms except for a thin pink scar.
As Tris and Kiara descended from the dais, the minstrels' music shifted into one of Mar-golan's traditional wedding dances. There was no way to avoid having to join in the dances. Tris found himself swept into a fast-moving circle dance between Cam and Donelan, while Kiara was whisked away by Berry into a circle with Carina, Alle, and Lady Eadoin. Tris gritted his teeth and used a flicker of magic to reinforce the binding Carina had used on his ankle, hoping to make it through the dance before his ankle gave out on him. Servants moved through the crowd with goblets of wine and. pitchers of ale, and Tris could smell roasting venison. One dance tune followed another, each more quick of step and complicated than the last. Dancers moved from circles to lines and back once more as the music dictated. The music and dancing continued until Crevan came to the great room door. With a flourish of trumpets, the seneschal announced that the banquet was served.
It took all of Tris's will not to limp as he clasped Kiara's hand and led the procession into the banquet hall. Once again, Carroway and Crevan had outdone themselves. Long tables glistened with candles on mirrored trays. A profusion of colorful flowers were strewn down the tables. Out of season fresh flowers, impossible to get without magic, festooned the large chandeliers, and floral garlands made a canopy overhead. It was, Tris thought appreciatively, an extremely showy display requiring a bit of magic and very little gold.
Carroway performed with the musicians and directed the procession of jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and entertainers that kept the guests amused through the many courses of the long, formal meal. The feasting would continue into the night, when vayash moru and vyrkin in their human form would join the festivities. Tris sipped his wine, wishing for something stronger as his ankle throbbed.
"Carroway's really outdone himself," Kiara murmured to Tris. "Can you knight him in appreciation?"
Tris chuckled. "He's already 'Lord High Bard' and 'Margolan's Master Minstrel'. I'm running out of titles."
When the servants cleared away the eighth course of the formal dinner, a large table laden with gifts was wheeled in. Tris escorted Kiara down from the head table to richly upholstered chairs where they would receive the gifts of their guests. Try as Tris might to avoid the show of competitive generosity, Crevan would not forego this portion of the event, fearing that to do so would be to give offense to the guests.
Donelan's gift could not be boxed. He had given two mares and two stallions of the horses for which Isencroft was famed. Unmatched for speed, without equal for beauty, the bloodlines of the Isencroft horses were regarded to be as precious as the crown jewels of the kingdom. Fitted with the incomparable tack for which Isencroft was also known, the horses were indeed worthy of a king, and the gift of breeding stock was symbolic of the union between the two kingdoms that would occur upon Donelan's death.
Kalcen leaned forward as Tris and Kiara unwrapped his gift. It was a triptych with beautifully painted illuminations, drawn by a skilled artist. The frame was covered with gold. "I've had my astrologers consult the stars to create this. We set much stock by the stars in East-mark. One panel is for you," he said with a nod toward Tris, "and one for you," he said with a smile for Kiara. "It foretells lucky and inauspicious dates for 80 years from the day of your births. In the center, my seers have read the stars for this day, and predict that signs are favorable for a male child to be born within a year."
For nearly a candlemark, Tris and Kiara received the gifts of the nobility: beautiful silver, finely etched crystal, and gem-studded jewelry. Tris felt himself begin to relax as the pile of gifts diminished without incident. He and Kiara were effusive in their thanks, but he knew that Kiara also was mentally wincing at the competitive opulence of the presents from nobility eager to gain favor with the new king and queen.
At last, one gift remained. It was draped in cloth, a rectangle the size of a doorway.
"Think it's a portrait?" Kiara whispered to Tris with a laugh, knowing how much he hated Jared's life-sized paintings of himself.
"Goddess, I hope not! We've only just finished burning all the ones Jared made." He sobered and his eyes widened. "There's something wrong."
"What is it?"
"Blood magic. I can feel it."
The servants swept back the cloth with a flourish, revealing an ornately framed mirror. The frame was gold, engraved with an intricate design of runes.
"Don't touch that!"
Tris's warning came an instant too late. The mirror wavered in the servants' grip and one of them reached out a hand to steady it, touching the glass.
The mirror misted and the glass disappeared. An ear-piercing shriek sounded, and before the servants holding the mirror could scatter, a huge beast bounded through the frame. The beast was corpse gray, with slick, hairless skin stretched across a nightmare body. Its misshapen head held bulbous eyes and sharp, protruding teeth. It walked upright like a man, on solidly-muscled hind legs that ended in massive claws. With its clawed forearms, the beast swept aside the men holding the frame, casually ripping the head from the nearest of the servants.
