by Grace Draven
“And a hawk’s beak for a nose,” Ballard shot back. He met him halfway and clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, wishing he hadn’t isolated himself from the one person who truly understood what he went through at each flux.
As stunningly handsome as his mother had been beautiful, Gavin cut a noble figure in a cotehardie of silk brocade that highlighted his wide chest and trim waist. His hair fell over broad shoulders in waves, and he wore a short sword belted low at his hip.
No one would ever guess that a few days ago this dignified man had been overwhelmed by a malice that reduced him to a creature Louvaen so brutally but accurately called “a bat-faced cur.”
“I’m told you’ll marry the beautiful Hallis girl today,” Ballard said. “This is still what you want?”
Gavin gave a vigorous nod. “As much as I’ve wanted the life of a normal man. Maybe more.” His gaze searched his father’s face. “I feared you wouldn’t be able to stand with me when Cinnia and I married.” Shadows darkened his eyes. “Who knew a woman’s love would turn the curse so vicious?”
Ballard shrugged. “A woman’s hatred brought it to life.” He turned to retrieve his cloak.
Gavin grasped his elbow, making him pause. “I’d take it back if I could. Shoulder what should be mine.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” Ballard never had a day’s regret in agreeing to Ambrose’s plan of redirecting the curse to him.
Gavin’s grip tightened. “Curse or no curse, I am proud to be the son of the noblest of men.”
Floundering before Gavin’s unexpected praise, Ballard sought footing in wry humor. “Good thing I’m the ugliest man too, or I might have challenged you for the lovely Cinnia.” He smiled at Gavin’s disbelieving snort.
“She’s far too soft for your tastes. You like them with teeth and claws to match yours.” The two grinned at each other until Gavin’s features turned somber once more. “She’s a walking sheaf of dried thistles, but Louvaen is also kind. I’m glad she chose otherwise, but I wouldn’t have forbidden her from taking Cinnia with her right after the wedding. I don’t know that it’s safe for anyone to be here with us, even now with the flux at ebb tide.”
The same thought plagued Ballard. The hard inner jerk on his spine always forewarned him of a coming flux. In the past they had time to prepare for the curse’s onslaught. Ballard feared they’d get no warning before the next flux.
Gavin continued. “It’s dangerous for the women to travel with pack horses loaded down with gold. Ambrose will enchant the contents of the treasury so they appear inside Mistress Duenda’s house. Clarimond and Joan already started filling chests.” He offered Ballard a grim smile. “Cinnia will be a rich widow, with plenty left over for the others.”
Ballard motioned for Gavin to follow him as he returned to his bedchamber for his cloak. “As long as Louvaen can keep her father from wasting every last coin on risky ventures.”
“I doubt she’ll let that happen again.”
Ballard prayed he was right. He reached for his finest cloak, a garment made of oil-tanned leather so soft and supple it flowed over his hand like velvet.
“Leave the cloak. Come down as you are.” Gavin tried to pull the cloak out of Ballard’s resisting grasp. “We’re your family,” he said. “You don’t have to hide from us.”
Ballard wrested the garment back and tossed it over his shoulders. “Louvaen will murder me, as will Cinnia,” he joked. “I’d have a lot to answer for if everyone gawked at me instead of your bride on her wedding day. The cloak stays on.”
Gavin sighed. “Then come down to the kitchens and share a flagon of wine with me. I’ve a virgin to gentle in my bed tonight.” His eyebrows wiggled playfully. “I could use a dram or six.”
Ballard strode out of the bedchamber. “I’ll take a sea monster over a virgin any day. You’ll need something a lot stronger than wine.”
They found themselves alone in a kitchen saturated with the scents of freshly baked bread, saffron and cinnamon. Gavin opened one of the cupboard doors, revealing a towel-covered platter. He peeked beneath the cloth and whistled. “I think Magda is the magician here, not Ambrose. She’s made fig pies for the celebration.”
Ballard sat down in his customary seat at the table. “She’ll split you from gullet to navel if you thieve so much as a crumb off that plate. Go get us the wine you promised.”
Gavin grinned and left for the buttery. He returned with a full pitcher and two goblets. Ballard poured, and the two men toasted each other before quaffing the first cup.
