Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  The specific flowers are carefully woven and inserted into my hair in certain spots, and suddenly I see in the mirror that I appear to be wearing a glorious natural crown.

  “Stunning, my dear,” Consul Denu says, nodding in approval.

  In that moment, an Imperial servant arrives with a delivery for me from the Imperatris. The youth approaches me with an elegant box and announces: “The Sovereign Lady sends Something Borrowed for the Imperial Bride’s personal use in the Wedding. The item must be returned afterward in order to qualify for this tradition.”

  “Oh!” I say with a laugh. “Yes, of course! What is it?”

  Apparently Devora remembered our conversation about Earth Wedding traditions of “Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and a Sixpence in Her Shoe.”

  The servant opens the box with courtly flair. Inside is a diamond and gold necklace with matching earrings. My mouth falls open. . . .

  “Perfectly timed, and perfectly appropriate,” Consul Denu says, and points one elegant ringed finger to direct the nearest attendant.

  Seconds later I am wearing this Imperial borrowed set of priceless diamonds around my throat and my earlobes.

  “Please convey my deepest gratitude to the Sovereign Lady,” I say to the Imperial servant with humility. “I will use and return these as instructed.”

  Next, comes cosmetics and makeup.

  Kem takes over, and begins applying the delicate layers over the skin of my face. Consul Denu watches intently and occasionally indicates specific colors and rejects others.

  The look for the Wedding is heavy and dramatic, with shimmering darkness around my eyes for depth and richness. Violet, plum, and gold highlights predominate. My lips are colored a deep shade of wine with glossy noohd that has a secondary gold highlight, for a remarkable iridescent effect.

  When the process is completed, I stare in the mirror in awe of the artistry—even a little frightened that I might touch my face by accident and smear this loveliness.

  Never forget that Gwen the klutz still lives here underneath the glamorous Imperial Bride. . . .

  “Thank you so much,” I say to Kem and the Consul.

  And then it’s time for me to put on the footwear.

  An attendant presents my shoes—gorgeous gold pumps with elaborate sculpted ornamentation and three-inch heels. Yes, heaven help me, actual high heels.

  There’s a reason I don’t get to wear them until the last minute.

  Because . . . Gwen klutz Lark.

  I put on the shoes and stand up. Yes, I’ve tried them on before during the Fitting, and they scared me then, as they scare me now.

  I take a few practice steps, holding up my skirt with both hands, just in case.

  I mustn’t step on my Wedding Dress.

  Don’t trip, oh please, don’t trip. . . .

  I take a deep breath then take a few more confident steps around the room, as Consul Denu, Lady Isulat, and all the attendants, priestesses, and servants watch.

  “My Imperial Lady is a lovely Imperial Bride,” Lady Isulat says in her mild, gentle voice. “And now—the veil.”

  This is the moment the whole look comes together.

  A priestess approaches, carrying the length of my veil, draped over her arms. The thing is sheer gossamer gold, floor length with at least a five-foot train. The fabric is etched in a delicate pattern of perfect geometric curves, waves, and curlicues, so faint that it’s only discernable up-close. Otherwise it is translucent, allowing everyone to see the wearer from a distance.

  I stand upright, and three women drape the veil over me, attaching portions of it over my crown hairdo, then letting the rest cascade down my back and to the floor far behind me. The front of the veil covers my face and falls to my waist, but it is so sheer that I have no trouble seeing through it and everyone can see me—except, now I am surrounded by a golden cloud of radiance. . . .

  “Behold, the Imperial Bride!” Consul Denu announces.

  “Are we ready to proceed with the final touch?” Lady Isulat inquires.

  “Wait, no!” I exclaim, as my heart lurches. “Almost forgot! I need my ‘Something Old,’ and ‘Something Blue!’”

  “Ah yes, more of that lovely Earth custom,” the Consul says at once. “Yes, of course.”

  Trying not to move too much in my fragile Bridal outfit, I point to the side table in the back of my bedroom and Aranit my maid fetches the exact items I had in mind.

