“While my gentleman friend was admiring the artwork, I was trying to figure out who that person over there hiding in the rocks is.” Masonwood pointed toward the grounds out front and past the corner of the temple.
Sardelle turned, her stomach clenching as she imagined some Cofah or Dakrovian spy here to report back on the wedding. Or worse, plant an explosive or some other sabotage.
She glimpsed a woman with dark hair, but the individual crouched out of sight behind a boulder before Sardelle could identify her or guess which nation she came from.
She’s not Cofah, Jaxi said. Or Dakrovian. I believe… Oh yes, that’s why she’s slightly familiar.
Are you intentionally keeping me in suspense, Jaxi?
Sardelle reached out with her senses and could tell the woman hiding there hoped she hadn’t been seen, but there was nothing familiar about her aura.
She’s the journalist that was harassing Ridge and writing articles about you controlling him, Jaxi informed her. I recognize her from Ridge’s thoughts. Sadly, it looks like she was able to escape from the soldiers he requested hold her as a potential spy. I guess it should have been apparent that she was back at work when she penned that ode to Bhrava Saruth.
It would be immature of me to do something mischievous to her, wouldn’t it? Sardelle asked.
Yes, but I would delight in it. You aren’t immature nearly often enough. You’re not even a century old yet, Sardelle. Your maturity is terribly lamentable.
“Looks like a wedding crasher who doesn’t have an invitation,” Masonwood said. “Perhaps security should be alerted.”
“Commoners don’t have security men, dear,” Eagledraw whispered. “Those are the king’s guards that you’ve seen around.”
“No security at all? How startling.”
I can be security. Jaxi cackled a little. Unless you have plans, Sardelle. I don’t want to trample on your attempts at immaturity.
Bhrava Saruth? Sardelle asked the dragon, who was lounging on his back with someone’s children stroking his scales. Future worshippers, no doubt. Are you aware that uninvited guests are spying on your temple?
What?
Sardelle did the mental equivalent of pointing at the hiding woman. She must have guessed that she’d been spotted because she was keeping her head down and moving toward another clump of boulders.
Ah, that woman from the newspaper, yes? Bhrava Saruth asked. Did you know that she was on the verge of releasing an article about how ridiculous it was that this temple was being built to honor me? That it was a waste of the king’s land and resources, and that the people should revolt?
Odd, that’s now how the article read when we saw it.
No, of course not. I revised it before it went into that printing contraption. You do not think she found out, do you? Is she here to enact some inimical revenge?
Well, I’m sure she noticed the next morning that it wasn’t quite what she wrote. Sardelle did not comment on the revenge plot. She suspected the journalist simply wanted juicy tidbits for the next day’s newspaper.
I see in her mind that she wishes to write slanderous stories about my high priestess and my temple. This cannot be permitted.
A squawk came from the direction of the boulders. A few people heard and looked over in time to see the woman plucked from her hiding spot with a pen and journal clenched in her hand. She soon dropped the items. She was too busy flailing and screaming as she was hefted higher into the air.
Once she reached about thirty feet, a magical force levitated her out over the docks, where ferry boat captains and crew gaped up at her. Abruptly, her belt unbuckled and her trousers descended, showing bare white legs to the island—by now, everyone was staring at her.
Jaxi snickered into Sardelle’s mind.
Once the journalist cleared the docks, the magic holding her aloft disappeared. Arms flailing anew, she plunged the thirty feet and landed in the water.
I take it from those snickers that you handled the clothing malfunction? Sardelle asked Jaxi.
Who, me?
I don’t believe Bhrava Saruth realizes that a human lacking in clothing would be reason for embarrassment.
This is true. Given how many times we’ve had to remind him about clothes when he’s shape-shifted.
Titters and speculation ran through the crowd. Nobody hurried down to help the woman out of the water, so maybe they guessed that she was an unwelcome guest. Indeed, as Ridge strolled toward Sardelle, several people hurried to pull out their invitations to display them.
