Endless Water, Starless Sky

by Rosamund Hodge

  Somebody shrieked. Runajo looked back to the duel, and her heart thudded. Because a Mahyanai girl—it was Arajo, the one she’d seen hanging around Juliet before—had bolted into the middle of the courtyard and flung herself between Romeo and Juliet, arms outstretched.

  “Stop!”

  And even through the walls between them, Runajo could feel the sudden spike of Juliet’s fear, because this was an innocent, but the compulsion to kill was driving her nearly mad—

  “You can’t kill me,” said Arajo, very pale. “I’m your clan.”

  “No,” Romeo shouted, and tried to pushed his way forward between them, but Arajo threw herself forward at Juliet, grabbing her arm—and more people ran forward—

  Runajo looked at Lord Ineo. “Your people will do it if you don’t,” she said.

  He knew it; she could see it in the way his mouth twisted. “Stop,” he called out, his voice ringing across the courtyard. “He is my kin and I pardon him.”

  For one heart-stopping instant, Runajo thought, What if it doesn’t work?

  And then she felt Juliet’s dazzled wonderment as the need to kill was gone.

  Her hands.

  That was the first thing Juliet noticed, in the dazed moments after Lord Ineo called out the pardon and left her head ringing like a bell.

  Her hands weren’t moving. They felt hollow, at once heavy weights and lighter than air. Nothing drove them, twisted them, gave them power.

  Then she was shaking and then she had fallen to her knees. She stared at her hands—braced against the ground—and she wasn’t killing, she wasn’t hurting anyone, and she didn’t know if she could breathe through this much joy.

  “Let me go!” she heard Romeo shouting, and she managed to raise her head and see him kneeling in front of her. His hands hovered beside her face, just barely not touching, as if he were afraid—

  “Juliet,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Because Romeo had never been afraid of her, only afraid for her, even when she’d been about to kill him. Juliet smiled and found she couldn’t stop.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” And she reached out and touched his cheek—the unbloodied one, that she hadn’t cut. They were both still bleeding from the wounds they had put on each other, their peoples were still at war and the whole world was dying, and none of it mattered because of this. This: the warmth of his cheek under her thumb, the cautious, steadying pressure of his hand against the back of her head.

  What did you do? she called silently to Runajo, because she knew there was only one person who could have found a way.

  I persuaded Lord Ineo to pardon him, said Runajo.

  That was enough? How did you know? Another time, Juliet would rage or weep that she had never known it could be so simple, but not now. Not when Romeo’s forehead was pressed against hers and she could feel his breath against her face.

  I didn’t know, said Runajo. I guessed. And then I lied.

  Thank you, said Juliet, and did not care that she hadn’t forgiven Runajo, could not forgive her. Thank you.

  Wait until we’ve finished negotiating with Lord Ineo, said Runajo.

  But Lord Ineo was not a problem. Juliet had just found the strength to rise, to lead Romeo by the hand before Lord Ineo—but she hadn’t yet had time to speak—when there was a commotion at the gates. It was Subcaptain Xu, but over her uniform was hung a new gold chain. She strode through the courtyard without looking to the left or right, straight up to Lord Ineo, and said, “I must speak to you. And the Catresou.”

  “About what?” asked Lord Ineo.

  “The Exalted desires peace among her people.”

  Lord Ineo’s eyebrows went up. “Her people?”

  “Yes,” said Xu. “The Exalted you served was so distressed by the ruin of his people, he poured out his lifeblood in sacrifice to honor them, and beg the gods for mercy. His younger sister now sits upon his throne, she has appointed me as her right hand, and she has sent me to settle this feud.”

  So that was that. Vai went to fetch the Catresou leaders—Romeo would not let go of Juliet’s hand, would not leave her side for an instant—and they held their negotiations in his study that night.

  This was the agreement that they made, under Xu’s watchful eyes: that all the necromancers were dead. That there was to be peace among the four houses—because Vai’s followers were numerous and unified enough now to be considered one of them. That, to make sure Juliet’s power would not drive her to kill again and restart the feud, the Mahyanai and Catresou were to be considered allies.

