On Wings of Bone and Glass

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Almond I saw to the chapel on the Cathedral’s grounds, there to rest in state until after the wedding. Ivy I conducted to her little home, much to our mutual chagrin; after months of living in one another’s pockets it felt strange to be parting, but having returned to Troth we felt constrained to observe the moral codes we’d grown up with. To scandalize our families unnecessarily felt rude; to do so while under the eye of two nations, gauche. So I kissed her hand and delivered her back to the life she’d known before, if amended by the addition of Emily who wanted to keep her company and help her prepare for the festivities.

  Our status as celebrities made it difficult for us to travel the city, something we discovered having been forced to resort to a carriage to reach Ivy’s dwelling. I had only just re-entered it with a sigh, when Amhric rested a hand on my wrist. “It’s enough, isn’t it?”

  “I think,” I said, tired. I glanced outside the window as the carriage jerked into motion, and a very slow motion it was amid the crowds eager for a glimpse of elven royalty. “Unavoidable, perhaps.”

  “Where do we go, then?”

  I rubbed my brow. “From here? I imagine back to the palace. My parents would offer us more comfortable shelter and I would lief spend the time there rather than at the First Minister’s beck... but we would have to reach them and that seems... rather more trouble than I anticipated.”

  “It would, if you were to be seen.”

  I stared at him, then slumped back in the seat with a weary chuckle. “I have been too long at this to have missed so obvious a solution.”

  “It has been an emotional day,” he said, looking out the window now.

  “Is it too much?” I asked, gentle. “I won’t leave you if it’s too much—”

  He smiled at me over his shoulder with all that imperishable sweetness. My heart felt too full for my chest.

  “I had to ask,” I said. “I’ll always ask.”

  “I know,” he said, soft.

  So the carriage returned us to the palace, and from there I slipped into the streets beneath the cover of magic and presented myself to the butler at the Locke family home. This time, at least, he didn’t turn me away for a stranger, and my mother was not the only one awaiting me in the parlor.

  “My boy,” said the man behind her as she embraced me, and I grew still in her arms. I had not seen my father since my first journey, had not dared to wonder what he would think of me now that I stood revealed as something other than what he’d thought he’d raised. All my life I had looked up to him, as much as possible, for he’d so rarely been home: an important man, who’d spent his life protecting Troth’s interests in foreign countries. He’d been my model for how one should conduct oneself; it was from him I’d learned my habit of stoicism, and from him I’d derived the impression that it was best to stand on one’s own, for one would often be called to act that way. My father, the ambassador plenipotentiary, first to Haven-on-High, and then to Candor.... whom I’d never expected to be like, because I’d expected to die long before I made claim to his experience, or his wisdom.

  I had done so much since leaving Evertrue: had battled elves, the dead, demons. Had commanded armies, flown in the sky on the back of a dragon out of legend; had handled magics that could conduct me across the ocean in a single step; had, in fact, saved Troth, and become a man at last, with work to do, a woman to wed, and a people to rule. And yet my voice trembled when I said, “Father?”

  He gathered us all in his embrace, mother and son. “Oh, my boy. You’re safe at last. Welcome home.”

  The following week was caught up in final preparations for the wedding, but when I could I stole time from my official duties to desport myself with Guy and Radburn and Chester in the chocolate houses where we’d once been students... wearing a hooded coat made sensible by the weather, and if it failed to perfectly serve, the proprietors were always more than eager to pledge discretion in return for the privilege of serving the foreign prince. Eyre I found often with Carrington, still a little more gaunt than I liked, but well content with everything save the amount of time he’d been forced to spend calming the faculty leadership at Leigh, which had been thrown into convulsions by the very unexpected revelations of Vigil’s athenaeum—“Politics,” he’d said, disgusted. “They wax uglier the less power one has.” I spent time with my parents, with Ivy walking in the winter gardens behind the capital’s seat, chaperoned by a parade of genets; with Amhric both over negotiation tables and alone in the room they’d given him, where he allowed himself to relax... and with Almond, in the silence of the little chapel adjacent to the great Cathedral.

  It was a busy week but I was home. Even the landsense swelled with the rightness of the ground beneath my feet.

  Unavoidably, the wedding was a spectacle planned to within an inch by advisors to both nations, and involved everything from a ride in a gilt carriage drawn by white horses to a ridiculous number of tropical flowers shipped through the Door for the occasion on the back of the drake. The Vessel and the Escutcheon themselves would serve as the male and female priests for the occasion, with Amhric standing in the role of sacred witness. My parents would be there, and Ivy’s to give her away, and all my friends, human, elven, and genet, had consented to attend—had in most cases insisted. So I had genets for ringbearers and Guy and Radburn and Chester as my male attendants, and a rather flustered Carrington had been tapped to stand behind Ivy at the altar, with Kelu and Emily and Serendipity.

  We bowed our heads to the gilded carriage, the tropical flowers, to the Cathedral’s bells announcing the ceremony as they would have the election of a new First Minister, or the ascension of a new Vessel. We submitted to the pomp and the crowds and the people who crowded into the Cathedral to watch a native woman of modest background wed a foreign prince. We let it take on all the trappings of the political event it had unavoidably been destined to become.

