Deileala looked at her, longer than before, and then said, “You are a woman. What are you? Why do you dress like a man?”
Ranhé slowly raised her eyes and gazed down at the Regentrix, who was impossibly shorter than her. Deileala was startled for the second time this day to see eyes of strange intensity meeting her own.
“It is very perceptive of Your Grace,” said the tall masculine woman with the intense eyes. “But I remain a woman to your knowledge only. In truth, I am a man-servant before the Lord Vaeste, here to do his bidding, and to be his shield.”
Deileala turned to Elasand. “Are you in danger from someone, Elasand-re?” she whispered. “I had no idea. Is that the reason for such an unusual bodyguard?”
It was no use pretending with the Regentrix.
“Unfortunately, there is such a need,” admitted Elasand grudgingly. “There have been—attempts upon my person.”
“How terrible, Elasand-re! Would you like me to grant you extra bodyguards out of my own elite?”
Elasand smiled. “I thank you, but this one is quite adequate. She had protected my life twice already, and is always at my side. But, enough said! Truth is, I must be on my way to perform a number of important tasks, none of which can wait. Your Grace must therefore excuse me.”
He bowed to Deileala shortly, and headed with determination toward the corridor. Ranhé glanced back once only, bowing also before the Regentrix.
And in doing that, she caught Deileala in an odd expression.
They had arrived at the Beis Villa within the half-hour, and found the household in an uproar. Apparently, a number of Wedding “gifts” from the Grelias had preceded them. Dame Molhveth Beis found her residence inundated with inexplicable luxurious objects and people, none of which could offer her a better explanation than the fact that they had been sent here by Their Graces the Regents, and were to assist with the preparations for the Wedding tomorrow.
Dame Beis stood in the middle of her Guest hall, holding her head, when Elasand finally entered the room. Upon seeing him, the older woman wailed in relief.
“Elas, my boy! What’s all this, what is going on? Why are all these people here, claiming the Regents sent them? What are they talking about? Why do they speak of my daughter’s Wedding as though it is to take place tomorrow?”
“Because it is,” said Elasand, taking his aunt’s hand. And then in a calm voice he proceeded to explain all that happened, meanwhile seeing a dozen expressions pass over the dame’s face—shock, trepidation, and even an excitement of sorts.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed finally, nearly tripping over a bolt of fine silk. “It is such a strange honor, indeed! But how wonderful of the Regentrix to offer all of this to Lixa—and why? What have the Beis done to deserve this?”
Elasand said nothing to that, not wanting to point out that this was not exactly a royal favor, rather they were presenting the Grelias with a political advantage.
At that point, Lixa came downstairs, trailed by half a dozen seamstresses. Her eyes were ambivalent. “Is it really true, cousin?” she said softly. “I am to be wed tomorrow?”
“Ah damn!” exclaimed Elas then, not seeing the intensity of his cousin’s expression. “I must hurry and speak to Daqua, for he doesn’t know any of this either!”
At which, Dame Beis once more went into a great panic, beginning to run about, while Lixa remained like a statue at the foot of the stairs.
Ranhé followed Elas out the door, leaving this madhouse behind on their way to the Daqua estate, and blinking at the gray brightness of the day outside.
The rest of the day promised to be devoted exclusively to frenzy, but hardly the kind that anyone could truly desire.
CHAPTER 10
Soon, the first breath of dawn would settle like vapor over the City of Dreams. But for the moment, all was darkness.
In the Sacred Quarter of the City, gray torchlight filled the predawn hours with a thousand silver eyes, as the Ten aristocratic Families came to witness a Wedding in the Temple of Eroh.
At the same time, discreet crowds were forming outside the Temple, for others came to witness a brawl.
“Come, wager!” insolent voices periodically called from the outside. “Place your wager on the Ten and see which Family will draw first blood!”
The streets of the Quarter were alive with such cries. Urchins went running with wager baskets rapidly filling with coin as more onlookers gathered to place their bets. For never had there been a public coming together of all the Noble Ten which did not end with tragedy.
