Dark Lord's Wedding

by A. E. Marling

  They flew over the garden wall, above crenulations of beehives, and into a profusion of color. They walked on greens, were surrounded by aromatic pinks, buzzing yellows, tinkling blues, jumping oranges, and fluttering teals.

  The Purest gave no sign that the leap through the sky had alarmed her. She tucked her feather tresses behind her ears. “Tethiel might yet be a woman, as you say. If I was wrong to accuse Tethiel of being otherwise, may you both forgive us.”

  Hiresha inclined her head. Maybe she had been the most at fault. She had told the truth. If marrying Tethiel was the right thing, Hiresha should’ve been willing to sacrifice for it. She couldn’t let herself be thwarted by the small minded.

  Yet Purest Elbe was no fool. Her eyes were bright with thought. “We might better understand if we knew why you wish to marry Tethiel.”

  “Many reasons.” Most were none of the Purest’s concern. Hiresha said, “Tethiel has resource. He has people. I have little enough of either as an exile. An alliance with him would free me to innovate wonders and build greatness.”

  The calm of the garden was unsettling. Everything appeared at peace, as if the ferns and flowers had been allowed to grow wild. Yet it was tended. Grasses must’ve been cut lest they encroach over the footpath. Weeds would’ve been uprooted. The grand trees of the rainforest would’ve been chopped down here long ago. Only fruit trees remained, and their branches bowed to the breaking point. This place of harmony relied on destruction.

  Purest Elbe lifted a crescent knife and cut down a papaya. The blade dug into the fruit, flaying it of its yellowish-green skin. “Could another person fulfill your needs?”

  Hiresha might yet obtain everything she required. She would allow the Purest to believe she guided the conversation. “You mean, if I married someone else?”

  The Purest sliced into the fruit’s flesh. It dripped down her wrist as she raised the morsel toward Hiresha. Lapis lazuli nails skimmed over Hiresha’s cheek. The wetness of the fruit pressed against her lips.

  Hiresha caught a whiff of rottenness. The papaya was too ripe. If the Purest tried to push it into Hiresha’s mouth then she would slap it away. Instead Purest Elbe let its softness rest against Hiresha.

  They might’ve stayed that close together all morning, with butterflies swirling around in flashes of green and red, with the air a whirling hum, yet Hiresha had too much to do. She guided the fruit into her mouth. Her tongue brushed against the warmth of Elbe’s fingers. The papaya smarted her with its sweetness. Subtler flavors followed, a muskiness of secrets shared, and a blushing richness.

  Hiresha swallowed. Elbe’s stag-beetle earring dangled inches away. Iridescence of cyan and viridian rippled over the exoskeleton. The natural beauty of the insect wasn’t as objectionable as jewels set to emulate one. Its second left leg had bounced askance. Hiresha made it right.

  “If I choose not to marry Tethiel,” Hiresha said, “I would be wise to delay telling him yet. The Lord of the Feast is dangerous.”

  “Be truthful to all. Invite whom you please to your wedding and tell them you’ll marry the one most suited to you, Hiresha.”

  “And Bright Palms will number among the guests. If I choose against Tethiel, their magic can subdue his.”

  Elbe stood shorter than Hiresha now. Hiresha had grown an eighth of an inch since they had last met, though Elbe likely hadn’t noticed. The Purest said, “The Bright Palms have no flexibility in their ideas. At your wedding they may bring disharmony.”

  “Even stone can be reshaped. I’ll negotiate with the Bright Palms.” Hiresha had to concede that might be difficult.

  Walking hand in hand through the garden with Elbe came all too easily. Hiresha had to tighten her relaxing muscles. She had to fight against the tranquility. She was deceiving Elbe, after all. But then, Elbe’s suggestion had been excellent. Hiresha shouldn’t marry Tethiel if she could find a better choice, someone more dependable. She should entertain other possibilities. If Elbe was one, so be it.

  Hiresha could be truthful and still have the wedding she wanted, unless she wasn’t being honest with herself.