  And yet when at last we joined hands before the altar, all of that fell away. We could have been standing alone in the most humble chapel in all Troth, being married by a parish priest and priestess, because the only thing that mattered in that moment was Ivy’s hand in mine, her eyes meeting mine, her breath leaping in her throat when I pledged to her. I had feared that we would lose the sanctity of our vows in the bustle. I should have known better.

  “Then until God parts them, let no one on this earth do so, for we the Church, the embodiment of God’s will and beneficence in this world, do now see them as one body, husband and wife,” the Vessel finished. “Morgan Locke. Ivy Locke. You are wed.”

  I rested my fingertips beneath her chin to steady us both and kissed her, soft as breath leaving my body.

  “Forever,” she whispered to me. “Until God parts us.”

  “Forever,” I promised.

  After the hallowed timelessness of the ceremony, the reception was everything I’d feared: interminable, tiresome, and filled with far too many people I barely knew. Fortunately, my brother was a king and when he suggested that it was time for the newlyweds to be excused none dared gainsay him; from across the room I saw the merriment in his eyes, and the rue. He would stay and sate the crowd, and this would be ample wedding gift from him.

  It was not enough, either, for Guy, Radburn, and Chester drove us to the hotel I’d arranged for our stay.

  “Your honor guard,” Radburn said. “And never fear. We’ll be in the lobby turning away the oglers.”

  “What you mean is that you’ll be in the bar hoping the hotel staff will turn away the oglers,” Ivy said. She was tucked under my arm, grinning; I reflected that there was something to be said for prior consummation of a union, if it meant we felt no desperation to rush for our marriage bed the moment the ceremony concluded.

  Considering her riposte, Radburn said, “Well, yes. Most probably.”

  Guy snorted. “I’ll make sure he gets home in one piece. And make excuses for you in the morning to all the dignitaries who’ll wonder why the elven mouthpiece didn’t show to parley.”
>
  “I’d like to think they’re none of them that witless as to suffer confusion on why a new husband might not be on time for work the day after his wedding,” I said.

  “Then you have no idea how much self-importance a politician can accrue in years of titular service.” Guy shook his head. “Why do you think I’ve been avoiding politics?”

  “I thought it was because you avoided responsibility as a matter of course,” Radburn offered.

  “Precisely because if I didn’t I’d end up where I am now!”

  “Don’t worry,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ll save you from Troth’s parliament. Give me a few weeks.”

  He eyed me. “Is this about those sour-faced foreigners you brought with you, then?”

  “It is,” I said. “I fear it’s still politics, but it will at least be hosted in cities with tropical beaches.”

  “And horse-eared lasses?” Radburn asked.

  “And that,” I agreed.

  “I’m ready now!”

  I laughed. “Later. My next few days are spoken for.”

  We endured their good-natured teasing until we arrived, and then they handed Ivy down from the carriage to my arms and I knew that for all her frustrations with them that she loved them, and was glad of their send-off. Chester, who’d been driving, descended to kiss her hands and embrace me.

  “We really will keep a watch,” he said. “But take all the time you need. For once, we have it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, as Ivy leaned up to kiss his cheek.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “You’ve been like a brother to us, Chester. We won’t forget.” She smiled impishly. “Particularly when it comes time to hand out the hard work.”

  “Save me from the drudgery of the society of my friends.” His smiled softened. “I’m glad to have seen this day.”

  We paused then, thinking of all the things that might have prevented it.

  “Go on then,” he said. “I’ve the horses to take round, and those two jesters to corral, and apparently a hotel bar to save from their tyranny.”

  “Good night, Chester,” I said, and ushered my wife into the lobby, and from there to our rooms.

  There was champagne awaiting us, and our bed had been scattered with hibiscus petals. I daresay we didn’t notice any of it until much, much later. And though her body had become familiar to me, the knowledge that she was mine in the eyes of our kith and kin, and that she would be mine until death parted us... that made everything fresh to me, and there was wonder in my touch and hers. We had learned one another as lovers. We learned each other that night as spouses, with the luxury of time and privacy and the imprimatur of society.

  It was different. I could not have described how. But I was happy, and I thought, surprised, that I could see that remaining true for all the days to come.

  31

  I could not have called what followed a honeymoon, but as much as possible my friends insulated me from the demands of diplomacy, saying that showering my attention on Ivy counted toward that work. Ivy found this argument specious but she said so while laughing, so I was not disposed to debate the matter. We tarried in one another’s arms, or took long walks either in public view or hidden from it by magic, and became known as Evertrue’s fairy tale couple, the prince out of storybooks and his human bride. It was a rare day we paid for any of our own meals or gifts, so eager were merchants to flatter us, and Ivy found all this absurd and funny and so did I.

