“He is a king before he is a father, Your Imperial Majesty,” Adrienna replied, curtseying.
It was the courteous way of explaining her father’s disregard for her wedding. Adrienna was not so deluded that she did not know why her father was so conspicuously absent from this occasion. Not a minute of his life could be wasted in any other pursuit but Arkavik. He had coveted the snowy shores and sapphire-strewn mountains of that northern country for too long. Adrienna’s marriage was little more than a campaign of recruitment: for the payment of his daughter in marriage, the king of Veritier would expect Karscha’s armies to stand at his side.
Was it not exactly what Adrienna herself had done, after all? Given herself up for a fleet? Perhaps she was more like her father than she thought.
“Yes, your father is zealous in his duties as king. I can respect a man willing to make sacrifices for his crown and his land.”
And his coffers and his conquests. Adrienna bit back the words, hiding them behind her smile.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. No doubt your great achievements inspire him.”
Before the emperor could reply, a melody of strings and song began amongst the carved pillars of the chapel. The music grew and swayed and soared, echoing through the vaulting roof, filling the chapel.
“Come, my daughter. It is time,” said the emperor.
He offered Adrienna his arm, and in that moment an immense gratitude filled her. She had not wished to be wed alone, to walk to Sergevni with the spectre of her father’s absence at her side.
She held on tight to the emperor as he led her past the fluted columns and up through the aisles. They passed through the rainbow lights of the stained-glass shadows and through the heat haze of the courtier’s stares.
Taking a deep breath and holding it inside her chest like a bird inside a cage, Adrienna gazed up. A group of monks stood by the altars and candelabras, and in front of them was Sergevni. He wore white and gold, and a crimson rose was at his chest. His honeyed curls had been swept back from his face, and his eyes fixed her like twin rays of sunlight, burning through her.
Standing amongst the chandeliers and the monks, he seemed more saint-like than he ever had before. He stood like a statue made from marble, his carved features frozen, his beauty ineffable.
His gaze caught Adrienna’s, and she did not have the power to look away. Something silent and ardent passed between them — shared memories of entwined bodies and gasps of pleasure, promises and confessions — something that was binding them even as they drew closer.
Then, Adrienna was ascending the steps of the raised dais upon which he stood with the monks. Her legs trembled as she did, and when she stood in front of him she rested a hand lightly over his chest to steady herself.
The monks recited chants and songs. The ceremony was long, punctuated with prayers and hymns, all melding into one another. Adrienna stood listening as though in a trance, trembling in the intensity of Sergevni’s concentrated gaze.
“Sant Azhatta, saintess of soldiers, of smithing, of arithmetic and astronomy and of Karscha. It is in your name we pray and spill blood, it is in your name we break bread and protect our land. Today, it is in your name we unite Karscha and Veritier. Bless the marriage between Prince Sergevni of Karscha and Princess Adrienna of Veritier.”
Monks stepped up to Adrienna and Sergevni, handing them each a ring. Adrienna took hers; it was a plain band of unadorned metal.
“Bind these two with sword iron, to keep them safe.”
Adrienna and Sergevni slipped the rings upon each other’s fingers.
“Bind them with gold, to keep them prosperous.”
Next, they were given rings with gold, the shining metal worked into swirling patterns and inlaid with tiny diamonds. Those rings, too, they placed upon each other’s fingers.
“And bind them with blood, the life-force of Karscha, the red river that binds us all.”
Adrienna let out a tiny gasp when a monk took her hand and sliced into her middle finger. She looked up and saw that Sergevni had endured the same wound. But his countenance was unmoved, and his eyes were serene as he lifted his finger, and with the gentleness of falling snow, lay it over her lips. The taste of his blood was rich and metallic.
“By my blood, I bind you to me.” Sergevni spoke low, his voice suffused with such a fire of sincerity that Adrienna’s skin erupted into goosebumps. “By my blood, I swear to protect you, to serve you, to worship you. By my blood I claim you for my own, and only by my blood will you ever be taken from me.”[9][10]
Once he stopped speaking, Adrienna stood for a moment frozen in the shock of his vow. These were not the empty, mindless words of a hollow ceremony. These were the vows of a soldier: unshakable, unbreakable, absolute.
