“Do you have any helpful suggestions, Lia?” he asked, clearly attempting to be patient.
“I don’t have a good solution,” I admitted. Sondra made a scoffing sound, and I gave her a cool look. “This situation is of your own making. I’ll abide by My agreement, but I don’t know how to get through the initial exchange with My people without something terrible happening. I could try going out to speak to them while you remain inside and barricade the door aga—”
“No.” Con folded his arms and dug in.
I’d figured as much, but held up my hands. “Think fast then, because they’ll break through soon.” The thick wall showed many cracks, the repeated thudding creating a sense of urgency I had a difficult time ignoring. If my people made it through, things would happen very fast—and not turn out well at all.
“I can marry you,” Ambrose said, acting as if we’d been missing the obvious solution. Con blinked and unfolded his arms, and Ambrose shrugged modestly. “At least, I can invoke the binding vows of Ejarat and Sawehl. Will your guards recognize that, Your Highness?”
Con frowned, exchanging glances with an equally puzzled Sondra. “They should,” I agreed on a sigh. “As I’m queen of Calanthe, the binding should be quite obvious, though none have seen it since My mother died and widowed My father.”
“What are you talking about?” Con demanded.
I turned to him with some impatience. “Do you really want a detailed explanation or will you trust your own wizard? We’re giving you what you want and saving your sorry life along with your companions’. Quit being difficult.”
He glowered, taking a step to loom over me. “I am not difficult.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I crooned, refusing to let him physically intimidate me. “You practically created the concept.”
Boom. A hole the size of a finger opened in the wall. Con looked from it to Ambrose. “Do it.”
“Ideally it should be done outside,” Ambrose replied doubtfully.
“Will the balcony do? It will at least put us in the sunlight, if not on Ejarat’s actual soil,” I said. Boom. Pellets of stone fell. Excited voices echoed through the hole. Moving to the balcony would remove us a bit from the distraction of my rescuers. “Meanwhile, the Lady Sondra may use My dressing chamber to bathe and burn that soiled gown. There’s a fire in there you can use. And any number of gowns. Help yourself.”
The taller, more muscular woman looked me up and down. “Your gowns?” she asked dubiously.
“Look at the blue ones,” I advised. “They come in any number of sizes and don’t require the same underpinnings.”
She shook her head but walked toward the bathing room. I led the men onto the flower-draped balcony over the sea, Ambrose putting his back to Sawehl’s sun. Con and I turned as one to face Ambrose, who stood with his staff in front of him, grasping it in both hands. The great emerald at the tip caught the light, scattering it. Merle sat on his shoulder, looking grave.
“Conrí. Queen Euthalia,” Ambrose intoned as if we stood in Ejarat’s cathedral. “Please take each other’s hands.”
I moved to Con’s right side and extended my hand that wore the orchid ring. Giving me a sideways look I couldn’t interpret, Con held out his hand, palm up—and I laid mine on top. His skin was rough, callused from wielding his weapons of violence, yes, and an older hardness in it. The feel of stone and fire. He stared ahead just as stonily, clearly gritting his way through this.
Not how I pictured my wedding. But then, I’d long ago lost any sentimentality over what that might be like.
Ambrose summoned power, calling upon Ejarat and Sawehl in the old language, a prayer I hadn’t heard since my childhood. The emerald lit as if from within, and Merle’s orange eyes glowed. The sense of magic intensified and the orchid on my hand seemed to unfurl, growing more lavish and lush, the colors radiant, even iridescent.
Con’s hand moved slightly under mine, making me think he wanted to yank his away. I glanced at him, finding him staring at the ring with an odd expression. Caught, he flicked his gaze up to mine, and I raised my brows in arch invitation. He’d insisted on this marriage and he could still back out. His eyes narrowed and, as if he read my mind, he gave a minute shake of his head, returning his attention to Ambrose.
“We stand here on Ejarat’s body”—the wizard spoke the old words with reverence—“here on Her sacred isle of Calanthe, beneath Sawehl’s loving gaze. They extend to You the gift of their union, to bring two together into one. Do you both enter into this union of your own free will, with an open heart and no other obligations?”
