Chase rolled her eyes even as she smirked, “Careful, Father, you know that Gareth is very strong. You might get hurt if you try to stand in his way.”
“Harrumph,” he snorted. “Come here.”
Mercer embraced them all, reaching out to pull Rose into his arms when she hesitated, not wanting to infringe on her sisters. “Ah, my girls. My baby girls.”
They stayed like that until the distant sound of drums and pipes grew too loud to ignore. Reluctantly, they broke apart.
With a crooked smile, Rose gave each sister a kiss on the cheek she headed outside. Aunt Tess was standing with the priest to the left of the front door; Rose took up her position on the right. Their part in the ceremony was simply to act as guards on the house—the priest’s part would come at the end, when he would issue a blessing on the newlyweds.
The grooms were riding slowly up the road—Gareth from the village and Jon from his farm. Friends accompanied them on foot, filling the air with laughter and music. Jon reached the house first and dismounted, handed the reins off to a friend, but he waited for Gareth to arrive before making his way through the gate.
With a smile to Aunt Tess and a wink to Rose, Jon reached out and rapped sharply at the door.
Instantly, it swung open and Mercer’s broad frame filled the doorway.
“Yes?” he boomed out. “What do you want?”
Rose stifled a giggle. This was supposed to be serious!
“Sir, we have come before these witnesses to pledge our troth to your daughters—to take them from your house and into our own, to make them our wives and the mothers of our children. Do you assent to our will?”
Mercer looked out at the assembly, his expression stern. “No, I do not assent!” he announced for all to hear. “You are unproven. Who here can attest to your character?”
“We can,” affirmed the villagers in their traditional reply. One after another, those present issued forth their testimony—friends relating the laudable traits Jon and Gareth possessed, while others (less friendly) interjected with the grooms’ less-admirable qualities.
“I have heard enough,” Mercer declared at last, “and I judge your characters worthy of pursuing my daughters’ hearts. But how do I know that you will provide for them better than I—the man who raised them? How do I know that you will love them more deeply than I—the father who watched their first steps?”
Gareth spoke up now, his voice quiet, yet firm. “Hear as I tell you of the plans I have made and the foundation I have laid to provide a life of comfort and joy for my bride. Listen as I pledge before these witnesses my solemn oath that from this moment on, she will always be first in my heart, valued more than my own life, and second only to God in my esteem.”
As Gareth continued to speak, Rose allowed her gaze to wander over the crowd. Most of the villagers had come, for a wedding was not to be missed, but the furtive flicker of their eyes told Rose that many had come so they could to see her as well. She sighed and found herself scanning the crowd for Darren’s familiar face. She thought espied his sandy-blond crop toward the back of the yard, but he was too distant to tell for sure.
If things had gone differently, I would be his wife right now, Rose mused. She wondered how it would have been to have had Darren stand before her father and their village, making his public avowal of love and faith while she listened just inside the door. Yet it was not Darren who held her thoughts now. Instead, her mind drifted back to the Beast, alone save for Pesk in his lodge. She remembered the way his gaze had held hers as they said their final farewell—his eyes transitioning from gold to green with the coming dawn and burning with an intensity he had not voiced: the question he had asked her so often, and at the very last moment withheld—“Will you marry me?”
A rush of longing swept through Rose with such force it stole her breath. Only now as she listened to another make his lifelong pledge could she finally admit what her heart had known all along—that she loved the Beast, deeply and truly loved him, and that it was only his form that was keeping her from agreeing to be more than his friend.
Enough, Rose chided herself sternly, echoing her father’s earlier edict as she forced a broad smile onto her face. Today is not about you. Be happy for your sisters and leave such thoughts for tomorrow.
Both Gareth and Jon had finished speaking, and Mercer finally lowered his arms from where they had been braced against the doorframe. “I am satisfied. Let my daughters come forth.”
He stepped to one side to allow Adara and Chase, their color high and their eyes bright, to emerge at last from the house.
“Daughters, you have heard the pledges of these men—their merits and their failings, their provisions and their love—and I ask you now: do you accept their will?”
“We do,” Adara and Chase chorused together.
“Then I accept both your will and theirs. Darren and Gareth, I give my daughters into your care. Let all bear witness to your bond.”
As one, the two young men stepped forward. Each picked up his bride’s hand in his own, slipped a ring onto her finger, and sealed their oath with a kiss. Watching them, Rose discovered that she was twisting the ring on her own hand, and she forced herself to stop.
Now at last, the priest moved forward and raised his hands in blessing. In a voice far louder than she would have given him credit for, he sanctified the marriage and the new lives the couples were about to embark upon. His speech was well-worded and quite poetic, and Rose was not the only one moved to tears by the end of it.