"Not on my watch!" Harrtuck ran at the beast with his sword drawn, slashing with a blow that should have felled a bear or a wolf. The beast lashed out with its forearm, raking four deep tracks across Harrtuck's shoulder and flinging him across the room. Harrtuck landed hard against the wall and lay still. Shrieks and cries erupted from the terrified wedding guests as they scrambled to get out of the beast's way. Jair grabbed a torch from the wall behind him and ran at the beast with a cry, swinging the torch wildly to break the thing's advance on the partygoers.
"Get everybody out of here!" Tris shouted to Soterius, who was already on his feet. Tris vaulted the table, drawing his sword as the beast advanced and frightened guests scattered. The beast focused on him, as he hoped. Tris stepped closer.
Tris lifted his hand to raise a warding but before it snapped into place, he felt another person enter the space.
"You sure know how to throw a party." Vahanian was behind him, sword drawn.
Outside the warding, Tris was dimly aware of Carroway and Soterius shouting for order. He heard Donelan and Kalcen call for their guards. A solid row of soldiers, his own plus the guards from Isencroft and Eastmark, formed a perimeter, their weapons ready.
The beast lunged for Tris, and Tris ducked, but not quickly enough. He felt the beast's claws rake across his back, sending him sprawling. His wounded ankle buckled underneath him, sending sharp pains up his leg. Jonmarc charged, sword raised, and scored a deep gash on the thing's shoulder, only to be swept aside by its powerful forearm. Tris stretched out his power, hoping to snuff out the life force of the beast, but the stench of blood magic made his senses reel. He could feel no glimmer of soul in the magicked creature.
Tris tore the charm from around his neck. "Take this—I've got a plan."
Jonmarc grabbed the chit before he realized what it was. "Not that same damn talisman!"
"You're safe with it—keep him busy."
"Be quick about it!"
Armed with the talisman, Jonmarc gave a battle cry and threw himself toward the beast, hacking in great two-handed blows that would have felled any.natural creature. His vayash moru training served him well; his quick reflexes kept him a hair's breadth away from the thing's talons. The creature's skin barely registered the blows, but it turned away from Tris, with its baleful yellow eyes fixing on Jonmarc as it advanced a step toward him. Jonmarc dodged and ducked, missing the worst of the creature's blows. Its claws raked down his left arm, shredding his silk shirt and digging against the mail beneath.
"Now!"
Jonmarc leapt out of the way as a wave of fire burst from Tris's outstretched hands. Within the warded dome, the beast shrieked as flames enveloped it. Jonmarc threw up an arm to shield himself, as far back against the warding as he could get. When the flames stopped, the beast lay on the floor, its charred skin in tatters. Carefully, Tris rose to his feet, gasping at the pain in his ankle. Jonmarc lowered his arm and took a cautious step forward.
"Is it dead?"
Before Tris could answer, the thing sprang up, launching itself at his throat, its sharp-toothed mouth wide. Tris stumbled backward as his ankle gave out on him. The beast's claws screeched across the chainmail shirt, digging into the mail and drawing Tris closer to its jaws.
With a cry, Jonmarc dived for the thing's back. Jumping astride it, Jonmarc turned his sword point down, driving it into the beast's back with both hands. The beast roared and twisted, but it did not loose its grasp on Tris, who was close enough to smell the stink of its breath.
"Get clear!" he shouted to Jonmarc, who pulled his sword free and threw himself off the beast's back. Dark ichor ran from the gash. The beast staggered but did not fall.
Tris focused his magic on the depths of the thing's body. He sent a wave of flame, not around the beast but within, flame that began in its belly and burned through its torso. The beast screamed, writhing as the flames consumed it from inside. Tris struggled free of its claws just as the fire streaked from its mouth, flames engulfing its huge, misshapen head, its bulbous eyes wide.
Tris's ankle folded under him. He scrambled to get out of the thing's way as it made one last lunge for him, flames tonguing from its maw, its breath heavy with the stench of charred flesh. The teeth snapped just shy of Tris's throat as Jonmarc brought his sword down on the beast's neck. Weakened by the flames that consumed it, the beast's hide yielded to the sharp blade. As Jonmarc bore down with his full strength, the blade tore through, severing the head from the body. Charred, inside and out, the massive body staggered and fell, oozing a vile black ichor that smelled of rotted meat.
Jonmarc took no chances, stabbing the beast repeatedly until he was sure that it would not move again.
When the creature did not stir, Tris let the wardings fall. Soldiers circled the beast, alert for trouble.
"Get that damned thing out of here," Tris ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Cam wrapped the body in a tablecloth, hefting it over his shoulder. Another guard followed, holding the beast's head in a makeshift sack. Together, they hurried out of the room.
Jonmarc helped Tris to a chair and Soterius sprinted to join them. Kiara pushed her way through row of guards, her eyes wide, a borrowed sword ready in her grasp.' Jair joined them, still holding the torch. Esme ran to where Tris was sprawled in his chair. Across the room, Carina knelt next to Harrtuck.
