by CS Hale
I squinched my eyes closed and tried to wade through the military tattoo of pain drumming in my skull. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought.” The words were out before I could stop them.
Valemar’s hand settled on my head. “May I?” I opened my eyes to find concern in his and gave a small nod. His fingers were gentle in their probing and soon settled over a knot high above my left ear. He curled a finger under my chin, gently raised it, and searched my eyes.
Blue. His eyes were the blue of a Caribbean sea and, for a moment, my soul swam in them.
“Your pupils look fine but that is a nasty knot on your head. Have you lost track of time?”
“Yes,” I answered, having no clue just how much. I caught a flash of panic on his face. His lips pursed. “Don’t worry,” I said before he could speak. “If I haven’t already lapsed into a coma, it’s not likely to kill me.” Another twenty-four hours and the repbots should have finished their repairs.
One eyebrow rose. “Medical training?” he asked.
“Not really.” I didn’t want to have to explain my invisible helpers. I smiled. “I’m just made of sterner stuff.”
He walked to the other end of the table. Smart, I thought. Giving me his back so I can’t read his face.
He placed a hand on the dispatch box. “That should help you make your decision then.” There was a wry smile on his face when he turned back around. “If death … or a coma isn’t in your future, then you’ll need to decide if you want to become Cordair property or my wife.”
I swallowed heavily. “Hopefully, there’s option three — let me leave this place.”
Valemar moved to stand behind the ornately carved chair at the head of the table. “I’m afraid not. We have a treaty that technically places your arrival here within Cordair lands. Raislos would be well within his rights to claim you. I’d risk open warfare if I didn’t return you. I’m not willing to put the lives of my people in jeopardy for a stranger. But for my wife …”
There were rare times when I wished I’d had the ocular sensor implanted when I’d had the language chip done. Lies flash orange. Helpful, unless the sensor fails and burns out the retina. I had thought it unnecessary as I usually I read faces very well. I knew Valemar was not telling me something. The sensor would have let me know which part was a lie.
“You are the king. Why would you want a stranger for a wife?”
His eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch before the mask of graciousness returned. “But you are a princess, are you not?”
“Am I?”
His eyes turned cold, and again I got the sense of lethal. “You are the king’s daughter, are you not?”
Despite the fact my gut was telling me this wasn’t good, or maybe because of it, three hundred years of Viking kings rose up in me. I might not be the Astrid Trygvesdtr I was named for, but I chose that moment to claim my heritage.
“I am.”
The danger faded from his eyes. The trace of a laugh played on his lips. “And whom do kings’ daughters marry?”
“Whomever they chose?” I asked, feigning innocence. A deep laugh burst from Valemar. “What?” I asked, keeping up the charade.
“I was afraid you’d be lacking in fire. Though, of course, being from the moon how could you not?”
One piece clicked into place. He thought I’d fallen from the moon, their blood-red moon. I bit back an exclamation as another piece clicked into place. The red-haired woman. She had to be a priestess of some sort. Valemar had sought confirmation from her that I was what he thought I was. Clearly, I was not what he had expected.
The humor faded from his eyes. “Raislos will not respect you. The Cordair have spent too many millennia down in their mines. They’ve left behind the light and worship the dark things that lurk there. Mother Moon has become nothing more than the source of blood to feed it.” The hairs on my arms rose. Valemar’s next words confirmed my fears. “Should he think that Oluendi requires the blood of the moon, I’m sure he’d hand over his property.”
A cold chill settled around my heart. Option one was now off the table. There was, apparently, no option three. Which only left option two.
Valemar fell silent as I deliberated — the mark of a skilled negotiator. I certainly wasn’t going to choose possible death.
But that wasn’t why you chose to go with Heymond.
Though Valemar didn’t know it, that first impression I’d had was important — to him, to me. I just wished I could wade through the discord and figure out why.
“What concerns you?” he asked. My thoughts must have shown on my face.
“Something I’ve forgotten,” I said, honestly. “But no matter. I’m sure it will come.” I gave my head a small shake. “So you’ve provided me reasons why I should marry you. Why should you marry me?”
For the first time, I saw gentleness fill his proud face. “For it is my duty, my princess.”
In the end, I gave my consent. What choice did I have, really? Two good reasons to marry. The only reason not to — that I’d met my husband-to-be only moments before. If I’d had any doubt about the planet’s development level that was the kicker. Earth and other places, you’ll still find arranged marriages. But most people want to choose whom to love, not hope it will come. But then, arranged marriages aren’t for love. They are for the creation of families and the tying together of similar interests. Or business dynasties. Of which the ruling of people could be considered one. I was sure, despite his claim of duty, that was Valemar’s reason now — hoping the King of the Moon would look well on the man who’d married his daughter.
In any case, shortly after I’d agreed to marry him that evening, Valemar summoned a host of people to begin preparations. It might have been a hasty marriage, but it was still the marriage of a king.
I was bathed then laced into a long, red dress. The sharp glances of the women sent to attend me were more disapproval than curiosity. I couldn’t stop my shudder of relief when one of them, a younger woman just a few inches taller than me with light brown hair, offered to finish the preparations on her own.
