Excellent sex
Understands me and my flaws
Protect child
Save humanity?
Cons
No divorce
Might be a trap
Giving up personal agency/happiness
Different species
Rogue can annoy the hell out of me
When I looked at the list, the possibility of protecting the child and hopefully saving all of humankind from Titania outweighed the rest. Especially since the cons mostly consisted of variations on my uncertainty and lack of future happiness. And it didn’t escape my notice that the pro list was longer.
As Rogue had so coldly pointed out, I didn’t have to be happy about it. And, as Puck had noted, however obliquely—being happy would be up to me, regardless.
I’d been in this place before, at a dead end, trapped. Then I’d had the opportunity—however impulsive and badly handled—to walk off and I had. A decision that ultimately had led me to this place. As tempting as it might be to run away from this, I would not.
The decision firm in my mind that I’d wed Rogue at the moment of solstice the next day, I retired to bed alone and gazed up at the impossible firmament of Faerie. So starkly beautiful. The skies of Earth doubled over and intensified.
I tumbled into tangled, hallucinogenic dreams—the first like them I’d had since rescuing Rogue. In them I wore silver chains and I’d been trapped in a cell. No, inside an egg. Though I pounded to break through the leathery substance, it only flexed under my fists. I dug my nails in, the platinum claws springing from my fingers, and I sliced at it. The shell seamlessly resealed. Then I couldn’t slash anymore, the chains held me back. The air grew thick, lacking oxygen and I choked on it.
It wasn’t an egg after all. No, it was a cocoon and I was wrapped up in it, with Titania embracing me, inserting her proboscis. To feed. Or to lay eggs, like a wasp.
I screamed.
“Gwynn. Wake up.” For the second time I came back to myself with Rogue’s gaze filling my vision. He had my wrists pinned to the bed, his face bleeding a little from a trio of scratches. With an effort of will, I retracted the claws and he released my wrists. “You cried out in your sleep,” he offered, as if in defense.
“Sorry. I’m surprised you heard me.”
“I always hear you, my Gwynn.”
“I’m sorry for that too.”
“Don’t be. There’s enough room for regret between us without adding that on.”
True enough. An awkward pause fell between us. I didn’t know what to say except that I wanted to apologize and I didn’t know what for. Then the moment was over and Rogue stood, moonlight glinting white off his loose hair.
“Go back to sleep, Gwynn. I’ll keep watch over you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to?”
“No. I’m just sure you must have better things to do.”
He sat down again. Seemed like he might touch my cheek, but stopped himself. “Nothing is more important than you are.”
“Except for your Grand Plan, whatever it may be.”
“You are the plan. There is nothing else. If I behave in ways you don’t like, it’s because of that. This is the only type I revert to.”
Even in my blackest moments, it always amused me, his eidetic memory, how he recalled my least remark. Somehow, in the dark with my mind befuddled with the nightmare, I couldn’t muster the same self-righteous anger I clung to in the light of day. I could make a list of his personality flaws, yes—and then make at least an equal column of my own.
“I’m sorry you dread marrying me so much,” he said. “If I could change your heart on that I would.”
“That would be against the rules.”
“I need no reminding of that.” Exasperation filled his voice and I nearly smiled to hear it. At least I drove him as crazy as he made me. A better person wouldn’t be pleased about that, but I wasn’t a better person. I was only myself.
“I’m just afraid,” I whispered.
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
“Am I so terrible?” He sounded...something. Wounded. Weary.
“You could be. How do I know you won’t be my destruction?”
“This is why we must wed. Once we do, you’ll understand. Your fate will become mine.”
“And vice versa.”
“Yes.”
“That takes a huge amount of trust. What if I’m wrong?”
“Are you never mistaken?”
“I wish.”
“Good.” Though I couldn’t see his face, I heard the smile. “Then your wish will come true. Sleep now.”
Amazingly I did, falling into a deep, untroubled slumber, the sight of his black silhouette at the window obscurely comforting.
* * *
In the morning, Starling woke me with a cheerful warning that I needed to hustle to be ready in time. The light seemed dim. I gazed up at the sky, to find it white. No—full of snow. Shrugging into my robe, I went to the edge of the dome and found the moat billowing steam in the frosty air. Dragons—dozens of them—wheeled circles in the sky, dive-bombing snowflakes and each other in a playful dance. The meadow of Stargazers, the blossoms standing out like sapphire jewels against the shimmering snow, provided the only other color in the landscape. Even the castle itself had been frosted with ice.
I couldn’t decide if it was a good omen or a bad one, so I let it go and went to take the bath Starling ordered me into.
She worked on my hair with the help of two maidservants, creating an impossible tower of it. Their presence spared me having to converse with her, though she occasionally leveled me with an assessing look. In the background, her worry over Fergus and Blackbird crackled like a radio between stations. I had nothing more to offer her than she did me. So, almost as if by mutual accord, we behaved as if getting my look just right mattered more than anything else.
By the time they’d finished, I looked like a dark-haired Marie Antoinette. The image was helped along by a corset worthy of that era, sapphire blue and silver whirls decorating it, the tight lacing lifting my bosom. Thankfully Nancy intervened and made them leave the lower part loose, to give my belly room.