“I do.” Con’s gritty voice made the vow sound harsh.
I hesitated, wondering if claiming I did this of my own free will, and with a heart that had been frozen shut for years, would be a lie—one that would violate the magical binding of the vows. Con glanced down at me. But instead of the ferocious frown I’d expected, he smiled a little. Almost ruefully. To my surprise, under the elaborate draping of the orchid, he slipped his fingers between mine, squeezing gently, in a way that felt oddly reassuring.
I supposed I had agreed of my own free will, if only for different reasons. For Calanthe. Women had wed for far worse reasons. “I do,” I said, clearly and with emphasis, making up for my waffling. Where Calanthe lay in my heart, no protests rang in dissonance. So far so good.
“As Ejarat claimed Sawehl, unlike Herself and yet like, do you promise to take into your being the entirety of one who is not yourself, with all their flaws and virtues, ugliness and beauty, weaknesses and strengths?”
“I do,” I confirmed first, tilting my head at Con, giving him the challenge.
He pressed his lips together as if tempted to retort. “I do,” he replied immediately, emphasizing it as if his would be the more difficult task. My turn to narrow my eyes. He actually grinned at me.
“As Sawehl claimed Ejarat, unlike Himself and yet like, do you promise to nurture and shelter the other, to protect and support, to shed your light so that they might find their best path in life?”
Our gazes still locked, I smiled back at Con. Challenge accepted then.
“I do,” we said in unison.
The binding sizzled into place, connected between the palms of our hands. Surprise lit Con’s eyes, but he didn’t flinch. Instead he tightened his grip on my hand. My wolf king, ever charging straight ahead into uncertainty, baring his teeth at danger.
“Your other hands, if you will,” Ambrose asked. Con watched me hold out my free hand toward Ambrose, palm up, and imitated me, a line between his forbidding brows. He’d never seen a wedding ceremony in the old way, I realized.
“Brace yourself,” I murmured.
He flicked me a quick look and then did brace himself as if readying for a blow. Ambrose touched my palm, drawing a line with his fingertip. My flesh parted at the touch, bright-red blood springing to the call. Con frowned harder, but his hand stayed steady as Ambrose repeated the gesture with him.
“As you’ve agreed to join yourselves together—one flesh, one blood, one mind, one heart—take each other’s hands and seal your vows.”
Con looked to me in question, so I aligned my palm to his, angling so the lines of fresh blood would meet. Understanding, he moved his hand toward mine, slowly, giving me time to match the speed. Despite everything, we found the harmony there, neither grabbing the other, but us both meeting in the middle.
Our blood touched, mingled, and the simmering nascent bond snapped into place, burning to the core of my being and then rippling outward, a stone thrown in a golden pool of light. It billowed throughout Calanthe, into the soil, through the hearts and minds of Her people, met by joyous accord from all the denizens of the air, land, and sea.
Con’s bright eyes held wonder, and the possibility of joy I didn’t think to ever see in him. When he smiled, it lit his face, the first real smile I’d seen from him, no wry bitterness, no threat, no rueful grimacing.
“For the third and final seal, as Ejarat cups you in
Her hand and Sawehl showers blessings from above, share the first kiss of your married union.”
I’d just married a man I’d never even kissed. I took a breath to steady myself.
At least Con looked uncertain, too. I lifted my chin, turning up my mouth for the kiss, feeling the precarious tilt of the wig and crown, hoping the glue would hold. Instead of the ceremonial kiss placed on my lips that I’d expected, Con turned our joined hands on our near sides to fold up between us, stepping in to close the distance. He also pulled our other hands in close, twining his fingers with mine, and—all in the same movement—taking my mouth in a hard kiss.
I hadn’t expected a kiss like my ladies gave me, with their sweet, delicate lips and reverent care. But I had no experience to prepare me for the sheer difference of kissing a man. His beard stubble scraped my face, his lips fierce, even savage in their hunger. I made a sound of dismay. Not exactly pain, but wincing from the crashing invasion of maleness.