Ballard savored the time with his son, this layered camaraderie existing not only between parent and child but between two battle-weary fighters who faced a common enemy and soon a common end. He wished he might face the last alone.
They made small talk between them, Ballard recounting tales of the various weddings he’d been forced to attend for reasons of courtesy and politics. “I’m surprised I remember half of them,” he said. “I was cupshot through most of those celebrations. So was everyone else.”
Gavin refilled their goblets a fourth time. “It isn’t a wedding if you can’t empty the host’s stock of wine and ale in an evening.”
Ambrose discovered them a few minutes later. He eyed the pitcher and pulled a third goblet from one of Magda’s many cupboards. “Tell me there’s a little more. I’ve just escaped a flock of harpies.”
Ballard blinked. “You went to the bower? Were you looking to die?” He’d faced armies populated with berserkers without flinching; he wouldn’t dare approach a bride’s bower before the wedding.
The sorcerer swelled up like an adder. “I was in the hallway making my way to the stairs and minding my own business. Magda lured me into that death trap with a sweet smile.”
Gavin choked on his wine. A hard thump across the back from his father, and he cleared his throat. “That should have been your first warning,” he said between gasps of wheezy laughter.
Ambrose poured the last of the wine into his cup and drained it to the dregs. He smirked at the two men. “Well here’s a warning from the grand demoness herself: be in the great hall by the time Cinnia reaches the mezzanine, and you better be able to stand without swaying.”
Gavin’s face paled. He jerked up from his seat and swayed. Ballard and Ambrose groaned in unison. “I’m not drunk,” he assured them.
Ambrose slid a glance to Ballard who shrugged. “He shouldn’t be. It was just one flagon split between us.” He smiled wryly at his son. “I’d say you’re suffering from wedding terrors.”
Gavin nodded and gripped the table’s edge so hard his fingernails turned white.
“Are you sure you want to do this, boy?” Ambrose stared at him warily. “I’ll brave the pit of damnation up there if you want me to deliver a different message.”
Gavin gave another fervent nod. “I’m sure. I love Cinnia and want nothing more than to make her my wife.”
Ballard rose, refusing to dwell on the fantasy of being in Gavin’s place, preparing to wed Louvaen. “Let’s go,” he said and nudged Gavin toward the great hall. “You don’t want to keep them waiting and raise Magda’s ire.”
They entered the hall where a small portion had been sectioned off for the ceremony. Two chairs covered in ells of costly dosser faced each other. The rich fabric shimmered in the candle and torchlight, turning the serviceable chairs into seats suitable for royalty. A veil of fine transparent lawn had been erected between them, the symbolic barrier separating bride from bridegroom before they were declared married.
As the officiant, Ambrose took his place in front of the chairs. Ballard nudged Gavin toward the one on his right. “Remember, don’t sit until Ambrose says so.” His son was still pale as a wraith. “And don’t swoon.”
He smiled when Gavin rounded on him, frowning. “I’m not some milksop woman, Father.”
Ambrose sniffed. “Ketach Tor certainly doesn’t house an overabundance of those.”
A door opened and closed above them. Ballard tracked th
e small entourage of women as they made their way down the last flight of stairs. Except for Cinnia, each woman had donned the same garments they’d worn for Modrnicht. They were doves instead of buntings and finches to his eyes now—sporting shades of gray in their skirts and ribbons. The bride wore a flowing gown embroidered in glittering thread—an acquisition from one of Gavin’s forays into the world beyond Ketach Tor. The intricate embroidery reflected the light, seeming to undulate across the gown’s hem and draping sleeves. Cinnia’s features, as sublime as the dawn, broke into a wide smile when she saw Gavin.
Ballard’s gaze rested on Louvaen, dressed in the gown he remembered as red. He’d freed her from it an eternity ago in the sensuous quiet of his bedchamber. Maybe tonight she’d allow him to help her a second time. She returned his stare with a brief frown, and he caught the flash of annoyance in her eyes. She didn’t like him wearing the cloak and hood anymore than Gavin did.
