A manor stands on a hill, very much like one of our duke’s castles. It looks like it’s been here for hundreds of years, but the construction is exquisite. Wooden dwellings line the main street, and people go about their nightly business. Most of the citizens appear to be heading back to their homes from a daily market. Some push handcarts, and others lead donkeys.
It’s all very civilized—just a village like any in Kalae. Yes, the architecture is decidedly exotic, and the people wear far less clothing than I am accustomed, but it’s a village, nonetheless.
Our escorts wave hello to people as we walk down the main thoroughfare. The women’s outfits are absurd. They wear long wrapped silken skirts in bright colors, but their stomachs are bare, and their tops appear to be nothing but undergarments. Many villagers stop what they’re doing to watch us pass, and it reminds me of walking down the streets of Mesilca.
It soon becomes apparent that they’re taking us to the manor at the edge of town. When we are near, the doors are tossed open by two more burly, shirtless guards. Our new friends parade us right into the main hall, where people loiter, eat, and talk.
The conversations come to an abrupt stop when the guests see their men are not alone.
A man sits on what looks like a throne at the middle back of the room, and he stands. The leader of our group exchanges words with him, and collective gasps echo about the room.
“Do you think that’s a good or bad sign?” I ask Avery.
“Good.” He grins. “I’m fifty-percent positive.”
The man who I’ve decided is these people’s king strides down the steps, toward us. Avery stands straighter, and I try to look as demure and feminine as possible. All but ignoring Avery, the man stops in front of me. He studies me for several moments, letting his eyes linger in a disconcerting manner. He looks as if he’s inspecting a prize cow.
Avery bristles beside me, but since the man hasn’t done anything truly offensive, he stays quiet for the moment.
Finally, the king nods, and a smile breaks out on his face. The room cheers as the man motions for one of our guards to come forward.
The man I gave the charm to talks rapidly and meets my eyes. He’s not smiling, not exactly, but he certainly looks pleased.
“What do you think he’s saying?” I ask Avery through my pasted-on smile.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
A woman comes forward. Her eyes are darkly lined with kohl, and, like the other women we saw on our way here, she wears a revealing outfit in deep purple. She carries two loose wreaths of fragrant white plumeria. She places one around my neck. I expect her to give the other to Avery—she’s certainly eying him curiously, but she instead slides the flower necklace over the neck of the man on my other side.
“I really don’t like this,” Avery says.
The man whose name I still don’t know holds up the charm I gave him for the crowd to see, and then he passes it to the king. The king’s eyes go wide, and he says something to me—I still have no idea what.
This language difference is getting quite old.
Once the king is done fawning over the charmed ring, his eyes turn back to the man who wears the flowers. The leader of our escorts slides a ring from his own finger, holds it up again for the crowd to see, and then offers it to me. Hesitant—still smiling—I take it from him because that’s what it seems he wants me to do. The room erupts in cheers and applause.
Something happened, something important. I have no idea what, but judging from the coarse word Avery just muttered, I have a feeling it’s bad.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
Avery rubs his face. “I’m not positive, but I believe you and our brawny escort are either engaged or married.”
“What!” I start to demand he tell me more, but I’m already being dragged to the head of the room, toward the thrones. The queen stands, smiling, and kisses me on both cheeks.
What’s wrong with these people?
A beautiful young woman steps up to Avery, presses right up against him, and slides her arm through his, attempting to lead him to her table.
“No!” I say too loudly.
The room goes silent.
“He stays with me.” With haughty indignation, I point to Avery, and then I point at the ground next to me. It takes them several moments, but then understanding dawns on their faces.
I slump with relief when one of the men who led us here takes Avery from the disappointed girl and leads him to my side. When he reaches me, he pushes on the captain’s shoulders.
“Just what are you doing?” Avery begins to ask the man, but it becomes apparent he expects him to kneel at my feet. Rolling his eyes, the captain obeys.