Eroh was a gentle deity, the goddess of Love and Intimate Eyes, and her Temple was smaller and less imposing than any other in the pantheon. The walls of the Temple were formed of precisely cut sections of veined marble, polished to shine like ebony mirrors. They reflected the gray torchlight and the fiery jewels of the nobility rather than the slender pale statue of the goddess—twice life-size—that shyly graced, in a niche, the northern wall.
The eyes of Eroh were rare twin opals, shaped exquisitely to mimic a woman’s soft expression during the act of love. Eroh’s face was pale marble, except for the eyelids, brows and lips, which were burning monochrome gold, and her headdress of twisted gold braid. Underneath the stone folds of clothing, Eroh’s body was voluptuous, with lightly outstretched hands. The stone drapery was arranged so that her protruding breasts and navel were left nude. The breasts were fertile, perfect hemispheres and their pointed tips were also polished metal. In her navel rested a blossom with a dark oblique jewel set in its core. The jewel appeared to consume light only, and reflected back nothing, like a stone womb.
The Regent Grelias had ordered his whole Court to witness the ceremony of joining between Beis and Daqua.
All of Dirvan was here, each man or woman holding a small candle or a torch, and in the center, on the first stair of three before the statue of the goddess was a lit tripod. Before the tripod, on the second stair, with his back to the crowd, stood the priest, Preinad Olvan. His head was raised to the goddess, and he remained as yet silent.
On the third, lowest stair, at the left hand of the goddess, shimmered a pale heavily veiled shape of a woman, and at her right hand, a dark form of a man.
And before the Bride and Groom, in a semicircle, stood their Families.
The Grelias brother and sister sat along the west wall in the two regal Chairs. Next to Deileala, in a lesser seat, was a young pale boy, the Grelias Heir. And alongside the Regent himself sat a tall giant, strange and dark as night.
The gates of the Temple stood open to accommodate the unusual crowd. They were also open to the darkness of the sky outside, for its hue was to determine the moment of dawn. Since there were no windows in the Temple, two priests were positioned at the gates and told to watch the sky for the first glimmer of light.
The Wedding Ceremony was to commence precisely at dawn. According to tradition, it was to be held at no other time, for that was the instant when the soul of the world opened to receive the first essence of truth that each new day brought. This moment of profound blessing would extend to the Bride and Groom.
Hestiam Grelias was in an ill mood. He was light-headed from a sleepless night, for rarely did circumstances force him to rise before dawn. And it did not help that he could hear the blood wagers being placed just outside the Temple. At his left hand, his sister was bejeweled and freshly glamorous even at this unholy hour. At his right hand—well, he would rather not look there. There was no need, for he could feel, like a damp fog, the dark presence of Vorn.
Everyone waited. Familiar faces glimmered in the crowd, and last-second newcomers crowded to the back of the Temple. Women were frequently veiled against the night breeze and to honor and mimic the Bride. Only, unlike the opaque countenance of the Bride, their fine transparent gauze revealed faces with painted lips and outlined eyes.
The two Families that stood before the Couple included Dame Molhveth Beis and Elasand Vaeste. Lord Vaeste stood in a prominent place in relation to
the Bride, and Ranhé like a shadow, flanked him.
Ranhé watched relentlessly, as it was her duty. Nothing outside the ordinary in a crowd like this. Nothing that would seemingly pose a threat to the man that stood before her, straight-backed and clad in expensive velvet. Against the west wall, she observed the eyes of the Regentrix fixed unwaveringly upon him—the eyes of a she-hawk. And occasionally Ranhé felt someone else’s eyes upon herself, which was inevitable in such a crowd. Nevertheless, the sense of being watched innately bothered her.
At last, the long-awaited voices of the priests resounded from the entrance, and the crowd echoed it in waves, a turbulent vocal sea.
“First light! It is dawn!”
And in that instant, Preinad Olvan lifted his hands in supplication to the pale statue, crying in a rich baritone:
“Eroh! With the first light, witness this gathering! Gaze with your Intimate Eyes upon the Bride of the House Beis that comes before the Groom of the House Daqua, with nothing but herself to offer. Gaze upon the Bride!”