"How badly are you hurt?" Esme asked.
"Nothing except that damned ankle. I don't think I'm bleeding."
As Esme began to remove Tris's boot from his injured leg, Jonmarc went to join Carina. Harrtuck lay in a pool of blood, with four deep slashes that went through his shoulder and upper back. Beneath the bloody gashes, Jonmarc glimpsed the white of bone.
"I can't do this alone," Carina said. "I'm losing him. I need your help." Her hands were covered with Harrtuck's blood; he was pale and his breathing ragged.
"I've always been the patient—I don't know how to help."
"Do you trust me?" Carina met Jonmarc's gaze.
"With my life."
"Drop your guard and let me draw strength from you."
Jonmarc hesitated, completely at a loss. If she can read my thoughts as she draws from me, what will she see? So many things in the past I'm not proud of, so much blood on my hands. If she can see where I've been, what I've done, will it change her mind? He looked at Harrtuck. "Take what you need," he said, closing his eyes. Tris and Gabriel told him he had better natural shielding against magic than most mortals. That had come in handy against mages or vayash moru who had tried to sway his thoughts. Now, he struggled to disarm those defenses. He focused on the familiar warmth of Carina's power, the touch he knew well from so many healings.
He gasped and swayed as she began to draw from him, trying to shut out the buzz of the conversation around him, the shouts of the guards and his own heightened senses that still hummed with the energy of battle. Harrtuck must be worse off than I thought. He remembered how Tris and Cam and Carroway had let Carina draw from them when she had done battle healings in the caravan. Carina had told him how many hours Tris and Sakwi had sustained her when he'd been brought back from the Nargi camp more dead than alive. Feeling the steady drain for the first time, he marveled at their resilience, humbled at the cost it had taken to heal him so many times.
He watched as Carina's touch knit together the sinews and skin of Harrtuck's back "more quickly than the most skilled surgeon, closing the gaping wounds until only scars remained. Joined in thought with Carina, he could feel the warmth of her healing. power as she strengthened Harrtuck's life force, bringing back the flickering thread until its glow was solid. Harrtuck was no longer in danger, although he was sure to feel the pain of bruises for days to come.
Jonmarc was unprepared as Carina turned to him, clasping his hand between her own, slick with blood. Thank you. Her voice sounded in his mind, closer than thought. He felt her presence deeper than words, slipping against him more intimately than skin to skin, as if for an instant, their souls were intertwined. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Carina looked away from his questioning gaze. The sensation left him reeling. By the time he gathered himself to speak, Carina had slipped away, wiping her hands on her ruined ball gown, moving toward where the guards and servants clustered to see if anyone needed her skill.
Harrtuck rolled over and groaned. "Careful there," Jonmarc said, making his tone as light as he could. "You came near as a whisper to seeing the Lady."
"Aye," Harrtuck rasped, grimacing as he eased onto his newly healed back. "I thought I heard Her, singing for me in the distance."
"Thank Carina."
"Tris—is he all right?"
"A little banged up, but not bad. Next time you decide to charge one of those things, take an army with you."
"Yeah. An army." Harrtuck's voice drifted off. Jonmarc moved aside as two soldiers came up with a stretcher and slid Harrtuck onto it. He walked back to where Esme was just finishing up with Tris's ankle. Carina was nowhere to be found.
In the distance, Jonmarc heard music, and guessed that Carroway had been successful in cajoling the frightened guests into enjoying an impromptu concert. "By the Whore!" Donelan roared. "I'd heard tell that the two of you could fight like that, but I'd never expected to see it myself—and certainly not up close."
"If I had any doubt of your power as a mage," Kalcen said to Tris, "or yours as a swordsman," he said with a nod toward Jon-marc, "I have none now." "Glad to oblige," Tris said dryly. "Keep your weight off it for a few days," Esme instructed as Tris gingerly tried to stand. "If I thought you'd listen, I'd send you to bed and tell you to stay there."
"He's supposed to be on his honeymoon," Jonmarc noted. "That shouldn't be a problem."
Carroway shouldered his way through the soldiers. "Finally got away from the guests," he said. He glanced from Tris to Jonmarc. "You two all right?" ~ -
"Considering the choices, not bad," Jonmarc replied.
"I'd say you've fought those things before." Jair's gaze lingered on the scar that ran from Jonmarc's ear down below his collar. "More times than I'd like to remember." "We told the guests that you were both fine and that the beast was destroyed," Carroway said. "Crevan's pouring the brandy fast to get it off their minds. If you'd like, I'll make the announcement that the newlyweds have retired to the royal chamber. You'll be spared another appearance and the crowd can keep on drinking."
Tris glanced at Kiara. "Wonderful idea— especially if it keeps me off the dance floor."