Reaching up towards him, she mirrored his gesture and touched her finger to his own mouth, smearing there a crimson droplet of blood.
“By my blood, Sergevni of Karscha, I give you all of me.”
Her voice broke, but before she could carry on, Sergevni surged forth and caught her in his arms, stealing a kiss of staggering passion from her. Their lips fought and yielded, their tongues mingling, sharing the taste of blood and promises.
“In the eyes of Sant Azhatta, from this day until the last of days, these two souls are joined, and shall never be parted,” pronounced a stony-faced monk.
Sergevni pulled away, breaking their kiss, and Adrienna almost fell forward. She looked up; he was breathing hard, and the normally severe line of his lips was moist and tender. He watched her with the eyes of a drunken man and she could not help but smile up at him.
They were no longer either allies or lovers. They were husband and wife.
A whirling crowd of bejewelled courtiers pulled Adrienna away from Sergevni. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Everywhere, noblemen and their wives greeted the royal couple, offering good wishes and gifts, offering allegiance and servants and services. Children asked for blessings from the future rulers of Karscha, and ambassadors from distant lands made clear their intentions to pursue alliances.
As the afternoon faded into dusk, the wedding party retired from the chapel and through Sevalensk to one of the great halls. There, an opulent feast awaited: roasted pheasants and wild boar, grilled salmon and pike, golden apples and black grapes, fragrant loaves of dark bread and tarts where jellied fruit gleamed like jewels. Silver pitchers of blackberry wine and decanters of vodka crowded the tables.
At the top of the great hall, near the enormous fireplace, was a large table overlooking the room. In the middle of it was the emperor’s seat, an ornate throne covered with cushions and furs and richly carved with depictions of dragons, saints and trees. At its sides were two smaller thrones. There, Sergevni and Adrienna sat side by side.
After each guest had taken their places and stood at the tables, the emperor pronounced a long and self-indulgent toast. As he did so, Sergevni leaned over and whispered against Adrienna’s cheek.
“Your wedding gift is ready, Adrienna.”
Adrienna’s heart faltered and twisted and she grabbed his arm.
“My fleet?”
“It is ready whenever you should need it, my wife.”
She opened her mouth to thank him, but her words were drowned out by cheers and raucous applause. The guests raised their goblets towards the royal table, and Adrienna hastened to do the same, raising her own goblet to Sergevni with a quavering smile. They drank, eyes locked.
As they ate, bards recounted tragic ballads of heroes and maidens, and jesters performed tricks with swords and fire. Soon, the roar of wine-loosed voices and laughter filled the hall, and the guests were led towards the adjacent ballroom. There was more music and dancing, and Adrienna danced with Sergevni, with the emperor, and with all the most important ambassadors.
She was flushed and smiling from a dance with a drunken duke when an arm circled her waist and led her back into the whirling pairs of dancers. She looked up and her eyes widened. She recognised the
dark eyes and dark hair immediately, and if she hadn’t, the unadorned silver armour of her country would have given him away.
“Sir Byram! What are you doing here? Did my father send you?”
Byram was one of her father’s knights, a steadfast member of his Kingsguard. He was one of her father’s most trusted warriors and was often entrusted with missions away from Veritier. Adrienna always had the suspicion that Byram was a spy for her father — but she could never confirm it, for Byram was discreet, taciturn, and staunchly unfriendly.
“Princess Adrienna — Queen Adrienna,” he corrected himself. “It is important we talk. I bring you news of Aster.”
Adrienna froze. The dancing bodies and luminous music faded to swirling darkness around her. She was suspended in air, made of ice, every part of her brittle enough to shatter with a breath.
“Aster? Sir Byram, how is that possible? Did she return to Hawksmoor?”
“We must speak, my queen. I have much to tell you.”
