Two candlemarks later, the door opened again. "Is it time to go?" he asked, and then froze when he saw Tris Drayke in the doorway, looking as if he had just come from high court.
Carroway fell to one knee, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty," he said, feeling his heart thud in his throat. He dared to look up. Tris was watching him with an unreadable expression. In the months since his friend had left Shekerishet for battle, it seemed as if he had aged years. It wasn't the beard, or the half- healed battle scars. Something in Tris's green eyes spoke of pain and loss that could never be mended.
"Kiara never betrayed you. Neither did I. But I will accept whatever you decree to protect the crown."
Tris took a step toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Crevan's spirit made a full confession in front of the entire court. Mikhail is free. You're completely exonerated." He reached out his hand to help Carroway to his feet. "Thank you. For everything." Slowly, Carroway stood. "But the guard told me to pack my things. I thought-" "When the ghosts met me on the road, they not only told me about Crevan, they told me about what happened at the lodge, and to your hand." He looked down at Carroway's crabbed hand and winced. "If anyone can fix it, Carina can. Go to Dark Haven. Let her heal you." Tris managed an exhausted smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked Macaria to go with you. Stay a few months. By the time you return, the court will have something else to gossip about. Even better: come back married." "Come back?"
"Whatever happens with your hand, you're still Margolan's Master Bard, for life. And my friend."
"What about the Council of Nobles?"
Tris shrugged and eased into a chair. He looked exhausted, and Carroway wondered if Tris was moving on willpower alone. "Dame Nuray and Count Suphie will never return to court. As for Lord Guarov, Crevan implicated him beyond doubt in the conspiracy. Guarov and any of his retainers who had a hand in this will hang."
Carroway sat down beside him. For a moment, they were silent. "What of the siege?"
Tris drew a deep breath. "Technically, we won."
"Technically?"
"Casualties were high, both from the fighting and an outbreak of plague. Tarq betrayed us. Curane's magic backfired on him, and ended up destroying Lochlanimar and everyone in it." "There have been worse ends to a siege, if you believe the legends."
"Funny how the legends never really talk about burying the dead." "Do you think Curane's bunch were the last of the loyalists?"
Tris gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. "I wish I could, but Crevan proves that wrong. Curane managed to send his granddaughter and Jared's son into Trevath before we ever besieged Lochlanimar. That problem isn't going to go away." He ran a hand through the blond hair that had escaped his queue. "It's going to be impossible to bring the army home without the plague spreading. We know some of the volunteers have already slipped off, and a couple of the nearby villages have been wiped out. Goddess true! As if Margolan hasn't had its share of sorrows."
He looked at Carroway. "Dark Haven may be safer than Margolan, if the plague takes hold. Neither the vayash moru nor the vyrkin can catch fever." He managed a wan smile. "Maybe your ballads and Royster's chronicles will outlive all of us." "There have been plagues before. Margolan endured."
"I thought we would have enough problems keeping the peace until the spring planting was done, with food scarce this year. There are still villages where no one's ever returned after Jared's men drove them off. How much can Margolan take before Trevath or Nargi make a move?"
"You know, you're the gloomiest war hero I've ever met."
"Except for Jonmarc and Ban, I'm the only war hero you've ever met."
"As I said." The old banter returned naturally, and Carroway felt a wave of relief.
Tris stood. "You're officially a free man, so you don't have to stay here in the tower. The weather mages say tomorrow will be clear. I'll have a carriage ready for you and Macaria after seventh bells, with a purse to provide for food and lodging from here to Dark Haven.
No more sleeping in crypts and cellars."
Carroway chuckled. "You don't know how glad I am to hear that." He sobered, and met Tris's gaze. "Thank you for believing me."
Tris nodded. "Give Jonmarc and Carina my best. Try to forget what happened. After all, bards write history as they choose. In the end, you make or unmake the kings and mages with your stories. Why not write this with an end that pleases you?" He clasped Carroway's arm and drew him into an embrace. "Ride safely, my friend. May the Lady's hand be upon you."
Chapter Thirty-seven
"You're sure about this?" Carina gave Jonmarc a sideways glance. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
Carina gave his hand a squeeze. Lisette stepped closer to place a circlet on Carina's head. It was woven from grapevines and ivy. "You look beautiful, m'lady," Lisette said encouragingly, handing Carina a thick candle which was already lit. Carina smiled and a blush crept to her cheeks as Jonmarc's gaze added his approval. In a moment, the double doors to the great room would open, and they would walk together to where Sister Taru waited to complete their ritual wedding vows. And while there was nothing Jonmarc wanted more, even that certainty wasn't enough to completely dispel the nervous tightness in his stomach over his own imminent wedding. As was the custom in Dark Haven, Carina's dress was a deep burgundy, the color of the wine for which the region was noted, and the blood that sustained its best known residents. The dress had a high waist that flared just below the bustline, and was sleeveless on one side. Her left arm was bare, and an intricate, stylized grapevine ink pattern wove from the puncture wounds of Malesh's bite on her left shoulder to a drawing of an oak leaf in the palm of her hand, the symbols of life and ancient power. The shevir Jonmarc had given her as a betrothal token glittered at her wrist.