  And to seal that alliance, Juliet would be given to Romeo in a Catresou wedding, so that both clans would recognize the marriage.

  After it was all over—after Romeo had finally left with the Catresou, so that he could give them his own account of what had happened—Lord Ineo looked at Juliet and said, “You’ve won yourself a very great concession.”

  Anger shuddered at the pit of her stomach. “I wasn’t forced to kill your son,” she said. “That’s what you call a concession?”

  “Do you want revenge for that?” he asked flatly. “Because you won’t find it easy.”

  Juliet stared at him and thought wearily, for the thousandth time, of Catresou blood spilling under her blade, her father’s neck snapping between her hands.

  But she thought also of Arajo smiling, and the silence in the family shrine where the names of all the Mahyanai dead were written.

  “I was made for revenge,” she said. “But the world is very small now. Too small, I think, for me to take it.”

  “You were made for obedience,” he said bitterly. “Or so I was told.”

  And Juliet could not hold back her weary, triumphant smile.

  “I was born under obedience,” she said. “Did you think I wouldn’t know how to use it?”

  27

  THEY WEREN’T MARRIED FOR ANOTHER three days.

  A year ago, that would have been a foolishly short time to prepare for a wedding. Now it seemed to Romeo like an outrageous delay. There was no such thing as a proper ceremony anymore, not when all the Lower City was dead and filled with revenants, and the walls around the Upper City had only barely survived.

  But the wedding was still part of the peace between the clans. Lord Ineo wanted it to be celebrated as well as the desperate circumstances would allow, and so did Lord Indarus, who had become the new Lord Catresou. And that took time to arrange.

  “We’re already married,” Romeo had muttered rebelliously when he heard the news.

  Gavarin had given him a hard look before saying, “So far as you’re a Catresou, you’re not. Take the time to restore the girl’s honor the right way.”

  “She lacks nothing of honor,” Romeo had said hotly, but he didn’t complain any more. He knew that this wedding was for the clans as much as it was for him and Juliet.

  And even though the Catresou had been granted their old rights and homes again, there was still much to be done. In some parts of the compound, there was still blood dried onto the floor.

  The day before the wedding, Romeo realized that he had been so busy with preparations, he still didn’t know exactly what the ceremony would entail. He meant to simply ask Gavarin about it, but he hadn’t found him yet when he ran into Ilurio, and let slip why he was looking.

  Ilurio’s explanation was delivered in extremely smug tones, but it was easy enough to understand, and it sounded much simpler and less exotic than Romeo had feared. For one thing, there were no organs in jars.

  “Is that all?” he asked when Ilurio finished.

  “Well,” said Ilurio, “then you have to bed her—”

  Romeo glared at him. “I know about that.”

  “—in front of witnesses.”

  “What?”

  “Ancient custom,” said Ilurio. “To ensure that the marriage is properly consummated.”

  “She is already my wife,” Romeo snarled, his face hot and cold at once, because he couldn’t imagine asking Juliet to u
ndergo that—but if this was her people’s tradition then she must expect it—

  “What’s this?” asked Gavarin, who walked into the room, looked at the pair of them, and then slapped the back of Ilurio’s head.

  “I was just telling him what to expect,” Ilurio muttered. “With the bedding.”

  Gavarin sighed and turned to Romeo. “The wedding party takes you to the bed and witnesses you unmask each other, to be sure there’s been no trickery. Then we lock the door on you.”

  “Oh.” Romeo relaxed. “Do people really try to switch places?”

  Gavarin shrugged. “There are stories of it.”

  “It’s more to make sure nobody can dispute the dowry by claiming the marriage wasn’t consummated,” said Ilurio. “Though I suppose you don’t have to worry about that.”

  There wasn’t nearly the same scorn or venom in Ilurio’s voice as there used to be, but the words still rankled. Romeo opened his mouth to protest—

  “Ignore him,” said Gavarin. “He’s jealous because he’s never yet kissed a girl.” And while Ilurio sputtered, he went on, “We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

  “Yes?” said Romeo. Gavarin was looking at him with a grim concentration that he hadn’t seen since he was threatening Romeo with death at the start of their raid.