Once they reached the chairs, Ambrose bade Gavin and Cinnia to sit on either side of the veil with their hands clasped together below it. The ceremony itself was a simple one—the wrapping of velvet cord over the couple’s hands with assurances from the bride and groom that they entered the union willingly and vows exchanged of love, fidelity and loyalty.
Ambrose invoked a prayer of good fortune and long life over the two, and Ballard tried not to flinch. He looked to Louvaen who watched her sister, pale skin drawn tight against her facial bones, a faint smile hovering around her mouth.
He silently repeated the sorcerer’s words as Ambrose pulled away the veil and recited the last prayer. “Thus no longer divided. I recommend unto thee a man with a wife and a woman with a husband. Happy is the place upon which a holy man builds a house, with fire and cattle, wife and children and good followers.”
They were ardent words uttered for so long by ascetics and celebrants that they’d become rote. Ballard had only half listened to them when he married Isabeau. All had been lies in that union. Some were still lies in this one, but not from lack of effort by the married couple. Given a chance and a future, they might have fulfilled every part of the prayer.
Gavin helped Cinnia to her feet, enfolding her in his arms for a passionate kiss. There was cheering and applause amongst the witnesses, along with sniffles and hastily wiped tears from Louvaen and Magda.
Ballard pulled Gavin into a hard embrace, forcing a grunt from the younger man. “You’re truly shackled now, boy.”
Gavin grinned and nestled Cinnia into his side. “In the best way, Father.”
Custom dictated that Ballard embrace his son’s new wife as well and kiss her cheeks as part of his welcoming her to his household. He offered her a respectful bow instead. “Welcome to the House of Ketach, Lady de Lovet.”
She blushed and curtsied in return. “Thank you, Lord de Sauveterre.”
Both men watched as she went to Louvaen. The two women hugged. Cinnia burst into tears, prompting Louvaen to hush her and pass her a handkerchief. Gavin started forward, his formerly ecstatic expression dissolved into outright fear.
Ballard halted him with a hand on his arm. “Leave her be, son. She isn’t regretting your union; she’s just snipping the last lead string from her sister’s apron.”
They waited for the women to finish their conversation. Ballard stood easily next to Gavin who, despite his father’s assurances, remained tense and uneasy at Cinnia’s tears. His knees visibly buckled with relief when she returned to him, still sniffling but smiling happily at him.
Ballard left them to receive congratulations from the others and sought out Louvaen who now stood alone to one side. She turned to him, watery-eyed. “I’m not crying,” she said. “The rushes need to be thrown out. They’re full of dust.”
Ballard played along. “Magda’s housekeeping has slackened, though I understand she’s made fig pies.”
“Oh, well in that case, anyone can forgive a little dust.”
He captured one of her hands and lifted it to his mouth to kiss. “No longer the lymer,” he murmured against her knuckles.”
Her shoulders sagged. “No, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or sad I’m not tasked with guard duty anymore.” Her brow knitted into a faint frown. “We did have the inevitable discussion about what to expect the first time in the marriage bed.”
Ballard could only imagine how that went. Cinnia wide-eyed and stunned while Louvaen described the act in her blunt fashion. “And?”
“Mortifying,” she said. “I wish our mother Abigail was still alive. Cinnia wouldn’t have dared ask the questions of her she asked me. You’d think I was the keeper of a knocking shop with all the details she wanted.”
Ballard’s bark of laughter earned him a singeing glare from a blushing Louvaen and stares from the others. His new daughter-in-law had surprised him a second time today. He’d once thought Cinnia a timid creature engulfed by her powerful sister’s long shadow. He suspected she’d prove him wrong many times over the next few days. “She’s a lot more like you than I ever guessed.”
“More fool her then.” Louvaen’s expression turned melancholy as she gazed at her sister in Gavin’s arms. “Cinnia would have married Gavin barefoot and in a rainstorm, but this isn’t how I imagined her wedding. I gave her the mirror so she could at least see Papa today. It’s a small comfort but better than nothing.” She still held his hand and squeezed his fingers. “You and Ambrose concocted a lovely idea for a gift for us.” She winked. “Even if it reeks of magic.”