  Other Purests lounged around a pool. The lily pads were big enough to lie across, though they wouldn’t have supported anyone’s weight but Hiresha’s. She exchanged a few words with the women. Hiresha didn’t let herself say anything wrong. They didn’t say anything interesting.

  A Purest wore a peculiar necklace. A bulb in shape, it appeared as if petals from flowers had been dried then glued together. The red of a rose nestled against the purple of iris; the yellow of orchid rested against a lotus of pink. Hiresha asked Elbe about it when they were alone again.

  “Rare bees make them for their children out of love,” Elbe said. “Merchants bring the petal cocoons across the Empire to the City of Gold. Women may give them to each other.”

  “As a sign of devotion?”

  “Yes.” Elbe touched Hiresha’s shoulder, at the edge of her backless dress. The Purest’s fingers ran downward. She left trails of heat over Hiresha’s skin. Her gemstone nails clicked against the diamond piercings. “The jewel pattern on your back is a sucker fish?”

  “A kraken,” Hiresha said. “A unique creature of rare intelligence whom no one understood.”

  “Then you are much alike.”

  “My skin isn’t half so changeably vibrant.” A stinging chill washed from Hiresha’s abdomen, up her chest, to lodge in her throat as a prickling lump. “Earlier you asked why I wished to marry Tethiel. I didn’t tell you the whole truth. Not even its greater part.”

  Elbe traced between the diamonds. Each time she grazed one, it pressed sharp against Hiresha’s core.

  “Tethiel knows me as no one else does.”

  “Then who are you?” Elbe’s breath tickled against Hiresha’s neck.

  Hiresha told her, and Elbe listened.

  28

  “An invitation on vellum illuminated with gold foil and gemstone paints would suffice for a royal wedding.”

  “I agree. We deserve better, my heart. Our invitations should captivate the imagination. They should enchant and enthrall.”

  “They will be keys. I will forge them, and they’ll unlock the enchantments in the wedding palace.”

  “Exquisite! Make the keys distinct, gold for the kings and silver for the lesser guests. Men are born unequal, and for that we must all be grateful.”

  “Excepting those who don’t receive an invitation. They’ll have every right to ingratitude.”

  Jerani stumbled through the street maze. He swayed to a stop in front of vultures. They hunched over a carcass, maybe of the monkey he had heard last night. The ribs jiggled as beaks pecked at them. A vulture spread its wings in warning, and Jerani pulled himself around the corner.

  He had to reach the safe house before the midday’s heat. His skin was already burning, his leg an angry throb. He should’ve bothered the lady earlier about that cut. Maybe he should’ve waited for her longer outside the walled garden, but it had to be close to noon.

  Now he would have to wait until midnight.

  Chills tinkled down his back. Something twitched beneath his arm. It was her jewel, still stuck to his skin. It shone.

  The lady swooped in front of him. The world bent toward her, and he tripped.

  She caught him with arms that could hold a mountain. The cold jewels of her hands pressed against his brow. “You did have a legitimate reason to seek me. This will cure your infection.”

  The lady plucked the gem from his side and moved it to his shin. Its touch zinged him to the bone. Being held by her was a jumbling whorl between life and death and life.

  “You can thank me,” the lady said, “by never disrobing in front of my dragon again.”

  Heat flashed back over his skin hotter than before. The lady must’ve seen them, Celaise and Jerani, Jerani and Celaise. The dragon had told the lady. She knew what they had done together. At the time he hadn’t been thinking of anything but Celaise. Jerani stared down at the alley’s dirt and
at broken pottery and at a dead bee. How could he ever look up at the lady again?

  “Do not return to my dragon. Don’t follow me to my rest,” the lady said. “You don’t cover your tracks well enough, and others might discern why you’re there.”

  “We can’t. I mean, we have to. The lord told us.”

  “Then you’re being ground between two diamonds,” the lady said. “If you approach me at sleep again, your leg will fall off.” She tapped the gemstone on his shin. It flickered from purple to red. “Tell the lord you had no choice.”

  Jerani gripped his thigh. His leg tingled with numbness, like it might drop off at the knee.

  The lady floated back into the air. “Before I go, I must ask you something. Is Celaise a good person?”

  “The best.”