  “Listen, I know marriage isn’t the same thing among your people,” said Gavarin.

  “I would never take a concubine,” Romeo said earnestly. “I promised her that already.” And no matter how many people he’d heard say that the heart needed room to roam, he couldn’t imagine loving any woman but Juliet.

  “Good,” said Gavarin, “but that isn’t what I meant to tell you. I know the Mahyanai like to send their women into the Guard, but that isn’t our way. You’re a Catresou now, and that means you protect your wife.”

  Romeo thought of the way that Juliet’s sword had danced through the air when they dueled, and he almost laughed. But then he looked at the grim set of Gavarin’s face. He thought of how lonely Juliet had been when he had met her, the girl without a name, reverenced by all her people and befriended by none.

  He had thought, I can save her, and he’d been terribly wrong in every way. He’d broken her heart and left her alone and nearly destroyed her.

  Except . . . he had made her less lonely, for a little while. And after everything went wrong and they were parted, she had found Runajo—and it hadn’t been any of his doing, but it wouldn’t have happened if he had never seen a girl alone in a garden, practicing her sword work, and wanted to talk to her. If he hadn’t asked her to marry him, one sunlit afternoon as they sat on the rooftops of the Lower City.

  He thought, Maybe I can protect her now.

  This time, maybe I can give her happiness that lasts.

  “I don’t care what the Mahyanai have done to her,” said Gavarin. “The Juliet is still one of us. So you take care to do right by her.”

  “I will,” said Romeo.

  It was not unknown for Juliets to marry. But it was rare. Few men wanted wives who were living weapons. Though Juliet had attended several weddings in her childhood, she had never dreamed she would be at the center of one herself.

  “That’s an ugly mask,” said Arajo, puckering her mouth at the wedding mask resting on the table. It was a full-face mask, gilded all over, with curling red designs painted around the eyes.

  “It’s traditional,” said Juliet.

  “Well,” said Arajo, “you belong to us now, so you can at least wear a proper wedding dress.”

  “I didn’t know your people cared so much about weddings,” said Juliet.

  “Just because we don’t lock up our women before they’re wed, doesn’t mean we don’t care,” said Arajo. “My mother has found a dress you can borrow.”

  It wasn’t a single dress: it was three silk dresses, layered on top of each other, so that the inner colors showed only at the hem and neck and sleeves. The outermost was gold, the middle layer was white, and the third—silky against her skin—was deep crimson.

  “I know a handmaid who is splendid with cosmetics,” said Arajo, examining her critically, “but it would just be smeared all over your face when you put that mask on, so I won’t bother.”

  Our women are beautiful enough without painting, Juliet thought. But she supposed that if she was Mahyanai now, she would need to learn their beauty.

  That was not something she had ever expected. Even when she had planned to make them hers, when she had turned all her will to learning their ways—even before she had known that Romeo was alive, and she could only avoid killing him if she died—she had never imagined herself living with the Mahyanai.

  She had never dreamed that she might be happy among them. That she might ever look forward to sunrise or sunset because it was going to bring something better.

  The world was dying still, but at sundown, she would be in Romeo’s arms again. Every day that remained to her, she would be with him.

  Suddenly she was very aware of her heart fluttering against her ribs. The shiver in her stomach.

  “You don’t have to wear the mask,” said Arajo, looking at her with concern.

  “If I don’t,” said Juliet, “I’m saying that everyone in the room is my better, and deserves to rule me.”

  Arajo went very still. “Is that how you felt when you came here?” she asked.

  Juliet hesitated a few moments, trying to find the truth.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “But at least you were all shaming yourselves along with me.”

  “Hm.” Arajo fiddled with the hair combs on the table, and then set them down. “You should have something gold, not silver. I’m going to go check my mother’s jewel box.”

  “Arajo.” Juliet caught her hand before she could leave. “Thank you for saving Romeo.”