In that instant, a young dark-haired woman took her cue and stepped away from the semicircle of Family to begin the unveiling of the Bride. She was the Maiden of the Heart, Yllva Caexis, whom Ranhé did not recognize. As the maiden walked the ritual paces around her friend Lixa, pulling gently at the exorbitant glittering veil, gathering the material to her breast, it struck Ranhé how lifeless her face was within all its ritual solemnity.
The Groom stood a pace apart, his head lowered in respect, until he too would be called as a part of the ritual.
When the Bride was fully unveiled, Ranhé was somewhat startled by the glamorous new appearance of Lixa Beis, nearly rivaling that of the Regentrix herself. But it was no surprise, for Deileala’s own hairdressers and serving women had outfitted the Bride. Lixa’s dark hair was piled in a marvelous woven crown above her forehead. Her great serpent eyes were outlined in metallic darkness, while her lips shimmered with depth and her cheeks concealed lean painted shadows in their hollows. Her face, like the moon, was frozen in a mask of remote perfection, glowing in the torchlight like the luminary itself, and her gaze was vacant. Not once did she move or look at the Groom.
“The Bride stands before you, Eroh!” pronounced the priest exultantly, his back still turned. “And now, gaze with your Intimate Eyes upon the Groom!”
At which, the Groom, Harlian Daqua, started as though coming out of a trance, and lifted his face to meet the embryonic daylight and with it the supposed invisible look of the goddess. Ranhé thought he shook slightly, which was not too unusual during such a ceremony.
And then Preinad Olvan turned his back to the goddess, and reached out to take the hands of the Bride and the Groom in his own. Ranhé saw the exalted face of the young priest as he held the two pairs of hands, and invoked upon them the final blessing.
“May you be united before Eroh the goddess, and may Her Intimate Eyes smile upon you and open within you the twin sources from which will spring your Love!”
Somewhere in the crowd, Ranhé heard a distinct snort. And then a rich androgynous alto voice arose in an insolent stage whisper, “How would he know of Love? He is but a fledgling youth himself, sworn to celibacy!”
Many heads turned then, and even the Families involved in the ritual were noticeably affected, though none deigned to acknowledge the distraction. The insolent statement had issued out of the lips of a beautiful exotic being standing within a group of Lirr nobility, next to the Chancellor himself, and only a few paces away from the Regents.
It was none other than Carliserall Lirr, the one called the Phoenix. The one that was neither man nor woman, but something else.
Carliserall Lirr was, on this occasion, a woman. Carliserall wore a fine silk gown draped in a low décolleté over two perfect albeit small breasts. The gown came down over slender hips—maybe boyish, maybe not—and long exquisite legs that practically shone with each slightest move through the translucent fabric.
“The Phoenix grows more insolent, don’t you think?” said Deileala in an equal stage whisper, turning her sensuous profile first to Hestiam, and then to the young boy at her left side.
The boy, in turn, drew his pallid gaze to meet hers, and Deileala had to lean close to him to hear the faint reply.
Hestiam glanced once at them, at the carved profile of his sister, and this child Lissean, the living shade, who, though a distant cousin, was the only feasible Heir to the Regency. And he allowed thoughts to pass like cautious shivers through him, thoughts of one possible future with this child actually surviving to become Regent. The other future, dark and soulless, sat at Hestiam’s right hand. Again, he did not turn to look.
“Bridegroom!” meanwhile said the priest. “Name yourself!”
“Harlian Daqua,” came a man’s voice after a second of hesitation. His hands were placed in the priest’s right hand, and had not yet touched the Bride.
“Bride!” said the priest. “Name yourself!”
“Lixa Beis,” responded a woman’s voice, firm but like winter ice. Her fingers also were ice within the priest’s left hand.
“I join you now in the name of Eroh, and none may again pull you asunder.”
Somewhere in the crowd, the Phoenix laughed.
Icy woman’s fingers were placed, palm up, against a cold man’s palm, warmed from the outside by the priest’s slender hands.
Outside, the black sky took on a barely present smoke hue.