  But one duty I did not delegate. My visits to the chapel where Almond awaited her ceremony usually took place in the mornings while Ivy was still sleeping and I could be alone with her in that quiet before everyone began stirring. I prayed there, if fervent wishing that she was happy in Heaven counted, and then left her to her repose, and in this pattern I continued until the night before she was due for cremation. Then I excused myself from my loved ones and went to keep a vigil at her bier. The clergy and laymen knew me by then, and respected my desire for privacy, and so I found myself alone in the little stone hall with her.

  Would she have liked the chapel better, I wondered? It was like the Cathedral writ small, a miniature that might have suited the childlike genets better had they decided to build their own churches. Like the larger building it was pierced with stained glass, though the colors were muted, lit now only by the banks of candles that gave their sweet honeyed smell to mingle with the perfume of incense. In this dim cocoon, the silence seeming muffled by the close stone walls, I kneeled before the altar. As time crept forth, my head slowly bowed until my brow rested on the stone table.

  “You would have liked the wedding.”

  My voice was too loud for this conversation, and barely audible. I hadn’t planned to speak to her. Had not been able to yet. But having begun, I continued, my throat tight around every syllable. “The flowers, and the music… and everyone there. Even Kelu looked—” I paused. “Well, not happy precisely. But interested. Entertained.” I smiled. “And so many genets. Do you know the Parliamentary building is flooded with them? It feels that way anyway. All these cold stone buildings, Almond, and then these knots of bright fur. Like flowers. Marzipan didn’t bring every genet with her through the Door, but many of your sisters came. Some of them are planning to stay in Vigil. I think they like the climate.”

  My chuckle was watery. “God, I can’t believe I’m talking about the weather when what I want to say is… I miss you. I wish… I feel…” I pressed my fist to my forehead, struggling. “Your death was so unnecessary. I would probably have healed that wound. To save you I would have certainly healed that wound. If it meant you would still be here. Almond—” I let my hand fall down over my eyes, my breath coming too short now. “I wish you were here.”

  And then I wept, not just because I missed her, but because I’d hoped for some miracle to bring her back to me.

  In the next hours I made some peace with my grief. The floor was hard and while the candles provided some warmth their scent soon became cloying. But I did not begrudge this final night with her, and had long since ceased to note the passage of time when the door at the end of the chapel creaked on its hinges. Surprised and irritated, I looked to see who’d interrupted my farewell.

  “I hope you’re not here to stop me,” Kelu said.

  Since these were the last words I expected from her, it took me a moment to understand them, and once I did… I still didn’t understand them. “I beg your pardon?”

  She glanced at me as she padded to the altar. “You’ve been crying.”

  “I loved her.”

  “I guess that’s as good a reason as any.” Kelu folded her arms. “Do you know what they intend to do with her in the morning?”

  “Burn her,” I said. “So that her corpse will never rise a revenant?”

  “Yes,” Kelu said. “That. Do you know how that works though?” At my blank expression, she said, “I thought it was some sort of ceremony with bonfires, but it’s not. They put her in an oven. An oven, Morgan. They’re not putting Almond in any oven while I still have teeth.”

  “You’ll have teeth when you’re dead,” I said, grasping for sense in the conversation.

  “And if I get re-animated by some new stupid elf or human who decides a demon’s a better idea than dealing with jealousy or bitterness, then I’ll still make sure no one burns her in an oven.” Kelu shook her head. “Besides, it’s stupid and unnecessary and even you should know that.”

  “I should?”

  Her exasperation was patent. She tapped the medallion hanging from her collar. “Remember this?”

  “The collars—oh! But when you said removing them killed you, I assumed that meant it produced a corpse!”

  “No,” Kelu said. “It produces dust. Sometimes. Sometimes all you’ve got left is a collar.” She drew in a shuddery breath, and at this first sign of her distress I grew very still. “So I’m here to take her collar off. Don’t stop me.”

  “I won’t,” I said, quieter. At her suspicious glance, I said, “I don�
��t like the thought of her in an oven either.”

  Kelu nodded and stepped up to the altar. Once there she just… looked at Almond. What thoughts traveled through her mind at this last sight of the genet who’d been her companion—her friend—for nearly all her life? She let nothing change her expression, and only the long hesitation suggested the words she would not speak aloud. Then she reached for the collar and with a few quick tugs, unbuckled it and snapped it free of Almond’s neck.

  The body collapsed into powder. Just like that: one moment, a genet peaceful in repose, almost as if sleeping… the next, nothing.

  “There,” Kelu said. “It’s done.” She turned her back on the altar and stepped down, heading for the aisle. I watched her retreating back, then looked back at the remains. And froze.

  “Kelu,” I hissed.

  “You can’t have the collar,” Kelu said. “If that’s what you want to ask—”

  “Kelu!”

  The genet turned back. I heard her footfalls as she ran back to me, for the powder was rising into a sinuous spiral, and a light not of the candle’s making was swelling on the altar. I stood as Kelu halted beside me and we watched the shimmer of Almond’s earthly remains become a gleaming, and then a shape, and then a familiar face: painted in light on the world, but a friendlier light than any angel’s.

  “Almond?” Kelu said, voice harsh.

  Her voice was just as I remembered it, but in the silences that followed her words I could hear sleigh bells and laughter. “Kelu! It is me! For a little while.”