Mason gave a sharp nod and stepped carefully around Sacha. Erik closed his eyes as the sword rose. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, son,” he whispered, thinking of Kinsey.
A loud rattle broke the stillness.
Erik’s eyes snapped open.
Mason stared at something in the jungle Erik couldn’t see, and from the woods, Pelosian battle calls rang out. Princess Sacha bolted upright, head turning in confusion.
Erik began to shout out a warning, but before he could say anything, pale, insectoid arms shot out from the darkness and entangled her.
Mason’s stunned surprise evaporated like morning mist. His sword swung high above his head as he bellowed his own call. He charged at the spike-covered limbs that were dragging the screaming Sacha away from the campfire. More arms, ending in large spikes, erupted from the darkness and impaled the Pelosian soldier before he could even reach the edge of the firelight. In the darkness beyond the fire, men died.
Erik had never felt so useless. He cried out, only to find himself the target of the wicked appendages as well.
He was snatched from the ground and dragged after Sacha’s struggling form. When his body crossed from the firelight into the darkness of the forest, he was spun about. Wet, sticky strings were wrapped around him as he was turned, covering his entire body. Every place the webbing touched his skin, the feeling went dead.
Eventually, all thoughts of struggle and escape disappeared into a cloud of darkness.
THE time passed by like a summer storm.
The four days she had been given to search for Sacha had come and gone in the blink of an eye. The scouting mission to Riverwood had proven fruitless. She, Alexander, Rouke, and Captain Aria had scoured the wilderness near the riverside town and found an old Keep in which they believed Sacha had been held prisoner.
Their inspection of the ruin had only created more questions. A small army of men and goblins had lost their lives at the abandoned Keep. The survivors had left naught but the corpses of their dead companions. Of Sacha, there had been no sign.
Ultimately, they had been forced to abandon their search in the wilds and return to Waterfall Citadel to prepare for the wedding. Now Sloane found herself at the center of a seemingly endless progression of servants, decorators, attendants, and curious nobles as the day had drawn near.
The door to her chambers finally shut behind the latest crowd, and for a brief, blessed time, she was left alone to contemplate her reflection in a full stand mirror.
Beautiful, she thought as she ran her long fingers delicately over the white silk of her wedding dress. Somehow, that word didn’t seem to fully convey the effect of the craftsmanship she regarded. The dress itself was amazing. Largely a work of broad, flat sections of heavy silk, the dress still managed to be unerringly tailored to delicately fit every curve of her body, and it moved with her in a graceful embrace. The train expanded behind her in a flowing teardrop that had been worked with embroidery to incorporate a wedge of roses and wildflowers, rendered in emerald green for Basinia, and crimson for Pelos. The rich, vibrant hues leapt from the fabric but were so well balanced with white space that the overall effect was one of total synergy. The wedge of color dwindled to a point as it climbed, ending just below the shining white border of the bust of the dress, which left her shoulders and upper chest bare.
The artwork of her appearance did not cease there. Her skin had been rubbed and polished until it veritably glowed with health and vibrancy. Here and there, loose strands of her rich chestnut mane had been allowed to escape from the artful curls upon her head. The delicate locks framed her jaw and ear, brushing the tops of her shoulders in lustrous whorls.
For jewelry, she wore only earrings that Alexander had presented her with just yesterday. Sapphires the exact shade of her eyes nestled in graceful sweeps of delicate white gold that called to mind the tips of the tree limbs of her new forest home.
Yet all of these beautiful things could not mask her melancholy. Her worry for her sister’s wellbeing, balanced against the life she was about to embark on, left her soul stretched and her emotions raw.
The door opened to the explosive sound of laughter and merry voices, and Sloane turned her head in time to see Meagan come to a stumbling halt.
“Oh,” was all the girl could manage. Her eyes were wide as she looked at Sloane and a hand went to cover her mouth while tears of wonder filled her eyes.
