by Emma Newman
The doors were open. Cathy could hear something calm and lilting being played by a string quartet. In the silence of the Nether, and with the acoustics of the cavernous space, the murmur of the waiting guests also floated outside.
Her mother’s carriage had arrived. She and Elizabeth emerged and the bridesmaid dress was duly fussed over. When they came over, their startled expressions told Cathy the faerie had done something noticeable at least.
“Oh, Catherine,” her mother said. Was her expression…pride? Cathy couldn’t be certain; she’d never seen it before. Glancing at Father, Mother asked “Did you…?”
“Lord Poppy sent a gift ahead,” he replied. “I understand he and Lord Iris are inside.”
“I think I shall faint,” Elizabeth gasped.
“Don’t be absurd.” Mother gave Elizabeth a hard stare. “No dramatics today, Elizabeth. This is Catherine’s day—yours will come soon enough.”
“Oh, God,” Cathy whispered as she saw Lord Poppy emerge, the faerie flitting about excitedly next to him.
Upon sighting her he clasped his hands theatrically over his heart and she saw a glittering tear roll down his cheek. “That’s exactly what I wanted,” he said, gliding towards her with outstretched hands as her family bowed and curtsied appropriately. “The bitterness of losing you, but the sweet pleasure of knowing you will be the perfect bride.”
Cathy wanted to vomit and imagined heaving all over his immaculate morning suit.
“Thank you for your gift, my Lord,” she made herself say, prompted by her father’s glare as he straightened up.
“Only the first part.” He swept the tear from his cheek with one of his long fingers. He kissed the sparkling droplet and it turned into a teardrop-shaped diamond.
Holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger, he pressed it against the base of her throat and she felt a tingle shoot around her neck. A tiny squeak slipped from Elizabeth’s mouth.
“There,” he said, pulling back, the diamond gone from his hand. “Now I will know where you are all day, so I don’t lose you in the celebrations afterwards. I would hate to miss my opportunity to congratulate you.”
She didn’t miss the wicked glint in his eye. You bastard, she thought, reaching up to feel the diamond held on what felt like a chain no thicker than a strand of hair. You knew I wanted to bolt.
“Your generosity humbles us, Lord Poppy,” her mother said.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Lord Poppy smiled. “She is my favourite, after all.”
“May I present my other daughter, Elizabeth, my Lord?” Father said.
“You’re not at all like my favourite.” Poppy sounded disappointed as he looked at Elizabeth. It was probably the first time her sister regretted that truth. “All of your prettiness is on the outside. Is there anything more interesting inside?”
Elizabeth, unused to her beauty being met with such uninterest, was unable to answer. “I play the piano,” she managed to say.
“But do you allow the instrument to play you?” he asked. “I fear not. But you’re pretty enough to make a good match. Perhaps you’ll surprise me as much as your sister did. Now that is something to aspire to, wouldn’t you say?”
Her mouth opened but no witty retort or earnest pledge came out. Even though Cathy had wished her childhood inability to speak in public on Elizabeth a hundred times over, watching it actually happen was quite awful.
“Forgive me, my Lord, but has my brother arrived?” Cathy didn’t want to appear eager but couldn’t think of anything else to take his attention from her floundering sibling.
“Yes, with his teeny tiny wife. But you should be more concerned about whether your fiancé has arrived, no?”
“Has he?” Mother asked.
“Yes, and he is a handsome fellow. Well, I mustn’t indulge myself a moment longer, otherwise Iris will get irritable, and we don’t want that, do we?” He winked at Cathy, making her shudder. “I look forward to seeing you shine, my little sunlit one,” he whispered to her before he went back inside.
Elizabeth’s lower lip wobbled. “He hates me.”
“Hush now,” Father said. “He just wants to make a fuss of Catherine.”
“Believe me,” Cathy said, “If he hated you, he’d have made it much more obvious.”
“Put it out of your mind,” Mother said. “Look, there’s Nathaniel to escort you up the aisle. You can see it as a practice.”
Nathaniel nodded to them from the entrance. He was dressed in a similar dark frock coat to Father but wearing a waistcoat embroidered with tiny irises. The sight of him brightened Elizabeth, who slipped straight into her default mode of trying to garner the most attention. Imogen came into sight and was clearly judged to have the thicker waist of the two, speeding Elizabeth’s recovery even more.
“She has to walk up the aisle with Oliver Peonia.” Elizabeth waved at them. “How demeaning.”
Mother took the bouquet from the footman who’d gathered it from their carriage, and formally presented it to Cathy. “Carry this, and all of our best wishes with you,” she said, and actually smiled. Probably the relief, Cathy thought as she watched her mother go ahead.
Elizabeth dutifully arranged Cathy’s train and then went to Nathaniel, beaming as he kissed her hand. The bridesmaids and groomsmen paired off amidst a flurry of curtsies, bows and polite greetings. There was no best man or maid of honour for weddings within the Great Families.
Father looked at her. “It’s time, Catherine.”