My fiancé—I’m going with that because I refuse to acknowledge he might be my husband—looks at me in question, nodding toward Avery. Basically, he’s asking, “This is right, yes?”
“They think I’m your servant,” Avery says to the floor, almost laughing though I don’t believe he finds the situation humorous at all.
But at least he’s with me.
“Yes, yes,” I say nodding and smiling brightly. I pat Avery’s head to really get my point across. “He’s mine.”
My fiancé looks me in the eye and then makes a swiping motion toward his nether-regions.
I snort back a laugh. “You want to know if Avery’s a eunuch?”
I wave my hand and nod, hoping to convince him that’s already been taken care of, but I’m having trouble choking back a horrified laugh. Then I stop laughing. What if they check?
What have we gotten ourselves into this time?
“If that man comes near me, his death will be painful,” Avery mutters.
I don’t believe it will come to that. Avery’s already forgotten.
My intended stands by my side, beaming, and the party continues. It quickly becomes clear that I’m engaged to the prince of this hierarchy. Lucky me.
I’m led to a table, and more food is served. I try to eat so I don’t offend anyone. Avery’s now allowed to stand behind me, waiting for me to give him orders. He must be starving, but none of the servants are eating.
When a platter of roasted fowl is placed before us, the man by my side takes a bite-sized portion and offers it to me…to eat. From his hand.
Avery stiffens behind me.
I won’t do it. I will not.
I take the meat from him with my fingers, thanking him. My fiancé watches me, intrigued, and I self-consciously wipe my hands on the provided napkin.
He taps his chest. “Kaiu.”
“Kaiu? Oh, is that your name?”
Nodding as if he understands me, he taps my chest, just under my collarbone, and raises his eyebrows in question.
“Lucia.”
Kaiu smiles wide and tries it. “Loo…shuh.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
Kaiu says something else, and the smile in his eyes makes him look quite sincere. He’s very handsome. It’s too bad Adeline’s not here. We could marry her off.
Avery’s eyes bore into the back of my head, but I don’t know what he expects me to do. I point behind me. “Avery.”
“Captain Greybrow will be fine,” Avery tells Kaiu with a tight smile. I laugh because he knows no one will understand him but me.
The food is cleared after a few more minutes, and then several women come to collect me.
“Where are they taking me?” I ask Avery, horrified at the thought of leaving him.
He shakes his head, helpless. “I have no idea, but if you end up in a bedchamber with that man, you attack him like he’s a giant frog, you understand?”
“Avery, that’s not funny!” I start to panic. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be here, trying to stay intact.”
“Avery,” I say again, this time more frustrated. “Get us out of here.”
Suddenly serious, Avery nods. “I’m working on it, I swear.”
***
After
being bathed and dressed like a doll, the women escort me to a room. Now I lie in a bed that’s fitted with silken sheets and a white coverlet that must have been stuffed with swan’s down. But do I sleep peacefully on the cloud-like pillow, behind the gauzy bed curtains that blow in the breeze?
I do not.
All night I wait for Kaiu to walk through that door, all while wondering where they’ve taken Avery. I thought I made it very clear I wanted him by my side. They didn’t care, apparently.
When morning finally lightens the sky, I breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever it was I endured, it was not a wedding ceremony. I might be innocent in such things, but I do know the groom is usually present during the first night.
Exhausted, I let myself drowse and do not wake until my new women friends return. They toss open the curtains, giggling. Most of them are my age or younger, and they chatter like childhood friends. I watch them from the safety of the bed.
One sits beside me and smiles encouragingly. She says something and nods for me to rise.
“I have no idea what you’re saying. Very sorry.”
They glance at each other, just as much at a loss as I am. The pretty one near me pushes her long hair over her shoulder and takes my hands. Far stronger than she looks, she yanks me from the bed.
“All right,” I mutter. “I’m up.”