  Something Old is my Mom’s favorite gold brooch that she wore often with decorative scarves—something my Dad brought with her other personal things, and gave me two days ago, after I told him what I needed it for. I carefully pin it to my left sleeve on my upper arm, making sure it’s attached only to the inner sheath layer of the sleeve and hidden underneath the three outer layers.

  Something Blue is Aeson. Rather—a tiny lapis lazuli blue bead that I’ve ‘stolen’ from one of his outfits in his bedroom closet, with the help of Manala. It’s on a string which I easily attach to the interior layer sleeve lace on my wrist and tie in a little bow.

  As for ‘Something New’—well, considering that everything else I’m wearing is new, I think I’ve got that covered.

  “Okay,” I say with a little brave smile. “Now I’m ready.”

  Lady Isulat nods. She and the other priestesses and seamstresses gather around me in a circle. They focus on me and the Dress with intense stares and rapt gazes.

  And then they begin to sing. It’s a gorgeous harmony surrounding an intricate melody line.

  It is also a voice command sequence.

  When they are done, my Wedding Dress—or at least the outer visible layer of it—flares into a deep crimson red, where before there was no discernable proper color, only a neutral metallic sheen of fabric.

  Chapter 61

  I stand like a crimson goddess underneath my sheer golden veil, and take a few moments to look at my reflection in the mirror. . . .

  Who are you? I ask the strange, remote, glamorous being who stares back at me in solemnity. Are you Gwen or are you someone else now?

  The Bride looks at me with her great shadowed eyes and her stark perfect brows, her cherry wine lips and her chiseled hollows of cheeks, from underneath her faerie crown.

  Whoever she is, she is unreal.

  All right, that’s enough now, I tell myself, looking away from the mesmerizing alien creature in the mirror, and face the room full of smiling people all waiting for me.

  “My Imperial Lady, it is time,” Lady Isulat says, checking a small device. “Almost thirteenth hour, we must be on our way.”

  I take a deep breath. “All right,” I say. “Let’s do it!”

  “One more thing before we proceed,” the priestess says. “Your voice command instructions for the Dress. After you voice-key the Dress to yourself the usual way, you will need to sing the following sequence to begin the program—”

  And she sings the series of notes for me three times, making me repeat it—which I do, easily.

  “Then, once you’re ready, simply touch the small raised control button in the middle of your waist to execute each command. Find the control now with your fingertips so that you’ll know where to look.”

  I glance down and tap my waistline, searching along the silky fabric for a tiny raised object. I locate it at once and point to it. “Is this it?”

  Lady Isulat nods. “Yes. But be careful not to engage it prematurely. That’s why the sequence must be sung just before you make your formal entrance. It’s a precaution to avoid mishaps.”

  “I see—makes sense.”

  “Indeed, it would be such a shame to ruin the effect,” Consul Denu says with a smile.

  “My Imperial Lady, your Dress incorporates the optimum placement of the control in an easily accessible spot for you,” Uxmal, the designer remarks in a pleased voice. “It will not fail your purpose.”

  “Thank you again.” I smile.

  Lady Isulat curtseys formally to m
e. “And now, shall we proceed?”

  The priestesses surround me, lifting the edges of my veil and picking up portions of the skirt’s train from the back and making sure my way is clear. We exit the Quarters from my side, just around thirteenth hour, and get in the private elevator going down. I will be escorted by them all the way to the Kassiopeion temple structure, the Wedding Ceremony venue.

  Outside, in brilliant white daylight, my usual security guards wait. A gust of fresh air engulfs us, and the fine fabric of my outfit immediately responds to the breeze.

  Before anyone sees me and my Dress, the priestesses unfurl some kind of an umbrella and floor-length screen contraption made of dark fabric. It has four corners, so that I am literally boxed in as I walk blindly in the wake of Lady Isulat who leads the way.

  “Just a few more steps and then you will have a transport to take you the rest of the way,” they tell me. Apparently, the Imperial Bride cannot just take a relatively short walk through the Palace complex grounds—no, she must ride.

  In this instance, I’m grateful. Because—hello, high heeled shoes, meet fancy outfit and my inner klutz. . . .