She looked at the expectant faces of William’s siblings who were supposed to become her own and heard the congregation’s gentle murmur hush with expectation. Her guts cramped. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, the poppies in the bouquet quivering with her. She thought of Josh, the times they’d kissed, the evenings curled up next to him, laughing at bad sci-fi films and gushing about the best ones. How could she even think of marrying any other man, let alone an arrogant Iris who wanted nothing better than to rise in the Society she needed to escape?
4
Over a hundred pounds poorer, Sam unlocked the front door as the sun was coming up over Bath. He ushered his charges inside and closed the door, listening to their teeth chatter. He’d had to tell the taxi driver who’d picked them up from the service station on the M6 that they were a dance troupe and he was their manager. Their minibus had been stolen whilst they were in the toilets, he’d said, before they’d even had a chance to change out of their costumes. The taxi driver looked them over, uninterested, and turned the meter on. Thankfully he wasn’t the chatty type.
“Front room’s first on the right,” Sam said. “I’ll put some toast on. Tea all round?”
They all nodded and staggered through the door. Sam filled the kettle, worrying about what to do next. He’d managed to persuade them to come home with him to at least try to eat and get a story together before they went to the police. They were easy to convince: starving and in shock. After dropping a couple of slices of bread into the toaster he tried to call Cathy again.
“It’s me, Sam, the one you took into Exilium. Um…I really need to meet up with you. I had to go back there and rescue those dancers we saw and I think I might’ve fucked up. Just a little bit. Call me. Please. It’s urgent.”
He made a round of tea, using, for the first time, the tray they’d been given as a wedding present, after wiping the dust off it. They were all slumped on the sofa and chairs and looked dreadful in the early-morning light. He wondered whether to call an ambulance.
All reached gratefully for the cups and cradled them, a couple starting to cry at the familiarity of it all.
Clare took a tentative sip and then spat it out. “What is this?”
“Tea.”
“It tastes…poisonous. I can’t drink this.”
Sam looked at the others. “Try yours.”
All of them were unable to keep it in their mouths, sending the weeping ones into hysterics. Sam heard the toaster pop up but didn’t hurry to the kitchen, thin
king of the crisps. “Fuckington Stanley,” he whispered. Was Poppy right?
A noise in the hallway made him think the front door hadn’t been shut. He went out and bumped straight into the gargoyle.
“’Ello, Sam.”
He yelped. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Your front door was open,” Max said, stepping out from behind the gargoyle. “You’ve been in Exilium.”
“How did you know that?”
“It’s against the agreement Mr Ekstrand made with you before you left his house.”
Sam remembered promising not to tell anyone and the sting in his palm when he shook the Sorcerer’s hand. He looked at the skin there, seeing a tiny red spot, as if he’d been pricked with a pin. “Did he put something in my hand? Is that how you knew?”
“This is serious,” Max said. “You’re already a breach. How did you get back there?”
“Look, Poppy’s faerie helped me to rescue these dancers Cathy and I saw and there’s something wrong with them. I need your help.” He pointed at the front-room door.
Max poked his head round and returned to Sam. “The blondes,” he said to the gargoyle. “They were taken a while ago,” he said to Sam. “You shouldn’t have brought them back to Mundanus.”
“What was I supposed to do, leave them to starve in Exilium? Lady Rose took them and now she’s gone down no one else wants them.”
“I can’t help you,” Max said. “They’ll never be able to live in Mundanus again.”
“There must be something we can do!”
“Usually the tainted are taken to live in the Nether, but that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“The usual treatment isn’t available anymore.”
“Can’t Ekstrand take them in?”
Max shook his head. “He’d never agree to having tainted anywhere near him.”
“Stop calling them that!” Sam moved them to the kitchen and closed the door. “They’ve been kidnapped, had their bodies controlled…they’re traumatised. You have to help them. Isn’t that your job?”
“It’s part of my job to stop innocents from being taken. They’re no longer innocent.”
“So what do I do now? Isn’t there anything Ekstrand could do to help them?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“You’re seriously telling me the only chance they have to survive is in Exilium?”
“Yes, because of unfortunate recent events. A Charm from one of the so-called Great Families could help,” Max said. “Theoretically. I’ve never had to look into it.”
“Then take me to where Cathy is.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“Sod the rules,” the gargoyle said. “Those people are going to die.”
Max looked at it for a long moment. “It’s not the only reason. If I take Sam to the puppets to save those people they’ll know something is wrong with the Chapter. It would send them a message: if we don’t have the resources to help the tainted, we don’t have resources to police them. Then more innocents would be taken.”
Sam rested against the countertop, feeling sick with fatigue. “Are you going to do anything?”
“Do you have a means of getting back into Exilium?”
Sam nodded. “I think Poppy knew this was going to happen.”
Max looked at the gargoyle and it raised its stone brow at Max, almost like they were having a conversation Sam couldn’t hear. “Then I’m going to leave here and forget what I saw. But if you go back there afterwards, or do anything else outside of Mundanus, Ekstrand is going to notice.”
“It’s not like I want to go back there. Anyway, if he’s not going to help he sure as fuck doesn’t have the right to bust me for having to go back there to do so.”
“Actually, he does.” Max said. “I’ll check on you when you get back. At least you have some protection.” He pointed at the wedding ring.