There’s a knock at the door. Without giving me a moment to pull on a robe, the girls fling the doors open. A string of men enters the chamber, each carrying a steaming jug of water. They avert their eyes—none daring to look my way. Except for the last.
Avery’s eyes find mine. His gaze is so direct, I must steady myself on the bedpost. Like all the men on this island, he wears their garb—short trousers and sandals. But like the servants alone, he wears a plain brown open vest. With his light hair and lighter eyes, he stands out from the crowd. Vaguely, it registers that the girls appreciate him as well, and they whisper to one another as they watch him.
When I see he’s going to go out the door, taking the same path as the rest of them, I race forward. “What’s going on?”
He looks down, playing subservient. “Wedding preparations, I believe.”
“Avery…”
“I have a plan, Lucia.” He glances back up. “But you’ll have to trust me. Can you do that?”
I don’t even think about it. “Yes.”
Before he leaves, he gives me a small, confident smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Why Can't it be Real?
I wouldn’t go in public like this, and yet here I am, standing in front of what must be the entire village. I wear a long white skirt embroidered with golden threads. It’s nothing more than a long strip of fabric wrapped around itself and fastened with ties. My midriff is bare and much paler than my arms, and my chest is hidden behind a fitted partial bodice that dips low in the front, fastens in the back, and has thick straps on my shoulders.
The outfit is no more revealing than anyone else’s, but that doesn’t make me any more comfortable. It took the girls hours to make me presentable for the ceremony. They bathed me—which was humiliating, perfumed me with oils, and painted my face. The floral scent makes my nose itch, and the lines around my eyes are so dark, I scarcely recognize myself. I feel as if I’m on display. Probably because I am.
I’m standing just in front of the thrones where the king and queen sat yesterday, waiting for my groom. At least, that’s what the crowd thinks I’m waiting for. In truth, I’m standing here, cursing Avery, wondering what’s taking the captain and his great escape plan so long.
The king comes forward, smiling at me in the expected “royal” sort of way. It’s at this moment I decide that no matter how much water separates people, or how different we appear, we are humans at our core and not so very dissimilar—which means I can predict with confidence that these people are going to be irked when I jilt their beloved prince.
The crowds begin to quiet, and I have a feeling the ceremony is about to begin.
Where are you, Avery?
I’ve only been to one wedding when I was young, but I’m positive the groom is supposed to wait for the bride, not the other way around. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, Kaiu has gotten a case of cold feet. After all, look at the plenitude of beautiful, scantily dressed girls here. Why on earth would he want me? We don’t even speak the same language, and I’ve always assumed that’s a matrimonial requirement.
My shoulders tense when a trio of young boys begins a gentle rhythm on their drums. The crowd murmurs, excited, and it seems to be the cue for everyone to settle down.
Avery’s cutting if awfully close.
I half expect Kaiu to march down the aisle with a bevy of his best comrades with him, but he does not. He walks in from a side door with no fanfare whatsoever. He’s extremely handsome in his wedding garb; I can’t deny that. He wears loose white trousers, a long white vest, and his hair is pulled back in a sleek tail. The contrast of the light fabric against his dark skin is striking, and I truly feel bad that I’m taking this honor away from one of these lovely girls. I am sure all of them want to be in my place. It’s amazing they’ve been nice to me at all.
Even as I take in the details, I begin to panic.
I trust you, Avery. I trust you.
Where is he?
Kaiu reaches for my hands, and I give them to him, too terrified to protest. The king begins the ceremony. The queen is so overcome with joy, she dabs her eyes with a handkerchief every few moments. Kaiu is just repeating the words his father says when the doors to the great hall fly open. As one, we all turn toward the intruder.
Avery stands at the front of the hall, a vision in his serving attire, with a long, thick pole held in his hand. “I object.”
This is his plan? After my honeymoon, I’m going to kill him.