  Arajo’s hand did not grip her back, but she didn’t draw it away either. The look she gave Juliet was . . . caught.

  “I was ashamed,” she said quietly, after a few moments. “When I stopped being angry, I was ashamed of what we did to you. Whatever your people are like, you are—” Her mouth snapped shut and she stared at the ground. “I don’t understand how you forgave me.”

  I never said I did, Juliet nearly replied, but she stopped herself just in time. She realized with a sudden, heartsore pang that Runajo would grin at the words but Arajo wouldn’t.

  “You saved my husband,” she said instead, and Arajo smiled weakly before she left.

  Juliet looked at the table, piled with discarded ornaments. Silently, she called out to Runajo: Am I going to see you at all tonight?

  She had hardly seen Runajo at all the past three days. She had either been talking with the Sisterhood—helping restore the city’s walls had put her back in their favor—or she had been studying the dead Juliet.

  Do you want to? Runajo asked, and her silent voice was rawer than Juliet had expected.

  I’m going to see all my other enemies at this wedding, she replied.

  Runajo was there barely a minute later. “A Mahyanai dress and a Catresou mask,” she said. “You will look atrocious to everyone.”

  “Except Romeo,” said Juliet. “And he’s the only one I have to please.”

  Runajo remained standing just inside the door. “And Lord Ineo,” she said bitterly.

  Juliet grinned. “Not in bed.”

  Runajo clapped a hand to her mouth, covering her laugh as if it were a sick cough.

  “I thought Catresou girls were supposed to blush at these things,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Juliet, “but I’m almost a married woman.”

  And the memory welled up between them, so sudden and overwhelming that Juliet couldn’t tell which of them it came from: the last time that Juliet had been unashamed to speak of Romeo in her bed. When they had been prisoners in the Cloister together, and the High Priestess had given Runajo a knife and told her to sacrifice Juliet, and Juliet had believed she would.

  When Runajo—

&n
bsp; Juliet caught the thought, stopped it and the flood of bitter, hateful memories that went with it. Because Runajo had set her free. Because today was her wedding day. Because, very soon, everyone in the world would die anyway.

  (She suspected that thought had sidled in from Runajo’s mind.)

  She looked up at Runajo and said, “I don’t forgive you, but I am glad that I lived until today.”

  “That makes no sense at all,” Runajo muttered, but she was almost halfway smiling.

  And so, before both their peoples, Juliet Catresou was married to Mahyanai Romeo.

  They joined hands, and the wedding scroll was wrapped around their wrists: a long strip of silk on which the magi had embroidered seals and sigils that invoked fertility and faithfulness. It was plainer and simpler than the wedding scrolls Juliet had seen as a child, but it was the only one that had survived the purge and the Ruining.

  Juliet felt dizzy when Romeo’s fingers squeezed hers. When he looked into her eyes, and she told herself, This is real, this is real, as he swore aloud that he would love and cherish her, honor and guard her. When she replied with her vow to give him her life and her children, to honor him with breath and body, as two clans listened and she thought, They cannot take us apart now.

  There was a feast afterward—though little more than a dinner, given the circumstances. Juliet hardly tasted the food. She did not have to wait long, anyway: the custom was that the bride and groom were escorted to their bed early.

  It felt like a dream when they were led in procession to the bedroom: like a vision, something that might come to pass but was not yet real. But then Juliet sat on the bed, and she felt the mattress shift as Romeo sat down beside her. She felt his fingertips brush the side of her face as he undid her mask and lifted it away; and then she lifted his mask away, and she didn’t care that one of the magi was still droning the traditional blessing. She leaned forward, as easily and inevitably as breathing, and kissed him.

  Somebody laughed, but she didn’t care either.

  With that, the wedding was over. The crowd filed out of the room.

  The door closed.

  They were kissing still. But then Romeo’s hand drifted down the side of Juliet’s face to rest on her shoulder, and landed on the spot where he had wounded her. She flinched, her breath hissing in, and he jolted back.