By custom, Jonmarc wore neither a shirt nor a sword. The scars that told the story of his life were plainly visible, as was the mark of the Lady branded above his heart and the two small punctures on his shoulder. A broad red satin sash belted his waist over black pants and boots. There were two reasons why ritual weddings were so rarely performed in Principality. The first was that few people felt confident enough of their choice to make a declaration that joined their souls as well as their lives. And the second was that tradition called for the man to prove both his bravery and his dedication by completing the ceremony without weapons. Jonmarc was not completely unprotected. To his right, Gabriel stood shevirse, a combination of groomsman and bodyguard. He carried Jonmarc's sword as well as a sword of his own, although they both knew that Gabriel himself was the deadliest weapon.
Jonmarc and Carina had already made their offerings to the Lady at sunset in Dark Haven's chapel. Now all that remained was the ceremony. Like most things in Dark Haven, the ritual differed here from what they had seen in Margolan or elsewhere, following more ancient sacred ways.
"It's time." Gabriel said solemnly, and leaned forward to open the doors. A crowd awaited, and voices buzzed as the guests turned to watch them enter. Jonmarc took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He flashed an impudent grin at Carina before sobering and taking his place beside her as they walked to where Taru stood. Taru wore the brown robes that marked her as one of the Sisterhood mages. In her right hand, she held an oak staff, and she wore a stole of evergreen twigs plaited with strips of oak bark. Together, the icons of immortality and ancient magic were powerful symbols. At Taru's feet was a circle of braided cloth, and in its center, a mat of oak leaves. The mage had requested that Jonmarc and Carina each give her a garment they had recently worn to make the strips that became the braid, making the magic highly personal. Jonmarc had no magic of his own, but he felt a shiver go down his spine as he and Carina stepped into the circle and knelt facing each other.
Chanting in a language Jonmarc did not recognize, Taru struck her staff on the floor behind him, and then turned it in her hands to strike the floor behind Carina with the opposite end. Jonmarc felt a sudden wind sweep along the ground,
and by the way Carina's eyes widened, he suspected that her magic gave her the power to see something more dramatic. Turning the staff as she chanted, Taru marked four corners of the warding, one for each of the Light Aspects. When she had returned to her original position, she laid the staff aside and lifted an oaken chalice adorned with a band of silver that wound from the lip to the base. She filled the chalice with red wine, and lifted it to the four corners. "Blessed be the elements. Wine from the soil." She swirled the cup, and a flame flickered over the chalice. "Fire from the sun." Drops of water fell from her cupped palm into the chalice. "Waters of the oceans." The air over the cup stirred, descending into the wine to form a vortex. "Winds of the sky."
"Do you consent to be bound in life, in death and in the dark places between life and death,
joined in body and soul?"
Jonmarc's gaze locked with Carina's. "We do."
Taru took Jonmarc's left hand, turning it palm up. She withdrew a dagger with a moonstone hilt and an obsidian blade from her belt. In one smooth motion, she opened a thin cut to form half of the Lady's symbol on Jonmarc's palm, and flicked droplets of the blood into the chalice. She took Carina's hand and made a cut in the shape of the symbol's matching half, adding her blood to the chalice. Then she pressed their hands together so that their blood combined to form the Lady's mark, and took the mantle from around her neck, wrapping it four times around their wrists. "Drink."
Jonmarc had spent enough time around mages to recognize the tingle of strong magic. He felt it sear through the joined blood between their palms, even as he felt Carina's presence slip against his mind. She smiled at the secret they shared, that she was a few days pregnant with his child. Then he felt the familiar burn of her magic healing the cut Taru had made, and Carina laced her fingers between his.
"Rejoice," Taru said. "You are joined in the law of the kingdoms and in the presence of the Lady, in life and in death-and beyond." She removed the stole from their wrists, and when they released their clasped hands, the cuts had healed into thin, white scars. Behind them, the crowd began to clap and cheer as Jonmarc and Carina rose to their feet. Jonmarc took Carina in his arms and kissed her. The ritual bond heightened his awareness of her, and it felt as if her thoughts and emotions flitted just beyond his grasp. He could only imagine the strength of the bond for those who shared magic as well as love. "Congratulations." Gabriel handed Jonmarc his shirt as well as his swordbelt and weapons, which Jonmarc accepted with a sense of relief. "May the Lady in all Her Aspects bless you now and always."