“Was that the journalist from the Observer?” Ridge asked, quirking an eyebrow at Sardelle, then nodding at the two nobles.
“I believe so. She didn’t have an invitation, I understand. Also, Bhrava Saruth sensed that she meant to write disparaging things about his temple.” And his high priestess, but Sardelle didn’t mention that. She was still trying to get the dragon to find another name for her. Sardelle, perhaps.
“So, he decided to drop her drawers?”
“No, he only removed her from his island. I imagine her trousers simply… fell.”
Eyes twinkling, Ridge looked down at Jaxi’s spot on Sardelle’s waist. “Inconvenient when that happens in front of an audience.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Eagledraw snickered softly. “Sometimes, it’s a delight to go to gatherings with commoners. Things get so delightfully raucous.”
“You’re not going to drag me to another of those sporting events, are you?” Masonwood selected a glass of mead and drew him toward a group of elegantly—and expensively—dressed people that Sardelle didn’t recognize.
Ridge smiled and offered Sardelle his arm. “Shall we enjoy the refreshments and entertainment before the main event?”
She linked her arm with his. “I would like that.”
Ridge’s heart hammered in his chest as he and Sardelle stood, arm-in-arm, ready to walk up to the officiating priest. After what seemed days of eating, drinking, and socializing, the audience had finally settled into the seats set up in the empty lot behind the temple. Ridge knew about half of the people. He wondered if Sardelle knew the other half. He doubted it. With the possible exception of her hair cutter and that dress-hawking noblewoman, he was fairly certain they knew all the same people.
The priest looked imperiously back at them as “Heralding of the Wedding” played, building up to the point where Ridge and Sardelle would walk past the rows of onlookers to stand in front of him. The man didn’t appear as inebriated as Ridge had hoped. So long as he didn’t run out to the docks before completing the ceremony, making superstitious gestures at the columns of the temple.
If he does not wish to join you and my high priestess, I will be happy to do so, Bhrava Saruth announced from the shade of the temple, where he lounged in his full dragon form, a few plates of snacks on the floor around him, courtesy of the caterers. Surely, the divine blessing of a god would mean more than one from some fictional entity that does not truly exist.
Do me a favor, Bhrava Saruth, Ridge thought, and don’t share your opinions of our gods with the priest, eh?
If he objects, I could drop him in the same spot where I deposited that newspaper woman.
Not necessary.
She was rescued by one of the ferry boat captains and is now watching from the deck. Her writing instruments were lost, alas. It is likely she now knows not to risk the ire of dragon gods.
Or dragons in general.
Indeed. But dragon gods especially.
“Are you ready?” Sardelle whispered, squeezing his arm. The music was almost to the right spot.
“Yes. Just discussing theology with a dragon.”
“That can’t be going well.”
“You are perceptive as well as wise.”
“If you heap compliments on me like that, I won’t be able to wait until the cue to kiss you.”
Ridge bit his lip to keep from grinning stupidly down at her, excited that the moment was finally here, even if he wa
s nervous and feared he’d trip and fall on his face on the way down the aisle. Or that the priest would flee. Or that enemy dragons would soar into view and war would break out. Given the way the last few weeks had gone, he’d wondered a few times if they would actually reach this point, actually become man and wife.
“I’ll assume from your goofy grin that you’re amenable to that.”
“I’m always amenable to being kissed.” He thought he had been tamping down the goofy grin. Oh well. Surely, this was the right occasion. It pleased him that Sardelle also radiated a broad smile.
“By me or all people in general?”
“Mostly by you. Nobody else pokes me with a sentient sword hilt while we’re kissing.”
“Yes, I can see how disappointing it would be not to have that.”
Ridge grinned wider and dug into his pocket. “Want to rub my dragon for luck?”
“Do you think we’ll need it to get down the aisle?”
“Without tripping? It’s possible.” He rubbed the back of his wooden figurine, then held it out toward Sardelle.