  “She might not be, without you.”

  Jerani had answered right away before his thoughts caught up, but why had the lady asked? He risked a look. Her eyes were lighter than when they had first met, less midnight and more purple dusk.

  “Much depends on Celaise.” The lady gazed from the sun back down at him. “My dresses must be perfect.”

  Could dresses make so great a difference? Yes, Celaise’s might.

  The lady pulled herself to a rooftop then leaped away. Jerani was left to pad onward to find shade. Not even bees darkened the city’s sky at noon.

  Celaise supposed the goldsmith had long gone to sleep. The kiln still blazed. It was well her viper dress wouldn’t catch fire. She entered the workshop with her blue and red gloves crossed over her chest.

  “Now, Miss Barrows,” the lady said.

  The maid checked the fit of her hair turban then picked up tongs. She lifted a crucible from the fire. “Hotter than peppers on your woman bits.”

  Celaise wouldn’t go near her. If Miss Barrows tripped, the gold would splash out and burn to the bone.

  “You sure this is where you want me to pour it?” Miss Barrows asked.

  The lady stood over a tub of water and spread her hands.

  Miss Barrows tipped molten metal between them. A tongue of blinding heat dipped downward. It caught midair. The lady flourished her jeweled fingers, and the gold stretched and spun. It lengthened and sharpened. The lady was really forging it with her mind. Celaise’s eyes stung and teared from the brightness, but she couldn’t look away.

  The lady dropped her hands, and the gold plunged into the water with a screaming hiss. She had made something jagged. Celaise would have to wait for a better look. Too much steam rose from the tub.

  A tingling pressure on her brow warned Celaise that the lady was looking. Her eyes seemed to glitter.

  “How is Jerani?” the lady asked.

  “His fever’s broken.” Celaise had to go back to him before he woke. They should share dreams.

  The lady nodded. “Have you finished my spider-silk dress?”

  “It’ll be ready.”

  “Oi!” Miss Barrows slid the crucible back into the furnace. “You haven’t talked with Lord Satin-Pants about any of your dresses, have you?”

  “Why would I? I know which designs are best.”

  “He trusts you,” Celaise said.

  “You as well,” the lady said.

  Did he? He shouldn’t. Celaise would pour a bellyful of molten gold in his mouth if she could. The lord father had dragged Jerani to a city that hated men. No, Celaise had lured him here. She was the lord’s hold on Jerani.

  Her body didn’t fit her dress. She was bloated and empty on the inside.

  The lady flicked her fingers at the tub, and up splashed a key. The gold was pockmarked, with parts of the handle and shaft missing. So the lady could make mistakes.

  The lady grinned. She gestured to a chest, and out flew a parade of red stones. They looked like jasper, but brighter. Like blood. They fit into the gaps in the gold. It was forming into a whole key.

  “You may take Miss Barrow’s measurements now,” the lady said.

  Celaise tore her eyes from the key. She wrapped her measuring string around Miss Barrow’s chest.

  “They’re sixty-two-oo.” Miss Barrows winked. “With an extra wahoo at the end.”

  “The measurement is sixty,” the lady said.

  Celaise held out the length of string. It was sixty.

  “Don’t bother taking the rest,” the lady said. “I’ll tell you.”

  “The dress will be too tight on the wicked sisters.” Miss Barrows adjusted her leather apron over her bosom. “Should fit right if I’m paying so much for it.”

  The lady glanced from the key to Celaise. “For each bridesmaid’s dress you require a pound of flesh?”

  Celaise clamped her hands over her wrists. She nodded. Making such a dress would take more than a pound of flesh, but it would help.

  “Where’s the pound coming from? You ought to tell us.” Miss Barrows gripped her chest and backside.

  “If the pound came from your brain, it’d scarcely be missed,” the lady said. “A small sacrifice for a magnificent dress.”

  “A bride would say that.” Miss Barrows waved the tongs under the lady’s nose but didn’t smell too frightened. “Give a woman a fancy enough dress and she turns into a monster. No offense meant, young miss.”

  Celaise couldn’t be offended. She was a monster.