Silver firelight stirred in the thousand candles, as all Dirvan drew breath and waited in silence for the ending of the ceremony. Somewhere in the crowd, a lame handsome man, Baelinte Khirmoel, leaned against an ornate cane and watched the members of Daqua gathered in a semicircle near the Groom. In particular he studied the stiff back of a hateful woman whose hair was soft as flax. She, Tegra Daqua, stood seemingly oblivious a few steps away in the semicircle of Family, right in back of the Groom.
Then the poet deliberately cleared his throat and recited, “Nothing quacks quite like a Daqua.”
There was utter silence.
And then came snickers, followed by rolling laughter as the crowd reacted.
The Groom froze, and the members of his Family threw angry glances behind them. Only Tegra Daqua did not react with her body. Instead in the returning silence she said in an equally audible voice, “Must be a Khirmoel breaking wind.”
Even more laughter sounded in the crowd.
Leaning back in his royal Chair, Hestiam shook his head, held the bridge of his nose, and rubbed fingers against his temples. “Enough!” he said. “No more comments until the ceremony ends. Then you can all go outside and kill each other.”
Baelinte cleared his throat again, and was about to speak, but a dark woman who stood next to him, his niece Erin, squeezed his hand with her own and stared at him pleadingly.
“Oh, all right,” whispered Baelinte in a petulant tone, leaning close to her ear. “But only for your sake, my dear.”
Erin smiled gently at him. Soon her gaze became distant, and it searched the quickly lightening sky.
The crowd once again focused their attention on the priest and the Bride and Groom. In the front row but not quite in the row of Family stood a petite rounded woman with innocent eyes. She watched the priest in particular and was very aware that not once did Preinad Olvan turn his gaze in her direction, although he openly looked at all. The winking eye of the young woman’s personal candle swept with gray brightness over her angelic face. And yet, she was like a blank spot in the fabric of the crowd, a darkness over which he passed, because she was the one thing he feared. And Cyanolis Vaeste, second cousin of Elasand, continued to watch the hands of the priest and his intently averted eyes.
In contrast, a few steps away, Dame Reanne Olvan, bejeweled and once striking, looked with unmistakable pride upon her nephew who performed the ceremony. At her side stood a heavily veiled maiden with a downcast head, watching no one and nothing, only the trembling candle in her fingers. Imogenn’s shy pose suggest
ed pathos, and dark veils maintained the obscurity of her face, so that none could decipher whether monstrosity or beauty was within.
“Blood wagers! Place your bets on Daqua and Khirmoel or your favorite while there’s still time!” cried insolent voices from outside the Temple.
In the front row, flanked by her brother, Lord Neran Caexis, stood the Maiden of the Heart. She was at the very center of the semicircle of Family and facing the priest directly. With her two hands clutching the heavy bundle of precious veils at her solar plexus, Yllva fixed with her gaze none other than the statue of Eroh the goddess herself.
Stone gazed upon silent stone. Yllva stared past the head of the priest, her gaze upswept, and her eyes glassy, blind. She could almost hear their two icy breaths, could almost hear the slowed pounding of their hearts—the Bride on her right, and the Groom on her left, the two poles that drew her, will always draw her—and synchronized her pulse-beat with theirs.
“Swear before the goddess!” came the voice of the priest.
“I swear,” spoke Harlian and Lixa, their voices simultaneous, each an echo of the other.
And it seemed to Ranhé that both of them trembled, and so did the young woman who stood with her back to the crowd, facing the goddess and clutching the Bride’s veils.
“Then may you be one!” resounded the priest.
And the instant exploded with a blinding miracle.
Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. . . .
Like suns, like blossoms of light, came the orbs, lit in the instant when the priest’s words ended. And the world was transformed.
Along the walls of the Temple, priests stood, holding the lit orbs—each one mounted on a foot-long metal holder, each one throwing an incandescent aura, in negative, about the face of the bearer. And then, on cue, they began to converge upon the center, coming toward the wedded Couple. As they moved, the orbs before them floated like disembodied luminaries, otherworldly. Their light brushed all in their nearest vicinity with an odd sculptured essence that was somehow radiant and grotesque.
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