“I’d like to think Jaxi would prevent that from happening, but it’s possible she would watch and snicker. That’s how it went with the journalist.”
Pardon me, Jaxi said, but the journalist deserved to be snickered at. And also to have her trousers removed.
Sardelle patted the figurine. Notice she didn’t say anything about preventing us from tripping.
I did notice that.
The music rose to a crescendo before segueing into the notes that would lead them up the aisle. Ridge pocketed his dragon—and his nerves—and he and Sardelle headed toward the priest, passing the rows of their seated friends.
He did his best to walk in step with her. And not to trip. Though he did almost stumble when he saw a silver-haired figure sitting in the back with Tylie. He hadn’t expected Phelistoth to come, given the venue and Bhrava Saruth lounging in the back, presiding over all.
I convinced him that it is honorable to attend the wedding of one who provides your cheese and coffee supply, Wreltad spoke into Ridge’s mind.
Tylie merely looked over at them and waved as they walked slowly past.
That was good of you, Wreltad, Ridge thought.
I would not have wished to miss the event and feared Tylie would not come if Phelistoth chose to be elsewhere.
Ridge thought Tylie would have come for Sardelle’s sake, regardless, but he said, I’m glad you made it.
As am I. Though I am disappointed that you went into noble battle against Dakrovian shamans without me.
That battle was unplanned. And technically, I didn’t do much.
You could have done much more had I been there.
I’ll make sure to invite you to all festivals at the castle in the future, under the assumption that enemies will choose such moments to strike.
Excellent. I shall look forward to it.
Ridge and Sardelle reached the front of the audience and came to a stop before the priest. Fortunately, the man gazed at them without judgment, the holy book of the Order of Nendear resting in his hands.
“Kin watchers, come forth,” the priest said in a ringing voice.
Lieutenant Ahn and Lilah walked up to stand next to the priest on Sardelle’s side, Lilah in a blue dress that complemented Ahn’s blue and gray dress uniform nicely. Ridge wondered if they had planned that. Coordinating outfits seemed like a thing women would do. Somehow, he doubted General Ort and King Angulus had chatted about matching their attire.
Angulus arrived first, four of his bodyguards coming up to stand at the end of the first row. He wore the full regalia that he donned for public speeches, including trousers and tunic trimmed with gold thread—or maybe real gold—and a cape lined with fur. A gold chain kept the cape around his shoulders, its huge links interspersed with squares stamped with the Iskandian seal. A ceremonial saber hung from his belt, similar to the one Ridge wore as part of his army uniform, but much more embellished. With gold, naturally. Ridge wondered if he should be honored the king had donned all of his royal clothing for the wedding, or if he should be worried Angulus would be mugged on the way home.
General Ort waited for Angulus to take his spot, then came to stand beside and slightly behind him, his dress uniform so starched, it could have stood up in the shape of a man without him in it. He wore all his medals and awards on his breast, and Ridge realized for the first time that he had more than the older officer. His own jacket front bordered on the ridiculous thanks to all the awards he’d received over the years, one for almost every time he’d defeated a deadly enemy while nearly getting himself killed. Maybe he ought to donate some medals to Angulus, after all.
Sardelle nudged him with her elbow, and Ridge realized the priest was talking.
Am I supposed to be paying attention to that? he asked silently.
Just enough so you know when it’s your turn to say something.
I think the kin watchers get to speak before we do. Even though Ridge couldn’t say that he was a great fan of weddings, he had been to several over the years, so he mostly knew the script.
As soon as he said the words, the priest turned toward the men. He licked his lips, appearing a touch nervous at addressing Angulus. All the gold was intimidating.
“Sire, General, do you, being faithful and loyal friends of General Ridgewalker Meadowlark Zirkander—”
Someone in the audience snickered at the middle name. Ridge was fairly certain it was Duck.
“—affirm that you have researched the vitality and emotional stability of Sardelle Terushan and found her a suitable mate?”
Angulus stepped forward and faced Sardelle, giving her the cursory inspection that tradition required, then issued a prompt, “Yes.”