  I wonder, is Aeson also making his way to the Kassiopeion right now?

  My ride is not what I expected. It’s not a car but a hovering platform with a covered enclosure and a seat for one—a kind of old-fashioned litter or palanquin, except it hovers and needs no human bearers.

  Very carefully I get up on it, and the priestesses tuck my dress and veil around me, cover the enclosure with a fabric curtain from prying eyes, and off we go. There is a small window opening in the fabric from which I can watch our progress along the park grounds. I see my retinue and guards walking all around my transport, and in the distance the crowds are gathering.

  And suddenly, for the first time I get to see how the Wedding decorations transform and blanket the park.

  My flowers! They’re everywhere, placed in intricate arrangements in garden vases, strewn underfoot along the gravel paths, suspended in elegant garlands from other trees and landscape elements. In addition, artful ribbons and swaths of fabric in Imperial shades of red flutter in the wind, draped in folds of beautiful symmetry.

  The noise is just ahead of us, growing in volume, especially as soon as the arriving guests see my vehicle and entourage coming.

  At once there are joyful cries, and the chants begin. “The Bride! The Bride! Gwen Lark! Im-pe-ra-tris!”

  I get the silly urge to open the curtain and wave, but that would be so atypical of me. Besides, it’s not permitted for the Bride to be seen—yet.

  The Kassiopeion building looms just ahead, taking up much of the skyline in this portion of the Imperial Palace complex. It is one of the tallest structures on these grounds, long and rectangular, with one narrow end incorporating a raised section with elements of a ziggurat tower and a flat-top pyramid.

  I’ve never been here before—which isn’t saying much since I’ve hardly had the opportunity to sightsee, having to deal with a crisis every time I’ve been to the Imperial Palace.

  As we get closer, the crowds suddenly pick up a roar, but now it’s coming from the opposite side of the long building. “The Prince! The Prince! Kassiopei! Kassiopei!”

  Aeson is coming. . . .

  “My Imperial Lady, if you are watching our approach, you might want to avert your eyes,” Lady Isulat tells me from up ahead. “You might glimpse your Bridegroom by accident, which would be bad luck by our tradition. On the other hand, both of you are here at the same time, having approached together—and your synchronized appearance portends good fortune.”

  “Okay. . . .” I feel my heart pounding, and look away from the tiny window to stare into my lap.

  Moments later, we arrive.

  Slowly and carefully I get down from the curtained platform with the help of the priestesses, and see that they have again erected the fabric screen contraption to hide me from any onlookers. I walk a few shaky steps in my high heels, clutching my skirts high, seeing nothing but my feet and the mosaic cobblestones of the path ahead—even as someone gathers my train from behind, and someone else picks up the veil. Yes, I’m still boxed in with the fabric screen, and yes, it’s ridiculous.

  Mustn’t trip . . . oh please, don’t trip. . . .

  Then the screen is pulled back and I find myself at the steps of the Kassiopeion, before an intricate but low-hanging temple façade of no more than four stories in height.

  Apparently, we’ve approached the long rectangle building from its low end where the roof runs flat, and not the elevated end with the tall pyramidal tower that rises sky-high. Even so, it is highly impressive.

  Gleaming columns of polished cream stone embellished with carnelian red, black, and gold reliefs line the entrance on both sides. Beautiful garlands of my Wedding flowers wind along each column. . . . The priestesses surround me as I take the five stairs and then stop before the grand archway overhang with double doors that stand open.

  I take a quick look back and see the screaming and waving crowds of people lining up all around the structure, and rows of Imperial guards holding them back to maintain order.

  The crowds finally catch a vague glimpse of me, a shimmering veiled figure in red and gold, and the roar swells. “The Bride! The Bride!”

  But I don’t linger, giving them only a heartbeat glimpse of me, and hurry to enter the temple through the double doors, into a softly lit foyer interior with a low ceiling.

  At once Lady Isulat takes the lead, directing me to turn right, and we move into a small corridor, then a hidden chamber with a row of chairs along one wall. “My Imperial Lady, you will wait here, for the Ceremony to begin. Do take a seat, for we have at least half an hour. In moments, they will begin admitting members of the Court, then allow other guests and the public to enter.