Grabbing his arm, Adrienna dragged Byram from the dancefloor. She did not care where she was going; she needed to get away from this music, this noise, these prying ears. Pulling Byram behind her, she stumbled through the great doors and past the hall where courtiers still feasted. She was aware of voices calling — she ignored them all.
She strode through the palace until she found a narrow corridor away from the lights and noise of the celebrations. Whipping around, she faced Byram. She was trembling and she forced herself to steel her voice before she spoke.
“Where is she? What has happened?”
Byram was not a man to mince and spout poetry, and for the first time she found herself grateful for the knight’s withering directness.
“Svagnar, the jarl of Arkavik, took her and brought her back to Fjersfell, his castle. As I am sure you know, she took your place, and Svagnar intends to marry her, still believing her to be you.”
“Marry her? The jarl of Arkavik? My father has been waging war on Arkavik for years. Why would he—”
“He believes that by making you his bride, he would force King Owayn to end his campaigns on Arkavik.”
“But he will never marry me — he has Aster, and I just married Sergevni. He’ll find out — he’ll kill her! The barbarian king will kill Aster if he finds out, Byram!” Adrienna could no longer contain the emotions that burst forth from her, and bitter tears flowed hotly down her cheeks. “Sir Byram, you must help me.”
“I am trying to. You must listen to me and listen carefully.”
She nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks with her sleeve.
“Jarl Svagnar took Aster believing her to be you. But he never intended to hurt you, and I do not believe he intends to hurt her.” He hesitated. “I don’t think Svagnar has any desire to hurt Aster, no matter who she truly is. I think… I think perhaps Svagnar likes Aster rather more than he thinks he does. And Aster… I spoke to her. She did it all for you, Queen Adrienna, but I believe she wants the end of the war as sorely as jarl Svagnar does.”
“You spoke to her?” Adrienna’s eyes were wide, tears blurring her vision. “How?”
“I was invited to Svagnar’s court. I…” Byram paused, took a deep breath and continued. “Queen Adrienna, I will admit the truth, for only the truth matters now. I told the jarl of your father’s plans.”
Adrienna froze.
“I knew your father intended to use Karscha’s forces to take Arkavik for himself. Queen Adrienna — I never intended to betray you, nor to cause you or any of your Princessguard harm. But I could no longer merely stand by and watch King Owayn torment a country that was not his and kill countless innocents, both Arkaviki and Veritian, for the sake of conquest. So I told Jarl Svagnar of his plans to send you to Karscha. It is by my fault that Aster was taken — it is the reason I am here.”
He paused and opened his mouth to continue, but before he could utter another word, Adrienna lunged forward.
“How dare you!” she screamed raggedly, raising her hand to strike him. “You’ve killed her — she was taken from me by your fault! How dare you!”
Her screams were more sobs than words, and she rained blows upon him that bruised her more than him. He stood still, his face drawn as she lashed out, striking his face over and over.
Then a hand caught her wrist and pulled her away from the knight. Looking up wildly, she glimpsed golden eyes and a granite face. Sergevni was there, and Adrienna fell against him, her face buried against his chest. She wept bitterly, the loud, wailing cries of a hurt child tearing free from her.
Sergevni let her cry, his hand cradling her head. When her sobs subsided, he pulled her gently away, holding her head, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Adrienna — what is it? Who is this?”
“He is a murderer!” She turned back to Byram, pointing violently at him. “There is blood on your hands, Sir Byram! If any harm comes to Aster then you will pay for it with your life, I swear it by the saints!”
Byram stood rigidly, his eyebrows drawn. His frown and stern demeanour in that moment reminded Adrienna so keenly of Aster it rendered her speechless.
“Princess Adrienna,” said Byram. “No harm will come to Aster, not from Svagnar. I promise you this. Svagnar would sooner turn his blade upon himself than upon Aster. But your father is preparing a final assault upon Arkavik, and if Arkavik falls, Aster will fall with it.”
“I have a fleet! We will rescue her, we’ll bring her back, keep her safe.”