He strides forward, either extremely confident or extremely good at hiding his nerves. Kaiu narrows his eyes and slowly releases my hands. Once Avery is only a few yards away from us, he bows low, showing his respect for Kaiu. When he stands, he holds up the pole.
That’s the best he can do? Offer the prince a stick?
“I wish to fight for Lucia’s hand,” Avery says to Kaiu, perhaps knowing the prince will understand because of the obvious weapon in his hand.
Kaiu studies Avery for several long moments, and then he bows back. When he rises, he holds out his hand, and someone miraculously tosses him a pole—which apparently, they keep handy at these wedding ceremonies, just in case someone should want to duel.
Unable to stop myself, I step forward. “Avery…”
“I have this, Lucia.” The captain draws himself up to his full height, which is almost even with Kaiu.
They’re both muscular, strong, skilled. But Avery’s favored weapon is a broadsword. I’ve never, not once, seen him fight with a dowel.
The two men focus on the task at hand, and right here in front of the thrones, they circle each other. The crowd is delighted. This show certainly became more entertaining.
I wince when the poles first meet, and a loud crack fills the cavernous room. They’re quick, both of them, and I stand here, stupefied, watching Avery fight. I’ve never seen anything like him. It’s beautiful how he moves, with precision and strength.
When we were in Mesilca, breaking Sebastian out of jail, Avery told the constable that the man couldn’t beat him on his best day. I thought the captain was bluffing. I was wrong.
Tired of the fight, Kaiu swings hard, ready to finish this. Avery jumps over the pole, lands at a crouch, and knocks the prince right off his feet. Avery stands, panting, and places the end of the pole directly above Kaiu’s heart.
The crowd is silent. No one expected Avery to best their man, and I have no idea how this will go. Avery will either be mobbed, or he’ll be congratulated. I do not know these people or their ways well enough to guess at an outcome.
With a snap of his wrist, Avery draws the pole back and offers Kaiu his hand. After a moment, the prince laughs
, tired, and clasps it. Our audience accepts the prince’s approval, and they cheer.
He won. He did it.
The men gather round, clapping him on the back, and even Kaiu gives him what appears to be a hearty congratulation. Then the prince clasps Avery’s shoulder and propels him toward me. He says something, motions at me, and bows his head, apparently giving us his blessing.
Avery looks taken aback. “No, I don’t…”
I shake my head, and my stomach ties itself in knots.
The king finally comes forward and glares at Avery. Angry, he spits out several sentences and then points to Kaiu. His meaning is clear. If Avery won’t stand with me and exchange the vows, Kaiu will.
Avery looks at the king and glances at Kaiu. Two minutes ago, he was a warrior of legend. Now he looks helpless. He turns to me, perhaps hoping I can give him instruction. When his eyes find me, his expression goes slack. For the first time, he truly takes in my scandalous outfit, with my hair sleek and long, and my eyes dark and exotic. He looks like a man who just found a cool spring in the middle of the desert.
My heart riots; my head swims. Nothing in my life has mattered but this moment. What will he choose?
Slowly, with the king pushing him forward, Avery comes to stand in front of me. Quietly, he says, “It’s just a show. That’s all they want. It’s not real.”
“All right.”
He meets my eyes, searching for my approval, desperate for it. “All right?”
“Yes.”
Seeing as how neither of us knows how to behave in this particular type of wedding ceremony, the king presses my hands into Avery’s. At first, I think he’s trembling, but then I realize that—no—that’s me.
But, like Avery said, it’s just a show. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t even know what the words mean.
Right?
A show?
The king looks directly at us and speaks very slowly when he expects us to repeat things. We copy his words, saying them carefully. Every time I glance at Avery, he’s staring right at me. His gaze is so direct, I’m finding it painful to look at him.
We reach the end, and the king gives us a wide smile. When we stare at him, unsure what to do, he puts a hand on the backs of our heads, pushing us together.
Greybrow Serpent (Silver and Orchids Book 2) Page 16