  “Okay.” I walk with great care so as not to slip on the polished stone floor, and find a chair, while the priestesses start to fuss with my skirts and veil, arranging everything. The room is comfortable, designed as a waiting space, with a small restroom and washing facilities if needed.

  My heartbeat is racing, and I listen to the loud sounds outside. Where is Aeson now? Is he on the other end of the building? What about my family? His family? Our friends? Crazy stress thoughts flicker.

  During a small lull in the noise, I suddenly hear soft, distant choral singing coming from the walls and somewhere deeper in the building. Acapella voices of children and deeper rich voices of men soar in ethereal beauty, and I realize they are the voices of the temple priests. . . .

  This is where time becomes weird, seeming to drag and fly at the same time.

  As we wait, the priestesses around me speak in whispers, frequently meeting my nervous gaze with reassuring smiles. Now and then some leave the room to check on the status of things outside.

  Then, judging by the renewed roar, the Archaeon Imperator himself, my soon to be Father-in-Law has arrived.

  I take a deep, juddering breath.

  Then the roar happens again for the arrival of the Imperatris.

  “Not much longer now,” Lady Isulat tells me, as she adjusts the folds of my veil lying on a chair next to me, to avoid the floor.

  I wait, digging my ice-cold fingers into the cushion of my seat.

  At last I hear the profound bass tones of Atlantean orchestral instruments similar to trumpets, oboe, and a delicate sprinkling of chiming bells.

  This is my signal.

  Taking a deep breath, I rise and walk into the corridor, with the priestesses hurrying after me, straightening my train and veil.

  Returning to the foyer, I continue walking and face an interior set of grand double doors, with Imperial guards standing at attention, ready to open them for the Bridal entrance.

  Then I remember. . . . I place my hand on the tiny control button at my waist and quickly voice-key my Dress, followed by the special program sequence. In those moments I’m hyper-aware of my own initially unsteady voice, but allow myself this breathl
ess moment of weakness.

  As soon as the last note of the command sequence falls, I can feel something happening behind me.

  My golden veil unfurls of its own accord, and then, as the priestesses move out of the way, it rises, so that the edges float lightly, a foot above the floor. . . .

  It levitates like an impossible golden ghost behind me and its shorter portion in the front surrounds me in a gossamer cloud. The same thing happens to the edges of my train—it is delicately airborne, just a hairbreadth above the floor.

  I nod to the guards, and as the bell chimes sound, they part the temple doors before me.

  I enter the grand hall of the Kassiopeion, accompanied by a rhythmic chime of bells.

  The room is immense, a long rectangle with a lofty ceiling, reminiscent of Gothic architecture in its proportions. This is the “flat roof” portion, stretching far into the distance, and culminating in the temple Sanctum—the differently shaped octagon portion underneath a ceiling so lofty that it soars into a tower almost three times in height.

  A central path of pale marble stretches before me, covered by a deep red rug of matte fabric, edged in black and gold. Thank heaven, a non-slip surface. . . .

  On both sides of the path, rows of waist-high stone pedestals form a decorative barrier, topped by flower arrangements, garlanded with swaths of red fabric and more flowers, and illuminated by tiny hovering orb lights that cast a warm gold radiance. All space beyond is packed with people.

  The venue is standing room only. Those who occupy the optimum visibility spots closest to the path near the barriers are mostly members of High Court, followed by Middle Court in the center rows, and Low Court in the rows nearest the walls.

  As soon as they see me enter, awed silence settles over the crowded hall, followed by waves of gasps and whispers, even as the bells continue to chime. What must they think of my floating golden veil and magnificent crimson Wedding Dress?

  But my immediate attention is on the opposite end of the hall—the remote, octagon-shaped space that constitutes the Sanctum, where my Bridegroom and all my family awaits, together with the priests. I can barely distinguish their figures in the distance, but I can hear the invisible chorus of acapella voices chanting and humming softly from the direction of the Sanctum.