Byram hesitated then said, “Aster wants to save Arkavik. You might not understand it now, but I believe you will understand much when you see her. She desperately needs your help — she was the one who sent me to you, to bring you back, to stop King Owayn.”
“How can I stop my father? I have a fleet — I can reach Arkavik but I could never stop him, even to save my Aster. Byram, you know the truth of it. My father has coveted Arkavik for too long. None can stop him.”
Adrienna paused, leaning her forehead against Sergevni’s arm, hoping to draw some of his strength from him. He stood still and silent, listening intently. When he finally spoke, his melodious voice was calm and earnest.
“You are mistaken, Adrienna.”
She looked up, frowning.
“You have more than a fleet,” he continued with a shadow of a smile lurking upon his lips, “and you are more than capable of stopping him.”
He lifted Adrienna’s chin gently, holding it in his palm, his fingers cupping her cheeks.
“You love this woman. You want to save her. You are no longer powerless to do so. You have a fleet — my wedding gift to you. But do not forget that you are my wife now, and I command Karscha’s armies. If you want to stop your father, you have Karscha’s entire power at your command, to wield as you will.”
Adrienna watched Sergevni and felt tears well in her eyes. Her heart felt as though it was suddenly too full, that it might explode. She wanted to tell him she loved him; she wanted to tell him how wrong she had been about him. For he was not soulless and cold. He was fiercely loyal and beautifully steadfast, the only person besides Aster who had ever made her feel utterly safe and adored.
“Queen Adrienna, forgive me for interrupting your wedding,” Byram said earnestly. “But this is of the utmost urgency. I have travelled days to reach you in time, and Aster awaits us. King Owayn is already on his way to Arkavik. If he arrives before us, he will strike quick and strike hard.”
“Yes — yes, I will go with you. I will save Aster, I’ll save Arkavik if she wills it. When must we leave?”
Byram glanced up at Sergevni, and bowed at him, his face rueful and apologetic.
“Your Highness, I’m sorry. This is your wedding night, but I cannot wait before leaving. The life of too many innocent men and women hangs in the balance.”
Sergevni nodded.
“I understand. I will send for our best horses and an escort of my best soldiers, they will be ready soon. For now, Sir Byram, please eat, drink, and rest before your j
ourney. You must be tired. Adrienna… you should prepare yourself to leave.”
Adrienna took his hand and squeezed it hard, unable to express everything she felt. She hurried away as Sergevni led Byram back to the feast. Back in her bedroom, she called for her maids to help her out of her wedding gown. The girls seemed confused but obeyed without protest. They helped her into a riding habit, boots, and a fur-lined coat. She was picking out the flowers and jewels from her hair when she saw the door open in the mirror’s reflection.
She turned around. Sergevni stood in the doorway, still wearing white and gold. With a curt nod, he dismissed the servants who scuttled out of the room, closing the door behind them. He approached Adrienna with long, effortless strides, joining her by the mirror. Gently, he picked the rest of the flowers from her hair.
“I cannot go with you, Adrienna,” he spoke gently. “My father will soon announce his abdication, and I have my armies and my country to lead in your absence.”
He paused, swallowing hard. His face was expressionless and yet his hazel-gold eyes were alive with an unspoken storm of emotions.
“If I could, I would keep you encrusted into my heart like a jewel in a sword,” he said hoarsely. “If I could, I would keep you safe forever. But Sir Byram seems to me to be a good man, and I send with you my best soldiers.”
Taking her face between his palms, he forced her to tilt her head up. His gaze searched hers, his eyes burning darkly.
“Ever since I met you, you have sought to save your captain. Now you have your fleet, you have power, and she has sent someone to take you to her. I don’t think I understood your loyalty before — I think I understand it a little better now.”
Adrienna’s vision grew hazy, Sergevni’s face blurred by tears.
“She means everything to me,” she said, her voice quavering.
“Yes. I know. She must be a great and honourable woman, to be worthy of your love.”
He kissed her forehead, his lips light and lingering upon her skin.
“You are worthy of my love too, Sergevni,” she whispered finally.
Rubies and Roses Page 12