Meagan was shoved from behind by her older cousin, Leanne. “Meagan, you idiot! What are you...” her voice trailed off as she looked from her staring cousin to Sloane, and she, too, came to an abrupt halt next to the younger woman.
Marcella’s voice rose in exasperation as the blockade was abruptly doubled. “The two of you ninnies will be the death of me! What on earth has robbed you both of the ability to move.”
Sloane smiled at the good-natured lecturing as she levered the two girls aside.
“Ah, I see,” Marcella said as she stepped between the other two. Turning, she assumed a businesslike air, taking the wrists of both the younger women and pulling them forward to clear the doorway. Then she beckoned to Bella and shut the door firmly after her.
The thump of the door startled the two youngest cousins back into action, and the gale of merry exclamation washed over Sloane as the four cousins descended upon her in a rush of white and emerald that echoed her own attire. Meagan and Bella were fluttering about excitedly, pointing and admiring the dress, fantasizing aloud over which details they would absolutely put into their own wedding regalia. Marcella held herself remarkably aloof, while Leanne seemed torn between the younger ladies’ excitement and the discipline of station and age that Marcella wore like an ill-fitting coat. The buxom young woman was distinctly uncomfortable in her role of responsible elder.
The only thing missing is Sacha, Sloane thought.
Marcella was the first to notice Sloane’s morose expression and she understood immediately. “We miss her too,” she said with a compassionate lift of her lips. “I know she would be here if she could, but I also know that she is fine.” Marcella winked. “She’s far too ornery to be held for long. Why, if it weren’t for Masters Kesh, Erik, and Kinsey looking for her, I would imagine it would only be a matter of time before her captors not only brought her back, but paid us to take her off their hands to escape her blistering tirade.”
Sloane laughed aloud and the cousins all joined her, each throwing out some audacious story about Sacha and her defiance of King Hathorn. Each story simultaneously lifted Sloane’s heart and increased her yearning and worry. They were all reduced to helpless laughter by Bella’s rendition of the time Sacha had tried to free the king’s prized warhorse because she “felt so bad for the poor thing, having to hold all of that weight and such.” For her trouble, the horse had given her a bite that left a little scar on her upper arm, and only the quick action of the yard master had saved the girl from being trampled.
“But did Sacha thank him for dragging her out of the barn?” Bella laughed. “No!” She took on an air that perfectly echoed Sacha at the peak of her royal hauteur. “‘You have interrupted my work, Master Belsan. Now, release me, before I have you saddled in Tempest’s place.’” Bella stood amongst her giggling peers with one arm clutching the phantom horse bite and her chin lifted high. Sloane could remember vividly the blood that dripped between her sister’s fingers and the straw in her hair as she lectured the hapless servant about his place.
As the laughter died, Sloane became aware of a persistent knocking upon the chamber door.
“Come,” Sloane called, quelling her cousins with shushing gestures.
The door opened to admit Queen Rhian. Out in the hall, an army of attendants could be seen in a swarming, milling mass. An elderly but poised gentleman Sloane had only seen in the presence of the queen was in the process of rising from a bow and addressed the crowd. “Very good, all of you. But these must be moved, so—”
He was cut off as Queen Rhian stepped insi
de the room and gently shut the door behind her. The queen inclined her head slightly to the hall she had just left. “Mejic can work wonders with a crowd of people. I sometimes doubt that even my royal edict could elicit the same sort of compliance.”
The queen was robed in emerald splendor. Her shimmering, close-fit gown was accented at the breast and waist with creamy white, and a belt of white gold and crimson fire rubies draped from her waist. In lieu of the crown she had worn the day Sloane arrived, the queen’s white and golden hair was held back with a more simple coronet of platinum and no gems. From her shoulders hung the same cloak she had worn that first day, but the giant eagle feather was not trailing from the edge.
Perhaps the ability to age gracefully is something that comes with becoming queen, Sloane thought as she compared the regal woman with her mother’s refusal to bow in the face of her advancing years.