He stepped back without further comment. General Ort followed his example precisely. Ridge decided he had been wise to select older and more mature kin watchers. Had he been in that position, he would have been tempted to give an irreverent response, and Sardelle deserved reverence.
If you say so, Jaxi spoke into his mind. I believe she likes your irreverence. She finds it charming. She would be bored into a coma if she married someone like Ort.
Are you sure that’s Sardelle you’re thinking of? And not yourself?
I am part of the package.
Ridge noticed his mother in the front row, a handkerchief clutched in her grasp, her eyes filmed with moisture as she watched the proceedings with obvious contentment. He decided that reverent kin watchers had been a good choice. It was too bad his father hadn’t made it back in time for the wedding to sit next to Mom, but Ridge hadn’t even known where he was in order to send an invitation.
The priest turned toward Ahn and Lilah and repeated the female version of the kin watcher question, wanting to know if Ridge was healthy and suitable to care for Sardelle.
After glancing at Lilah, Ahn stepped forward to face Ridge and look him up and down. He tried to keep his face solemn, as his weepy-eyed mother would no doubt prefer, but one of his eyebrows may have twitched upward of its own accord. It amused him to have one of his young officers being asked to vouch for him.
Ahn might have been more flustered than amused because her cheeks flushed as she uttered a quick, “Yes,” and stepped back into place.
Lilah appeared far less daunted at vouching—or not—for Ridge. He trusted she wouldn’t object with his mother sitting ten feet away, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she offered something off the script.
“If he can keep from getting himself blown up by enemies, I suspect he’ll prove suitable,” Lilah said after her perusal. This time, she was the one to quirk an eyebrow as she looked frankly at him. There seemed to be a hint of a threat in that look, like he had better not get himself killed and leave Sardelle alone. Sardelle and the child—or children—they would have.
Ridge nodded solemnly. “I’ll do my best to remain un-blown-up.”
“What more could a bride ask?” the priest muttered under h
is breath.
Ridge glanced at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected the priest officiating his wedding to be the sarcastic one. Maybe he shouldn’t have foisted that second mug of mead on the man. Ah, well. He’d been certain there would be irreverence somewhere.
Angulus shot the man a narrow-eyed look, and the priest straightened.
“Have the bride and groom any oaths to offer each other?” he asked.
Ridge had told the man ahead of time that he wanted to do that. It was something that had fallen out of favor in Iskandian weddings of late, many preferring to say their oaths in private, without dozens—or hundreds—of people watching on, but Ridge was used to having an audience. He didn’t mind.
“Yes.” Sardelle turned to face Ridge and clasped his hands.
He hadn’t realized she would want to say something, too, but he nodded for her to go first.
“I, Sardelle Jana Terushan, never knew I needed someone funny and fun in my life until I met you. I promise to support you, heal you, and love you, no matter how many times you try to get yourself blown up by enemies—” she smirked briefly at Lilah but promptly turned her gaze back on him, “—and no matter how many horrific pieces of furniture your officers give you and deliver to the house.”
Titters went through the crowd, at least from those who had seen The Couch, and Ridge grinned broadly. He hadn’t expected Sardelle to say anything irreverent or improper, but it was so much better when she did it, since she was so serene and mature the majority of the time. Or at least, she came across that way to most people. He knew better.
I’ve been a good influence on her, Jaxi said.
Ssh, Wreltad said. Let them make their promises.
Nobody asked for your opinion, Taddy.
And yet, it is clearly needed.
After waiting to make sure Sardelle was finished, and that the swords were done with their commentary, Ridge spoke.
“I, Ridgewalker Meadowlark—” Ridge threw Duck a quick glare before turning his smile back on Sardelle, “—Zirkander, never thought someone so smart and classy would want to spend so much time with me and my recently acquired houseguests. I promise to love you, support you, polish your fuselage whenever you need it, and have your back in a fight.”
Oaths (Dragon Blood, Book 8) Page 31