Do you promise to take into your being the entirety of one who is not yourself …
I understood with brutal clarity the meaning of those words. Not just someone not myself, but as wholly unlike myself as I could conceive. A darker, larger, and more ferocious mirror.
He heard—or felt—my reaction and gentled his mouth, moving his lips over mine in a more tender feeding, but still entering into me and leaving his taste behind. And drawing some reflected hunger out of me, for I warmed to it, feeling his need through our bond, rising to meet and nurture that in him. I hummed at the sensation, his presence coiling deep inside me, in a part I’d thought forever cold and hollow.
His turn to make a sound, a throaty hum of surprised pleasure. The wound in my palm throbbed, our blood twining together, new vines grown on old roots.
A crash in the other room heralded the wall coming down—and yanking us apart. We gazed at each other a moment, torn from a kinder, more tender world, where we hadn’t been enemies for a few precious moments.
I smiled, then had to laugh at the white makeup smeared through his beard, the crimson staining his lips. One of my jewels had come loose and snagged in the dark curling hairs, winking almost comically. A fatalistic wave of relief washed through me. I’d crossed a line from which there would be no return, and there was a surprising freedom in that. Con had offered me freedom and he’d already delivered a peace I hadn’t expected.
I would never marry Anure now. The dreadful burden I’d carried for fourteen years had vanished, leaving me with a lightness of being I never recalled having.
Con stepped back, releasing our hands, leaving me feeling strangely alone, and bowed a little. “You should see your face,” he informed me.
I clapped my hands over my mouth, realizing how utterly smudged I must be. Shouts from the other room called my name, and the doors to the room leading to my balcony slammed open, Xichos at the forefront.
“At last!” Ambrose sang out. “The wedding guests have arrived!”
26
I shook my head, trying to clear it of the dizzying taste and feel of Lia in my arms, under my mouth, against my body. And deeper inside, like the scent of flowers banishing the stink of vurgsten. My wife. The queen of Calanthe.
It all had happened so swiftly: the escape, the pitched fighting, being fatally trapped in Lia’s rooms, then miraculously seeing the way clear to fulfilling Ambrose’s prophecy, marrying Lia. I hadn’t enjoyed backing her into a corner. I’d thought I’d reconciled myself to the fact that I’m a ruthless bastard capable of doing anything to avenge my father and Oriel, but this victory felt hollow. I still didn’t know what I’d said that had convinced her.
Ambrose said the marriage had to be consummated and so it would. Lia said she insisted on that aspect, too, but the exchange of vows had felt as much like a battle of wills as a wedding. Viciously I wished I’d practiced this kind of thing. I hadn’t even been sure how to kiss her. There had been a moment, though, when she had returned the kiss … Perhaps I hadn’t been too clumsy and tonight would go fine.
She looked as stunned as I felt. Also uncharacteristically shaken at the prospect of facing her people so mussed. I hadn’t thought when I kissed her. Probably I should’ve explained my lack of experience, that I’m more brute than man.
But she knew that. The way she looked at me—the way you watch a half-wild beast, readying yourself for an attack—proved that she probably understood that better than I expected. With her hands clasped over the lower half of her face, her eyes looking larger than usual, pupils dilated so the black nearly overtook the gray, silver rims around the deep pools of shock, she seemed to be searching for equanimity.
If only we’d had a few more minutes to talk before her soldiers busted down the wall. My fault there, as I’d been drowning in kissing her.
“Your Highness!” Xichos stood in rigid surprise. Another Calanthean lord stood beside him, one who’d stood near Lia’s throne. Some sort of adviser then.
“Your Highness,” the lord echoed, looking from her to me in disbelief. “You are … married to this … man?”
Grimly I wondered to myself what other word he’d been about to use. At least Lia and Ambrose had been correct in predicting that the Calantheans would be able to see it. Something had happened, for sure. Even as dulled to magic as Ambrose accused me of being, I’d felt the power of it. Something wrenching and changing inside the burnt places, green vines erupting through baked soil.