  But maybe she didn’t always have to be. She could forget for a moment or two, watching the lady craft masterpieces out of the air. Each key had a triangle handle, like the sign of mastery on the lord father’s brow. The gold and red teeth were crooked in the most beautiful way. The gemstone set into the key had a pattern, glyphs that could almost be read, shapes that could almost be known.

  Celaise’s palms tingled to touch a key. “What do they open?”

  “The upper circle of the wedding palace.” The lady pointed, and a key slid from a tabletop to Celaise. “This one is yours.”

  Celaise folded her scaled gloves around the key. Its gold handle was divided into small triangles, and smaller red ones within those. The longer Celaise looked, the more there were.

  “You will of course be one of my bridesmaids.”

  “Me?” Celaise twitched away. The key hung in the air a moment before she snatched it again.

  “I think it proper.”

  “Ha!” Miss Barrows poured more searing metal. “Now how do you like the cost of the dress?”

  Not very. Celaise had paid it far too often.

  The workshop door creaked open, and in came three moths with eye-wings along with a woman. She smelled of minty anxiety. A gold chain crossed from her nose-ring to her earrings. She had several in each ear, all loops of gold.

  “You can’t be here,” the woman said. “Not until I’ve been paid.”

  “Payment was promised.” The lady swept the moths back outside with a flick of her hand. “And I will pay.”

  The woman seemed to shrink in on herself before the lady’s stare. “I’m grateful my shop was pure enough for you, I’m sure, but I need stock now or I won’t have anything to work. And my daughter’s flight is coming soon, you see. I promised her the Sunburst.”

  Celaise could only wonder if the lady understood all that. Her face stayed sharp and edgy, but she sweated the scent of mangoes in honey. Was she afraid she wouldn’t be able to pay the woman? Not very. The fear smell faded after the goldsmith retreated from her workshop.

  The lady forged another key. “Miss Barrows, you may recall the pleasure house with the presumptive name of the Dragon’s Fire.”

  “Remember some parts more than the others. Ho ho!”

  “You’ll no doubt be surprised that the matron lied.”

  “And she didn’t even charge us extra?” Miss Barrows winked and poured another stream of metal.

  “I performed some research. The dragon in question is not a god of intimate lust. His principle duality is battle frenzy and tender commitment.”

  “Love, you mean?”

  “I most decidedly do not.” The lady gestured another fin
ished key to lay itself on a stone bench.

  Celaise clutched hers against her chest on the long walk back to the safe house. The gold in her hand still held the fury of the furnace. The heat was hidden deep in the metal, covered by a thin layer of solidness. It could burst apart in her hand with searing force.

  She had to believe she should throw away the key. Celaise should run away with Jerani. Maybe the lord father wouldn’t hunt them down and eat them to the last suck of bone marrow.

  She shivered. The only warmth in her was the key in her hand. Even if she could leave, she wouldn’t. She needed to see what the key opened. She had to go to this wedding, to be there, to see the guests, what they wore, who they were, for them to see her with Jerani, her and her gowns.

  Celaise would be at the wedding. Even if it killed her.

  29

  “People disdain gifts and insist on what they cannot have. The kings would never come if we thrust invitations upon them.”

  “That has the stink of overstatement, yet I can see we’d devalue the keys by throwing them at the feet of kings. We must first deny them, while giving recourse to acquire the invitations.”

  “The hardest word to pronounce correctly to a king is ‘no.’ We’ll need an emissary of highborn talent, rich persuasion, irrefutable beauty, and generously good taste in coats.”

  “Why, Tethiel, what a pity that on every qualification you fall short.”

  “Nothing gives me greater confidence than your discouragement. I’ll be gone with the dawn to capture kings.”

  Tethiel rode toward Gangral. A fence of puny tree trunks surrounded the city. Walls built against fear were never high enough.

  “They keep out jungle monsters,” he said, “but they throw open the gates to us? How disrespectful.”

  Eyebiter snorted and whisked his mane at the city’s flies.

  The dandies trotted after on their mounts. Pall spoke with his melodious hoarseness. “Maybe the wall’s to keep the jungle safe from men.”