“It’s your dark eyes and hair,” she said, giving me a sweet smile, and picked up the brush. “You look too much like the Cordair.”
I closed my eyes as she swept the brush in gentle, soothing strokes. “You fear them?”
The brush stilled. I opened my eyes to see her face fall in the mirror. “The Cordair have spent thousands of years under the earth, digging. Releasing things that were best left alone. It has turned their eyes, their hair, and their hearts dark.” The brushstrokes began again. “Or so it is said … Your hair is so dark. With curls.” She smiled at me again. “The others may find it disturbing, but I think it’s pretty.”
I murmured a “thank you” and watched her turn my mahogany-colored tresses into near ringlets. It was strange to see it down and yet be so formally dressed. I usually twisted it up when I worked. The protocol specialist is there to facilitate, not be admired. Usually. And I would be working tonight. Probably one of my most important jobs yet — negotiating for my life.
I stopped the train of thought before it could go further. There’d be plenty of time later to think about how I was paying for it.
The girl’s gentle strokes lulled me into a half-sleep, a few moments away from the thoughts and troubles of not only the last day but, truth be told, the last two weeks. Ever since the engine had suffered the leak. I was sad when she put the brush down.
“Thank you,” I said. She gave me an awkward smile and straightened up the items on the dressing table. “Can I ask your name?”
“Daria,” she said, looking down. A light blush appeared on her cheeks.
“What now?” I asked.
Daria packed away the few cosmetics they’d used to highlight my eyes and darken my lips. “They should be here shortly.”
“And then?” I tried hard not to bite my lip.
Daria looked up with surprise. “They’ll take you down to the Cair.”
Which I could only guess meant “church.” New words didn’t always translate at first. And if I learned to associate the new word before the chip figured out a translation, then the new word would be absorbed into the language I heard. Just as “kindergarten” and “angst” had been absorbed into English without translation from the original German. The process by which we learn language to begin with, and why all languages are fluid.
But that still didn’t answer my original question. “I mean once they take me to the Cair.” I managed a weak smile. “I’ve been to weddings in many cultures. They’re all different.” Daria took my hands and raised me to my feet. “What can I expect here?” I asked her as she knelt.
Daria stopped arranging my skirts and looked up. “Did no one tell you?” I gave a small shake of my head. She looked down again and continued her arranging. “You’ll state before the Möd that you freely choose to join. You’ll offer each other food and wine to show that you’ll feed each other. You’ll place a belt around each other to show that you will clothe and protect the other. The Möd will cut your fingers which you will then join and offer your blood to the Father and Mother.”
My fingers curled inward. Blood-letting wasn’t unheard of in wedding ceremonies, but the pads on my fingertips wanted no part of it. I, on the other hand, hoped that would be the only blood shed.
“Thank you,” I said, and tried to shake off my fear of what would happen out of public view. Hopefully. The Scadasi did consummate their marriages in front of their guests. “And after?”
Daria stopped shaking my skirts. She slowly rose. “Have you not been with a man before?”
I scrambled to think of how to answer that. Her surprised question gave me the courage to tell the truth. “I have. It’s just … it won’t be at the church? Or the feast?”
Her eyes widened then she frowned. “Church? No. Do a husband and wife lie together at the feast where you come from?”
I fought back the blush that came to my cheeks. “No. But some places they do.”
Daria hummed. “People are more open during the Blood Moon.” She smiled. “But, no. We’ll prepare you for bed and Valemar will join you. After the feast.”
“Just one more question.” My face flamed. “Will Raislos demand proof? That Valemar and I are really husband and wife?” I hoped she’d get the picture without my having to explain it. There were places in the galaxy, as well as time periods on Earth, when a witness was required to make sure the marriage was indeed valid.
“There will be crowds enough in the Cair for the Cordair to know you are truly wed.” Daria opened a box on the dressing table and lifted out a gold crown studded with cabochon rubies. She was tall enough that I didn’t need to dip for her to place it on me. The crown was heavy and sat on the lump on my head. She stepped back and surveyed me. “I think that will do, my princess. If you will follow me.”
I was placed on a bay horse — as I still thought of the creature — sidesaddle, so that my long skirts draped down its side. Valemar rode next to me on a white steed, wearing robes the brilliant blue of a tropical sea. The gold and silver crown had been replaced with one of silver, studded with blue-green opals. The lump on my head ached from the weight of mine.
Heymond led the cluster of guards that escorted us out of the castle gates and into the throng lining the streets of the city. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, making me certain that someone was watching. Someone other than the well-wishers lining the streets. I was glad for the protection of the guards, but still felt vulnerable, exposed — waiting for an arrow to find its mark. Sneaking me in through the watergate now made sense. Someone didn’t want me here.
I tried to lift the practiced, gracious smile I’d fashioned through years of being in the most boring to the most frightening of meetings but it wouldn’t stay on my face. I turned my focus inward and recited the planets in order from Earth to Sexta. The muscles of my face slowly relaxed but a silent scream lingered at the back of my throat.