It seemed to have grown every time I looked at it and I wondered if the dream hadn’t come from the child, anxious to escape the confines of my body.
Starling gave me leave to do my own makeup, but watched closely, directing the process. Blacker, thicker lashes. Redder, glossier lips. Whiter, smoother skin. I drew the line at changing my eye color to blue to match the dress, even though she pouted.
The platinum-silver pattern on the left side of my face also could not be changed.
They dressed me in lace drawers—would Marie have called them pantalets?—and then dozens of silk petticoats and underskirts. The silk nymphs had done their work well, creating shimmeringly translucent leaves of skirts in all shades of blue and silver. They layered over each other, creating a vision of depth, of azure summer skies and ghostly moonlight at once.
At least it wasn’t white.
The final overdress looked like brocade but whispered light as air. A deeper blue than the rest, it seemed to float as I moved. A long train of broad sapphire and silver ribbons trailed behind me. I donned the blue lily necklace to match the earrings, which I’d never removed. I’d kept the diamond ring too. All a sign that I’d never truly thought I’d get out of this.
Maybe that I hadn’t really wanted to, despite my fears.
I’d thought about it, though, in my fantasies of escape. The dragon’s field would release the earrings and I’d leave it all in a little pile on the tower for Rogue to find. Just as I’d left my belongings behind at Devils Tower, in the mirror to this castle.
Darling Hercules, resplendent in a sapphire-jeweled collar someone had fashioned for him, led the way down the winding tower stairs. The others had to hang well back so as not to tread on my train. Served Starling right. I went slowly
in the high-heeled blue leather boots, tooled in whorls of silver that matched the ones on my face.
Where the stairs widened at the bottom, opening into the great hall, Rogue waited for me. Resplendent in matching blue and silver—of course—he looked gravely serious. He’d braided his hair, so it hung down his back, woven with ribbons that matched mine and studded with jeweled stargazer lilies. The horseshoe stud I’d made for him glinted in his ear. His eyes, both deeper blue and more glittering, fastened on me. I caught a whisper of relief from him, before he shut the doors on his mind.
“Afraid I wouldn’t show?” I asked, quietly, so no one else could hear. Amusing at least myself.
With a slight lift of the left side of his mouth, he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. He lifted my left hand and placed a kiss on the diamond. “You look beautiful, my ravishing Gwynn. Thank you for that. And for not running, yes.”
That startled me. I’d been careful to keep those thoughts very quiet, after all.
“Did you think I can’t see that much, even without hearing your thoughts?”
“I may have wanted to, but I didn’t. I’m here and I’m going through with it.”
He seemed about to say something more but didn’t. Instead, he dropped my hand and offered me his arm. “Shall we, then?”
My hand shook a little as I slipped it through his elbow and turned to face everyone. The hall dripped with the Stargazer lilies, blue and silver ribbons, and rafts of candles, the room redolent of the sweet blossoms and the hot vanilla scents of wax. Athena and the dragonfly girls had outdone themselves. People filled the hall. Falcon glowered at me, while Lady Healer on his arm smiled serenely, lovely in a formal grass-green gown. Fafnir appeared to be escorting Nasty Tinker Bell, the silver collar around his throat as obvious as his frown. Puck waved fingers at me, a handsome elfin-looking man gazing at him adoringly. Marquise and Scourge, she dressed in glistening black and he in spotless white, leaned their heads together, fond expressions on their faces.
Beyond these, ranks of fae and humans had gathered. Brownies, dragonfly girls, soldiers, fae nobles I recognized from various occasions. All staring at us with rapt interest.
“Breathe, my skittish Gwynn,” Rogue muttered. “It’s a wedding, not a human sacrifice.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the human,” I answered. But his taunt had snapped me out of it and I felt more myself. I scanned the ranks again. No sight of Titania.
“Is she here?” I asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“Maybe she won’t come.”
“Wish upon a star, my powerful Gwynn. If anyone can make it true, you can.” He led me down the aisle formed by the assembly. They bowed as we passed, then fell in behind us, as if we led a parade.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” It must have been the nerves, because I’d voiced the quip before I’d thought about how the flipness wouldn’t translate, only the intent.
“That bodes well for my chances then. Have I told you how beautiful you look? How intelligent and brilliantly magical?”
I snorted out a tiny laugh. He drove me crazy, but I’d missed him these past days. If nothing else, he did understand me. And forgave me for my foibles. I should find it in myself to do the same for him. Rogue’s thoughts brushed over mine, like a caress down my spine.
“I missed you, too, lovely Gwynn,” he whispered.
“Thank you for being there last night—for waking me.”
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone again.”
“I dreamed that she—”
“I know. Don’t say it. That’s why we’re doing this. To prevent that. For us both.”
We stepped outside the castle, onto the drawbridge, which had also been draped in cloth of silver and blue. Snowflakes fell huge and thick, some spheres, others feathery. I tipped my head back and they swirled down in thick waves, so I felt I might be inside a snow globe. The little gold plate would read Royal Wedding in Faerie. A funny image, if I didn’t feel so afraid.