Lia dropped her hands, dusting them together and shooting me an opaque glance. Whatever magical connection we might have, that apparently didn’t give me insight into her canny mind. I had no idea what she was thinking. She showed them the smeared blood on her palm, though to my mind her smudged, obviously kissed mouth, her face showing the scrape of my beard, made an even more undeniable declaration.
“Yes, Lord Dearsley, I am,” she replied with amazing poise, given how much I’d just torn it to shreds. I restrained the smile that wanted to worm its way through the dignified and sober mien I presented. Lia wouldn’t appreciate me gloating over how I’d melted that shield of cool calm. I kept the gloating tucked safely away, for just me to enjoy. Perhaps it boded well for the consummation.
It wasn’t easy because, for the first time since Ambrose had proposed the preposterous plan, I entertained a feeling of … hope? At least a relief from dread. And loneliness. No matter what happened now, Lia and I had tied our fates together. For the first time, too, I felt a twinge of remorse that our intertwined paths would likely lead to our mutual doom.
I was a selfish man because I couldn’t help but feel gladness to have some company on the road to destruction. Of course, recognizing that I’m the lowest of humans was hardly a startling or new discovery.
“We need to make a public declaration of the marriage,” Lia informed them. “Including a celebration to take place within a few hours.”
“Your Highness—” Xichos hesitated, glancing at me. “I have men dead and injured. The emissary and Imperial Guards—”
“I know,” she cut in, making it clear she knew everything that transpired in her palace. “See to your injured. Summon Castor to clean up the blood—he knows what needs to be done. Dearsley, would you personally oversee that? I know I can count on you.”
“Absolutely, Your Highness.” The lord she called Dearsley bowed and left with impressive obedience. I could wish my own people obeyed with so little argument.
“Send my ladies to Me,” Lia instructed Xichos. “I need a change of clothes. Move the champagne celebration to the grand ballroom. My … husband will require rooms of his own, as will his retinue. My ladies have a great deal to see to, as do you, so why are you still standing in My private chambers staring and acting as if I haven’t given very clear commands?”
To his credit—or, more likely, credit to Lia’s firm control of her people—Xichos snapped into a salute and cleared out his guards. Lia followed him out of the room into the antechamber, surveying the gaping hole in the wall and resulting rubble with a
n annoyed frown. “I should have told him to get someone to fix this.”
“It’s not that important,” I commented. Wrong thing to say, as she spun to give me such a hard-eyed stare-down that I wondered if I’d imagined the woman who’d leaned against me and passionately returned my kisses.
“You know very little about My life and what’s important to Me, Conrí,” she said in cold, clear tones. “Keep that in mind.”
The urge to salute or bow to the queenly command seized me, and I ruthlessly suppressed it. This would be an interesting marriage, if nothing else.
Her bevvy of ladies swept into the room, halting their various exclamations of concern and turning to eye me with the calculation of predators. Remembering how they’d easily taken me down—or not how, exactly, but that they had—I held up empty palms. One of them saw the line of blood on my palm and gasped.
“Then it’s true,” she said, turning what I’d call an accusing stare at her queen. Lia didn’t seem to register it, but I made note of the woman, her familiarity, and the strange reaction.
“Yes, Tertulyn, I’ve married Conrí. Calla, I’m sorry to ask this, but the champagne toast needs to become a full ball to celebrate the wedding. I’m counting on your considerable skills to make it happen.”
The lady she’d named Calla briefly bit her lip in dismay, but curtsied. “How soon, Your Highness?”
Lia looked regretful. “Two hours?”
Calla looked pained. “Could I have three?”
“Done. Whatever you need, you have My authority. Take Zariah to help. The best of everything to celebrate our wedding.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Calla turned on quick feet to go, but Lia called her back.
“Make it…” Lia glanced at me. “Make it seem as if this had been a secret, but not a surprise. Act as if everything we’ve been saving for a grand occasion had been meant for this.”
Calla smiled, apparently amused and excited by the challenge. “I can do that.” And she hurried out.
The Orchid Throne Page 26