The guests crowded around them to wish them well. Riqua and Rafe were present, as were Kolin and Tamaq. Vigulf, the vyrkin shaman, added his blessing. Laisren stood arm in arm with Lisette, looking none the worse for the injuries he had sustained in the battle against Malesh. Jonmarc felt the absence of Yestin and Eiria keenly, and although the days of mourning were completed, he knew it would take a long while for the feeling of loss to lessen. Near the wall, Raen swayed to the music with her eyes closed, singing silently. From the cold spots in the room and the inexplicable drafts of air, Jonmarc was certain Raen was not the only one of Dark Haven's ghosts that was present, although she alone was visible. The head of the wine guild and the other town dignitaries were present, along with the vayash moru and vyrkin who had fought alongside
Jonmarc and Gabriel. Even Jonmarc's old friends Maynard Linton and Jolie had managed to arrive in Dark Haven for the wedding. But as Jonmarc moved among his guests, more than once he heard the others whisper an unfamiliar word, and he turned finally to Gabriel. "Who are the 'mogorifi'?"
Gabriel looked at him. "You and Carina. It's an old word. It means 'the changed ones.' There are legends about a few who stand between the living and the undead, who are both and neither. In the legends, the mogorifi are guardians." He gave a pointed glance at the puncture scars on Jonmarc's neck. "You returned alive from making Istra's Bargain. Carina returned as a mortal from Malesh's attempt to turn her. Either one would be rare, to say the least. For the two of you together," he shrugged, "it's not unreasonable to view it as highly significant."
The implications of Gabriel's comments were more than Jonmarc wanted to think about. "Oh, and just so you know," Gabriel continued, "the only ones who aren't aware that Carina is expecting are the mortals. The vayash moru and vyrkin can sense a shift in the life force like that." He smiled. "Congratulations, to both of you."
Jonmarc slipped his arm around Carina's shoulders as musicians began a round of lively tunes and drew her out on the dance floor for the circle dances, enjoying her laughter as they wove through the complicated steps. As the dance concluded, a hush fell over the room. Jonmarc turned to see an unfamiliar vayash moru in the doorway. He tensed, unsure whether the newcomer was friend or foe.
"That's Alfarr," Gabriel said in a low voice just behind him. "He's the keeper of the torches in the Lady's chapel beneath the manor house. He's kept them lit for hundreds of years, but he rarely ventures out. This is highly unusual."
Had Alfarr been mortal, Jonmarc would have supposed him in his middle years, with dark black hair edged with gray at the temples. He moved with a dignified confidence, and something in his eyes hinted at a burden long carried. Alfarr stopped in front of Jonmarc and Carina and made a low bow.
"Peace and blessings to you both." His voice had an unusual accent, one Jonmarc could not place. Alfarr met Carina's eyes. "Now I can rest, because my vision has come true. Twin daughters will each bear a son. One will wear a crown, and the other will wield a sword, and together they will challenge the abyss." Carina's eyes widened. "Twins," she whispered.
Daughters. Jonmarc caught his breath and tightened his grip on Carina's hand.
Before he could collect his thoughts to reply, Alfarr was gone.
"What do you suppose that means?" Carina asked, looking toward the empty doorway.
"Visions are strange things," Gabriel said. "They can mean a great deal, or nothing at all.
Even if they come true, they can lead to an end that the seer never imagined." Jonmarc met
his eyes, and knew that Gabriel's insight came from visions of his own.
Gabriel clapped a hand on Jonmarc's shoulder. "Let the future take care of itself, for once.
There'll be time enough for visions. Today, we celebrate."
"That works for me. I'm a one-day-at-a-time kind of guy." Jonmarc pulled Carina into his arms and looked into her eyes. "Twin girls, huh? That'll take some getting used to." She chuckled. "It's too late for second thoughts."
He kissed the thin pink scar on her palm. "Second thoughts? Never. But even if they're healers like you, expect me to teach them to use a sword." "We'll see about that."
Jonmarc leaned down to kiss her. As he met her lips and drank in the scent of her hair, he realized that for the first time in half his life, the future was no longer a dark unknown. He heard the crowd around them clinking goblets and cheering for their kiss as Carina leaned against him and returned his kiss with fervor. Visions be damned.
The Lord of Dark Haven had come home.
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