The cathedral, or Cair as they called it, was placed on the highest point in town. Valemar dismounted at the steps then helped me slide off my horse. He took the tips of the fingers of my left hand with his right and led me inside.
Like the great cathedrals of Europe or Hentetti Five, there were no seats. People parted to let us pass. The windows were filled with stained glass in various shades of red, but my eyes found it easier to trace the pattern of the stones beneath my feet.
Valemar came to a stop. He released my hand, bowed, and moved to my right. Red robes stood before me. My gaze traveled from their hem until it came to the face of the priest. Bald, his erect, pointed ears gave him an appearance almost bat-like. Behind him stood five women also in red robes, all of them with hair in various shades of red. The woman with the darkest, reddest hair was the woman who had been with Valemar when I arrived.
“Valemar Dönal Carbrev and Astrid Gabriella Carr, you come today to be joined as husband and wife. To survive this life, we must be fed.” One of the red-haired women brought forward a plate of bread. “Repeat after me — I will share my bread with you though it be my last.”
Valemar tore a piece off and brought it to my mouth, repeating the Möd’s words. When I’d chewed and swallowed, I did the same for him. His lips gently closed over my fingers. His eyes held a smolder that hadn’t been there before. I dipped my gaze as the Möd began again.
“My wine and water are yours. You shall never go thirsty.”
The next woman brought forward a cup. Valemar held it for me to drink from. There was wine in it, strong, rich, and red that burned its way past my heart. I took the cup and held it out for him. His hands closed over mine as he tipped the cup toward him. Skitters of energy raced up and down my arms.
“I shall shield your body from cold and sun and harm.”
Two women came forward. The belt Valemar took to tie around me was of green leather, fashioned to look like the leaves in his first crown. I stared at his robes as Valemar said the words and tightened the belt around me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a noose. His hands briefly rested on my waist before he took a step back and the women handed me his. Of blue leather, it had been tooled in a pattern that resembled waves.
I repeated the words and Valemar lifted his arms so that I could circle mine around his waist and place the belt. My nose came against his robes, filling my nostrils with a clean, spicy scent. I became aware that I now held him in an embrace, even with the belt in my hands. I ran my fingers down the length of the leather, slipped the loose end through the buckle, and tightened it to the top of his hips.
The dark red woman stepped forward and offered the Möd a knife. A look of triumph lit her eyes. I clenched my teeth together to keep them from chattering. I’d had more than enough pain to last me a while.
The Möd took my right hand and squeezed the pad on my index finger. In a flash of steel or silver, he cut my finger so quickly that I didn’t initially feel it. I sucked air through my nose and clenched my jaw as the pain registered. The cut was deep. My blood dripped, splashing like rubies onto the floor. I blinked back tears as the knife flashed again, making the cut on Valemar’s finger. Then Valemar joined his left hand to my right and gently pulled me forward to the altar behind the Möd.
“Our gift to the Father,” Valemar whispered in my ear then spoke aloud. I rushed to catch up as he held our entwined hands, cuts pressed together, blood mingling, over a bowl of water. “From whence we came.” I could smell brine as our blood dripped in, turning the water red. “Our gift to the Mother —” He moved our hands above a small cup of oil. “— who makes all life possible.”
The Möd stepped forward and wrapped a small cloth smeared with pitch, or something else that was thick and tacky, around each of our fingers as a bandage. Valemar whispered in my ear again. “Pick up the cup.” I added my hand to it. “And say with me: We join the two —” The words caught in my throat. “— and create life in the holy dance of blood and sea, e
arth and moonlight.” Valemar set the cup down and guided my hand to a taper that sat burning behind the basin.
No other words were spoken. Valemar tipped our hands, bringing the candle to the bowl, igniting the oil. Then he bent toward me with the flame and blew it out as I added my breath. A cheer rose up from those watching.
Valemar handed the candle back to the Möd and took my hand to lead me out, a smile lighting up his face. I added one of my own but it wasn’t real. The Alfari might fear the Cordair and their worship of the dark. I couldn’t help but worry about this culture and why it would require a blood sacrifice at a wedding.
Valemar took my hand as we rode back to the castle side-by-side. What started off as simple pageantry became a lifeline as we progressed through the streets. The crown pressed on the lump on my head, adding to the ache. Forms became blurs again. By the time we rode through the gates, I clutched his hand in a death grip, afraid I’d fall from my horse.
“What is it?” he asked as I slipped down. My head came to rest on his chest.
“The crown. Do I need to keep it on?”
Valemar’s fingers ran through the locks of hair hanging down my back. “Once we’re inside,” he murmured and took my hand to lead me in.
Day had begun to slip into night while we’d said our vows. Torches now guttered in the darkening hallways of the castle. “Send for Ferrick,” he said to someone as we walked down the hall. I could hear musicians, but Valemar drew me into an antechamber and sat me down in a chair.
I groaned with relief when he removed the crown from my head. His fingers gently probed the bump, and he hummed with displeasure. “It’s grown,” he said, raising my chin. “And your eyes are glassy.” I heard the door open and close. “It’s her head,” Valemar said to a brown-robed figure.