Ballard tugged on her hand until she stood within the circle of his embrace. She stared at him, unflinching. “If I didn’t know that marrying you would split your loyalties and bind you to this castle, I’d make you my wife, Louvaen.” He tightened his arms against her back. “Ambrose has already offered to wed us. I said no.” He stood still beneath her scrutiny, awaiting her judgment.
Ages of time passed before she flicked the edge of his hood with her fingers. “What need have I of some puffed up magician to declare us bound?” She grinned. “You are mine, Green Man. And I am yours.”
She squeaked a protest when he lifted her off her feet and crushed her to him. He wanted to kiss her senseless—absorb the essence that made her burn so fiercely, carry her with him until the curse took him completely, and his last human spark guttered and died.
But this day didn’t belong to them, and Ambrose’s less than subtle throat-clearing signaled he and Louvaen had ignored everyone long enough.
Dinner was a high-spirited affair, with much toasting to the newly married pair and a great deal of joking and sly innuendo that even had Gavin blushing at times. Louvaen sat at Ballard’s right, within easy reach of his hand which wandered from her knee to her thigh and back again. This wasn’t his wedding day, but he hoped to make it his wedding night. She’d stay with him another week before returning home to her father with Cinnia and nearly all his household in tow. He didn’t intend to waste precious time.
Cinnia rose, kissed Gavin and excused herself from the celebration. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’m off to get the mirror. Papa might not be here in person, but he can be in spirit.”
Gavin stood up as well. “I’ll go with you,” he said eagerly.
Louvaen leaned into Ballard. “They’ll never make it back down the stairs.”
Ballard motioned for Gavin to sit down and refilled his goblet. “Cool the fire, boy. She’ll return soon.”
Gavin plopped down in his seat but never took his eyes off the stairwell. The rest of the group returned to eating and chatting without him.
Everyone shot up from the table at Cinnia’s horrified shriek. Gavin pulled his sword from its scabbard and bolted for the stairs, Ballard behind him with only his eating dagger in hand. Cinnia met them halfway down the steps, almost cannoning into Gavin in her haste.
“Lou! Look at this!” She clutched the enchanted mirror in one hand, waving it wildly at Louvaen.
She struggled out of Gavin’s arms and shoved both men against the wall in her
bid to reach her sister. The sweet lovely bride had been replaced with a wild-eyed harridan, and Ballard shrugged in confusion when Louvaen cast him a questioning look before stopping her sister’s headlong flight. She jerked her head back just in time to keep Cinnia from smashing the mirror into her face.
“Father’s in the gaol!”
Louvaen snatched the mirror out of Cinnia’s hand and stared at it with a such a ferocious scowl, Ballard thought she might crack the glass.
“I’m going to kill Jimenin,” she said.
Cinnia paced in front of her, wringing her hands. “You paid the debt!”
“I know I paid the debt!” Louvaen gripped the mirror, wishing she could bludgeon her nemesis with it. “I’m sure he’s dredged or made up some new marker Papa supposedly owes him.” She stomped her foot. “Argh! I should have shot him when I had the chance.”
Ballard clenched the eating knife as a low growl rumbled in his throat. Jimenin. Louvaen’s adversary and the source of the Hallis family’s many troubles. He was also the catalyst that had brought Louvaen to him, but it didn’t stop Ballard from wanting to ride for Monteblanco and rip the man’s head off his shoulders.
War-trained and more than capable of protecting and defending his own, he was stripped of the ability to help her—made impotent by the curse and the chains that bound him to Ketach Tor. Even Gavin, yellow-eyed and balanced on the edge of another flux, couldn’t go in his stead. Louvaen would have to face Jimenin alone a second time.
He met her bleak gaze over Cinnia’s head. “You can’t wait a week.”
“No. I’ll gather my things now.”
“I’m going with you,” Cinnia said.
Louvaen’s angry expression softened. “I don’t think so.”
“But Lou...”
“Cinnia, you’re a new wife on borrowed time with your husband. I’ll deal with this.”
Ballard admired her tactics. Nothing delicate about them, but she’d effectively silenced any arguments or insistence from both parties. He caught Gavin’s attention. “Loan her Sparrow to ride. Jimenin will expect her to show up riding the slower Plowfoot. Coming in on an unfamiliar horse will buy her time.”