Stepping away from the door and into the room, Queen Rhian raised one hand to tap contemplatively at her lips. Circling Sloane and her entourage, she evaluated them all in a concise and thorough fashion. Reaching out to touch a bit of hair here, or a strand of necklace gone askew there, the queen resembled a confident merchant making a final check of her prized merchandise before it was put on the block for sale.
“Absolutely perfect,” the queen murmured, stepping back from Sloane as she completed her circumnavigation of the girls. “Exquisite, even.” The queen dropped her tapping finger and spread her arms wide in a short curtsy to Sloane. “You are a most beautiful bride, my dear.”
Sloane could feel heat rise to her cheeks.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to get to know you as I might wish, but Alexander cannot seem to find another topic to fill my ear,” the queen continued. “He is quite excited.”
Meagan snickered and Marcella jabbed her with an elbow.
The queen continued smoothly. “I wish you to know that I am honored to accept you into our family. I believe you will be an excellent companion to my son.” She stepped forward and gently took hold of Sloane’s hands. “I also believe you will make an excellent queen.”
Sloane stared at the queen in confusion. “I thank you for the praise, Your Majesty, but I think it will be some time before I take the mantle of queen.”
The queen chuckled. “You never can tell with these things, my dear. The king is very ill. Regardless, I will be quite content to pass the burden of leadership on to you, whenever that may occur.” For a moment, as she spoke, the veil of grace and majesty lifted to reveal a tired, aging woman.
Another, quieter knock sounded at the door.
“Ah,” said the queen, the moment gone. Authority once more rang in her voice as her back straightened. “But, ready or not, it is time.” She called to the door. “Mejic. We must go!”
Light filtered through the grand canopy of Terrandal and cast sun-dappled shadows on the massed citizens and nobility in the parade grounds. Hundreds upon hundreds of people packed every square foot of available space in the cleft between two giant roots of the massive winewood. The only open space was the long alley between Sloane and the raised dais where her prince waited. Marcella reached forward to squeeze Sloane’s shoulder as the processional music began.
A cool twist of wind tickled Sloane’s bare shoulders, and tingles of anticipation raced up and down her spine. Though it was too far to make out well, she could see Alexander, tall and patient upon the platform, hands clasped before him. It could have been her imagination, but she thought she could see him smiling, and her heart leapt.
Bale, for his part, was sweating. The captain of her home guard had the honor of bearing her on his arm and officially presenting her to be wed, cementing forever the alliance between the two countries. And, perhaps as importantly to her, it would seal the end of her life as a princess of Pelos.
She had hoped her brother Galen would be the one to give her away, but his duties on the southern border had dictated otherwise. She wasn’t sure if Galen would even be able to break away from his duties long enough to attend the following days of celebration.
The music swelled and the crowd turned expectantly. Though they had rehearsed the walk several times, Bale’s polished boots remained planted on the paving stones.
Disregarding the hundreds of eyes that watched, Sloane reached over to the captain and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bale’s light green eyes blazed in agitation, and he opened his mouth to speak.
“Be at peace, Bale. This is for the best. It is what I want,” she said, her tone calm and soothing.
Bale’s eyes opened further, surprise softening him. He moved again as if to speak, but the words died on his lips as she continued.
“Alexander is a good man. I am convinced of this.” She pressed gently on his arm as he continued to look skeptical. “Further, we must be allied with these people should both of our kingdoms hope to flourish, or have you forgotten the wars of the past?”
Stubborn lines developed in the captain’s brow and he sought to turn to face the crowd and the dais, but she held him with the force of her gaze.
“You have been so much for my sister and I, Bale,” she said and shifted her hand to pat his. “I am honored to have you do this last thing for me.”
He blinked and the thin facade of his control crumbled. “You are all that is great in your mother, Princess.” Bale’s voice cracked with emotion. “I am honored to serve you here, and always.”