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Brilliant. Now I’ve got to break it to those people that they’re never going to see their families again.”
“I can’t do this,” Cathy said again but Father didn’t seem to hear her, extending his arm with a silent invitation to slip her hand into its crook and stride on to her destiny. The air felt thick and the boned bodice too tight to draw a breath.
“Catherine.” His voice was low and soft to avoid attention.
“I can’t do this,” she repeated, the thought bouncing around in her head like an echo in a cave. She looked at the waiting carriages and wondered whether she could sprint over, push the driver off and make her escape like a Western stagecoach thief.
A pinprick at her throat drew her fingers to the diamond. Poppy knew she was tempted to run and was reminding her there was no way out today. She imagined throwing the bouquet on the ground and stamping on it whilst screaming hysterically. Then she accepted her father’s arm. The prickling faded as she took her first step towards the entrance, causing a flurry of final preparations from the rest of the wedding party.
Far too quickly she and her father were going through the doorway, the beauty of the vaulted roof and grand oak at the far end of the hall now fully evident. The walls running down the sides were more glass than stone, but they still didn’t let in enough of the diffuse silver light of the Nether. Above them, huge globes of glass were suspended from the ceiling holding what appeared to be thousands of sprites. The worst day of her life was about to happen in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
Rows of seats were filled with people who as one turned and looked at her as she entered. Instinctively she slowed, her body betraying her desire to flee from their attention. Another prickle from the jewel at her throat and a tightening of her father’s arm around her hand pulled her into the forwards rhythm once more.
She heard the ripple through the crowd and focused her attention on the hem of Elizabeth’s dress in front of her. She couldn’t look ahead, not towards William, it would make it too real. A tear slipped free, feeling cool against her hot cheeks and she bit her lip, fighting to keep the rest back. I hate you all, she thought, falling back on her rage to stop her from collapsing in a sobbing heap.
Then Elizabeth’s dress veered to the left and Cathy realised she was almost at the end of the aisle. The Oak loomed ahead of her. Its russet leaves brought the memory of autumn into the great hall. She could see faeries flitting from leaf to leaf, peeping out to witness the marriage for the royal line. A terrible burning rose up from her stomach.
Her father stopped and gently held her arm so she followed suit. She was aware of people standing just ahead and her gaze fell from the Oak to two elderly gentlemen dressed in morning suits. One she recognised: the Papaver Patroon, Sir Papaver himself, who looked just as stern as she remembered. He appeared to be in his early sixties, but Tom had told her that he was rumoured to be over a thousand years old and had to have regular lessons in “modern speech”. Her eyes were drawn to his unusually large earlobes, something she’d stared at whilst he’d lambasted her for asking to go to university.
The other elderly gentleman was presumably Sir Iris. He stood on the right, wearing an iris-blue waistcoat with his morning suit. He was taller and more imperious, with something of the hawk about his features, and he looked at her with undisguised surprise. No doubt he’d been warned to expect some plain Jane.
He was standing in front of William, who was now turning to face her. His smile was warm and his surprise was more subtle.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Sir Papaver asked.
“I, Charles Rhoeas-Papaver of Aquae Sulis, give Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver to be married to this man.” Her father’s voice was loud and strong.
“And do you vouch for her virtue in front of these witnesses?”
“I do.”
Elizabeth took Cathy’s poppy bouquet. Father relaxed his arm, and as her hand slid free he took it and pa
ssed it to the Patroon, who held it tightly, as if expecting her to run back down the aisle. With a small bow her father discharged his last duty and went to sit next to her mother.
The Patroon’s hand was cool and dry, while hers trembled in clammy horror.
“Who gives this man to be married to this woman?” Sir Iris asked.
“I, George Reticulata-Iris of Aquae Sulis, give William Reticulata-Iris to be married to this woman.”
Cathy hadn’t even noticed William’s father standing beside him. He bowed and sat down. Evidently it isn’t necessary to prove the man’s virtue, Cathy thought.
“Do you, Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver…” Sir Iris said, making her jump. Now she was facing the Patroon she could see Lord Iris and his striking white hair in her peripheral vision. She felt his scrutiny acutely. “…take William Reticulata-Iris to be your husband in accordance with the wishes of your family and patron?”
The moment stretched as her heartbeat became a thunderous roar in her ears. The insistent prickling at her throat faded into the background as she looked at William and tried to imagine him kissing her, touching her and expecting more than she was willing to give. She could see a white blob reflected in his dark-brown eyes and found it so hard to comprehend on a deep level that this was actually happening to her. After all she had done, after all she had tried to do, she’d failed.
But she still couldn’t say the words. The pain at her throat increased and even William’s studied serenity was showing signs of cracking.
But there was nothing to be done, and she suspected that if she didn’t answer, Lord Poppy would take her over. She’d heard the Fae could do that. No doubt that was another reason behind the necklace. They’re only words, she thought, trying to dilute the significance of it all. I don’t mean them, they’re just words.
“I do,” she croaked, another tear breaking free.
She could hear her mother’s sigh behind her and a rustling amongst the crowd accompanied the collective relief.
“Then repeat after me,” Sir Iris said, glaring at her, “I do faithfully promise…”