“Is it wise for us to be outside?”
“Inside or out, it doesn’t matter. She will interfere or not as it suits her. I’ve done all I can to distract her with the pomp and circumstance.”
“Distract her from what?”
“Shh. You will see. Trust me.”
I couldn’t decide how I felt about that. It went without saying that pretty much anything Titania wanted to happen did not bode well for me. But I put it aside, as I’d resolved to, and walked with Rogue across the drawbridge. As we reached the midpoint, a moat monster rose on each side and sent spouts of water arching overhead, a dazzling display, as the streams sparkled with ice crystals and curled with steam.
I laughed then, in truth. And it felt so much better than the dread of the past few days. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Rogue slanted me a smile. “Larch’s idea, I believe.”
They’d all gone to so much trouble to make everything amazing. We walked on a continuing ribbon of silk, that remarkably remained free of snow, to a pool at the base of the waterfall. Instead of thundering into impact, the skyscraper-tall sheet of glassy water sliced into the aqua pool like a blade, soundlessly perfect.
We stepped up to the snowy bank and Rogue moved to step into the water. I hesitated and he untucked my hand from his elbow and laced his long fingers with mine. “Trust me,” he repeated, in a sterner tone. Demanding it of me.
It went unspoken that I’d failed to. That I’d come this far and there would be no turning back, regardless. Feeling as if I might be stepping off a cliff, I went with him, our booted feet touching the surface simultaneously. The water rippled out at the contact, then firmed, buoyant but solid.
Extraordinary.
We walked out to the center, our guests fanning out in a wide circle on the banks. Starling and Athena stood with Darling Hercules at the forefront. Larch stood just behind Athena, and a man I vaguely recognized flanked Starling. Walter? I must not have paid enough attention to him in the vision, because he looked like a different man than the one I had dumped on Marquise and Scourge’s doorstep.
Rogue stopped and faced me, taking my hands in his. My ribbon train floated on the water, the otherwise invisible current pulling it into a lazy spiral around us. The guests were far enough away that I thought they wouldn’t be able to hear the vows, or whatever.
“Who is marrying us?” I asked after a long pause.
“We are marrying each other.”
I laughed a little at that echo, then realized he meant it. “Really? I did ask around and that’s not how it’s usually done.”
“No. Usually someone of greater rank seals the marriage. But, think on it, my Gwynn. There is no one in Faerie who outstrips our united power. Thus we’ll marry each other.”
“Not even...” I trailed off, unwilling to name her, even in oblique reference, given his particularly strenuous warnings.
“As you so ably demonstrated the other day, not even her.”
Wow. “So, how do we do this?”
“No one recalls sorcerers of equal power marrying before.”
“Did you say equal power?”
Inclining his head slightly, he looked wry. “Yes. Thus I’m making this up as I go along.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “The ever so powerful control-freak Lord Rogue is winging it? You sound like me.”
“There are merits to your techniques.”
“To my wantonly reckless behavior?”
He didn’t take the bait. So much more disciplined than I with such things. “Even so. Are you ready to marry me?”
Okay, I could do this. “Why not?”
“I need a real answer, my Gwynn. This won’t work unless you can mean it with all your heart.” His words, his face intense. “You have to be absolutely willing.”
“You didn’t mention that before.”
“It seemed wiser not to give you time to think about it.”
To talk myself out of it, he
meant.
“Always maneuvering, stacking the deck.”
“Yes. You know me well. Once you said you loved me anyway.”
Dammit. I took a deep breath, realizing I was clutching his hands hard enough to make a human’s numb.
The moment of truth.
“Yes, my Rogue, I’m ready to marry you.”
“Open your mind to me.”
With only a little fear, which I ruthlessly kicked down, I did. Found his already open to me, like a warm embrace. It helped immensely and I clung to that as well.
“Make the wish. I shall do the same.” He stopped himself from saying more, though I clearly read the caution in his thoughts. Be specific. Be precise. And truly want it.
Wishes never did work right, unless you truly wanted them to come true.
“Take the time you need and show me when you’re ready.”
Did every bride do this? Did they all stand at that moment of saying “I do” and gaze down at the chasm of years? So many people regretted that vow, wished to take it back and never could. The devastation of divorce only made it worse and I faced far more dire consequences.
I tried to ignore those thoughts and muster the energy for the wish, but couldn’t find the wanting. I needed the desire to make the fuel, to set the spark. Apparently I lacked the heroic gene, because marrying Rogue to save humanity turned out not to be enough for me. Instead, I tapped into my emotions around our unborn child, giving her a face, using her as the reason.
But no.
All this time, Rogue held my hands, watching me, listening to my thoughts. Knowing I couldn’t make it happen. Because I didn’t want it enough.
He acknowledged that with a bare nod and a sigh. “I understand,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He smiled, a self-deprecating twist of his mouth. “I blame myself.” And chasing behind that thought came an image of the boy, alone on a beach, as thousands of dead birds rained around him. His fault. No wonder I couldn’t love him.
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