Half a dozen soldiers escorted Tris and Kiara to their rooms. As Tris closed the door and locked it behind them, he wished that they might have the kind of total privacy a king could never enjoy.
"You go hard on your wardrobe," Kiara observed. Tris looked down at the shredded long coat with the glimmer of chainmail that showed through the ruined sleeves and sighed.
"Just one more reason I liked what we wore on the road. Cheaper to replace—and a lot more comfortable."
He laid aside the tattered coat. His shoulder was beginning to throb from the force of the magicked beast's strikes. Tris winced as Kiara helped him remove the torn shirt and the chainmail that clearly showed deep claw marks. His chest and arm were already darkening with bruises.
"Keeping you in one piece is going to be harder than I thought." Kiara's humor didn't reach her eyes.
Tris drew her toward him. "Second thoughts?" His fingers toyed with her long hair, and the scent of her perfume quickened his heartbeat.
"Not at all."
"Something's bothering you."
Kiara reddened. "It's nothing. Just—it seems so... public. The whole kingdom knows we're locked in here, trying to produce an heir!"
"Do you think it would be any different, if we were off in a village somewhere? It's the same for farmers or kings—except that farmers aren't surrounded by guards."
Her silk dress slipped across the bare skin of his chest and she wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. "Maybe so."
"Be grateful to my grandmother that she ended the whole custom of hanging a bed sheet out the window the next day to show that the bride was a virgin."
"Really?"
He shot her a wicked grin. "Carroway says that in the old days, many a couple brought along a rabbit.to sacrifice in order to bloody the sheet and save the bride's reputation. Grandmother said it was a barbaric custom and not suited to a modern kingdom. So we're spared that, at least." The laughter subsided. "Something else is on your mind."
"I don't want to disappoint you," she murmured. "The whole business of being betrothed from birth...I haven't, I mean, I don't—"
Tris drew back far enough to meet her eyes. "You couldn't possibly disappoint me—in any way," he said. "We're here. Together. Married. It's what I've wanted since Westmarch, even though it seemed too much to hope for." He paused. "I have an idea."
He stepped toward the large four-poster bed and let down the bed curtains, so that they completely hid the bed within. "Close your eyes," he said, drawing her with him toward the darkened bed. "Now imagine that we're back on the road—two nobodies from nowhere. We're at an inn—one of the nicer ones, with a good fire and a nice dinner. We're totally safe. Everyone else has gone out for the evening."
Kiara gave a sharp laugh. "Like that ever happened!"
"You don't know how often I wished it would. So here we are, just two outlaws on the road, nobody important, with an evening all to ourselves. Any ideas on how to pass the time?"
The passion of her kiss surprised him and he pulled her into his arms, letting himself fall backward into the darkness of the bed curtains. His question required no spoken reply.
Late that night, Carina sat by the fire in the empty great room, watching the flickering coals. She looked up as footsteps approached. "There you are," Cam said. "I got your note. What's wrong?"
Carina held out a hand, and Cam settled his bulk next to her on the bench Carina had pulled close to the hearth. The coals had been banked, but the fireplace was so large that even so, it was almost too warm to sit close. "You're going back to Isencroft tomorrow."
"That's not new."
Carina sighed. "No. But until now, it was just an idea. Last year, when we thought you'd died in the slavers' attack, I didn't know how to function. We were in so much danger—the slavers, then the ghosts in the Ruune Vidaya— there wasn't time to think. Everyone had bigger things to worry about. I didn't burden them. But I couldn't sleep. I didn't eat. I missed you terribly."
"I didn't know where you were," Cam said quietly, reaching out to push back a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "Soterius and Har-rtuck pulled me out of the caravan wreckage. I would have died if they hadn't dragged me to a healer. She was one of the Sisterhood, and she took me to a small citadel Jared hadn't found yet. They had the elixir we needed to keep Donelan alive." He took Carina's hand in his. "That was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life—choose between going after you and saving the king. The only reason I found the strength to go back to Isencroft was that Soterius and Harrtuck promised me they'd find you."
"One night, when we were at Westmarch, I had Tris search for you," Carina whispered. "I was so relieved when he said you weren't among the dead. But I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And now, I'm going away again."
"I didn't like being away from you. You know what we always said—you were the brains and I was the brawn. Without you, I had to figure things out for myself." Cam smiled. "And from the stories Jonmarc tells, you learned to fight."
"It's time, Carina. We need to go our own ways. You've got a life waiting for you in Dark Haven. I've got a job to do guarding Donelan—it's more important than ever with the unrest back home. There's no one I'd trust more than Jonmarc to take care of you." He grinned. "And I'll admit, the daughter of the brewer's guild master is my type of girl." He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "In time, you'll get Jonmarc to Isencroft. And I'll come visit—after you've gotten settled in."
"Promise?"
"Promise."