She patted his arm once more with a smile and turned. Her first step was matched with confidence by the soldier at her side. The worry and whispering of the crowd melted away into smiles of approval.
Her prince was wearing mostly white. His close-fitting trousers were tucked into knee-length leather boots of forest green that had been embossed with gold filigree in intertwining leaf patterns. From below his white coat peeked an emerald sash that glistened with golden threads along the edge. Above his left breast was a single rose in the reddest hue Sloane had ever seen. The prince’s dark hair was caught with a simple circlet that matched the queen’s.
All of Alexander’s finery paled and faded away as she found herself captivated in the warmth and joy that shone in his eyes. Not a hint of doubt radiated from his unblinking gaze.
Sloane felt truly safe for the first time in as long as she could remember. Perhaps even more surprisingly, she saw echoes of the same joy in Alexander’s face and her heart warmed.
She and Bale came to a stop at the top of the stairs before the holy priest of Eos. Bale released her arm as she turned to face Alexander. Her cousins fanned out on the stair below, spreading the teardrop of her train as they did so. The musicians brought the processional to a final crescendo, then faded away, and an expectant hush settled over the crowd.
Bale’s strident, battle-trained voice crashed into the silence, all hints of his prior emotion erased. “It is with great honor, that I represent King Hathorn Moridin, of the mighty nation of Pelos. It is with even greater honor that I present his daughter, Sloane Moridin, the jewel of our realm, in the sealing of the solemn pact of trust and friendship...”
Sloane winced slightly at the embarrassing speech but smiled openly as Alexander shared a knowing glance with her. His hand reached for hers, and together they turned their faces to the high priest.
The ceremony was followed by a magnificent dinner, the likes of which Sloane had rarely seen. “So much food, and I don’t think I can eat a single bite of it,” she said under her breath as she and Alexander stepped into the banquet room of the Citadel.
Tables were laden with edible treasures of every kind. Fruits and vegetables surrounded roasted birds, beef shanks, and freshwater fish from the lake just outside the city walls. Mountains of bread threatened to cascade from their baskets. Servants flitted to and fro, decanting wine and seeing to the needs of the patrons as they filed in and settled in their places as directed by the stiff-coated men at each entryway.
“I think all you actually have to do is nod, smile, and look radiant. I understand that bri
des never get to eat at their own weddings,” replied Alexander.
She had not yet had a chance to visit this part of the Citadel’s palace, but the grandeur of the room vied for supremacy over anything she had seen at home. The engineers that designed the city had actually channeled a part of the flowing river itself into the great hall through an opening on one side of the room. A lively cascade of water tumbled down the rocks that had been skillfully placed to guide the flow into a narrow bowl perhaps thirty paces across. From there, the water rushed into a channel that promptly split into two curving arcs that surrounded a circular dance floor in the center of the room. Hidden somewhere beneath the rippling surface, the exiting water could neither be seen nor heard. Music drifted from the small groups of musicians located around the room’s walls in small, specially designed alcoves.
Alexander led her across the dance floor to a platform with a commanding view of the entire room. A group of people, including the queen and Bale, were already seated and sipping wine while waiting for the feast to begin in earnest. All of them stood respectfully as the pair mounted the steps.
“Congratulations, my son,” the queen said with genuine pleasure, then turned to face Sloane. “My daughter.”
“Hear, hear!” echoed around the table as drinks were raised.
Alexander bowed his head. “My thanks, Mother, and to you all.” He looked at each noble in turn. “Now, if you will excuse me. I must address our guests and get this feast started, before they starve and see me unfit for my station.” Several around the table chuckled as the prince took his leave.
A special backless chair had been placed at the table to accommodate Sloane and her extravagant gown. Several servants helped her take the seat between Lord Banlor Graves and Alexander’s empty chair. The gaunt man inclined his head to her, then looked toward Alexander at the podium. Silence fell slowly as the gathered people realized their future king was about to speak.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 36