“. . . now with the blessing of God and the goodwill of all gathered here, we affirm you forevermore as husband and wife.”
A loud cheer went up from the crowd, made louder when the beaming couples obliged the villagers’ calls for another passionate kiss.
After that, Rose was kept very busy. All the guests had brought a dish to contribute to the wedding table, and her job was to ladle the portions onto trenchers for the guests to eat. As she did, she was assaulted by many curious questions:
“Tell me, Rose, was there really a beast, or was it a young man who stole you away?” one portly woman asked with a wink.
“Did the creature have fangs? Claws?”
“How did you ever escape?”
“Did you mind terribly when Darren told you about us?”
Rose blinked and looked up. This last speaker was Miri, holding a small baby wrapped in her arms.
“No, not at all,” she replied truthfully. “I am glad he found someone as nice as you to be with. But he did not tell me you had borne him a child.”
“She is only a few weeks old. Darren absolutely dotes on her! He even went into the forest for a couple of days just to find a special type of wood to make her cradle from. I would have been satisfied with a normal pinewood cradle, but the timber he chose was quite beautiful, even if he did have to go far away to get it—and in winter, too!. We named her after you, you know.”
“You did?” Rose asked, stunned by the unexpected distinction as well as by Miri’s talkativeness.
“Yes—well, after you and my mother. Her name is Rosalinda.”
Rose smiled—her first true smile of the day. “I am honored. May I see her?”
“Of course!” Hastily, Miri pushed back the blanket from around the baby’s face and held her out to Rose, who took the bundle awkwardly. The child was sleeping, its mouth puckered slightly as it dreamed. A trace of gauntness remained around its eyes—typical for a newborn babe—but its cheeks were rosy and clearly belonged to Miri, while its finely arched eyebrows and tufts of hair were the same color as its dad’s.
“You have a beautiful child,” Rose said, surprised by the note of longing in her voice as she looked at the baby’s face. An impatient huff from the guest behind Miri drew Rose back to her duties, and she reluctantly handed the child back to Miri and accepted the trencher the villager held out instead.
“Do come over for dinner sometime,” Miri offered as the hungry guests edged her aside. Rose nodded,
but her reply was lost as a thickset man planted himself firmly in her view.
“So girl, tell me about this beast!”
Even once all the guests had been served, Rose still could not rest. As the villagers danced and drank, Rose helped Aunt Tess stack the small rolls of bread each guest had brought into two large piles on the table.
“Well, that should hold,” Aunt Tess remarked, looking over the heaps with satisfaction. “You should go dance, Rose. You have done enough for today.”
“I am fine, Aunt, truly,” Rose demurred, but Aunt Tess gave her such a stern look that she obediently went to stand near the musicians. It was true that in the past, Rose had liked to dance, but today she felt oddly separate from the revelers. It was just as well, for though many of the folk continued to eye here with sidelong glances, and no one seemed to care enough to ask her to dance. No one except Darren, who noticed her standing alone and asked for her hand for one reel. The dance was nice, but as soon as it was over, Darren excused himself to return to his wife, and Rose settled onto a bench, contenting herself with clapping to the music.
Without anything else to occupy her mind, her thoughts returned to the lodge. One of the enchanted rooms there always had music playing inside, and Rose had often sung along to its accompaniment, the Beast never failing to praise her voice. It had been years since she had danced, though.
Not exactly a pastime one can enjoy when one’s partner has four paws, she giggled to herself, struck by the absurd image of the Beast standing on two hind legs, dwarfing her slight body with his own as they danced. Her laughter drew more sidelong glances and averted whispers, and Rose lifted her chin high in response. She was done with caring what the villagers thought!
The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, and the guests would have to leave soon or risk traveling home in the dark. At a signal from her aunt, the musicians ceased to play, and Adara and Chase made their way over to the table Rose and Aunt Tess had so carefully prepared, their husbands taking their places on the opposite side.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” the villagers began to chant, and the couples leaned forward, each trying to navigate the awkward pile of bread rolls and touch their lips over the top. Then Chase bumped hers, and one of the rolls nearly toppled—for it to fall would have meant bad luck!—but at last it steadied, and she and Gareth succeeded in kissing with as much aplomb as had Adara and Jon..
The crowd cheered, and Rose did, too. With happy grins, her sisters straightened and walked with their grooms toward the front gate. Sacks of grain had been left near the fence, and each villager took a handful, tossing it into the air in a blessing of fertility.
“Not too fertile, I hope—I would not wish a large family on anyone,” Rose overheard Darren telling his wife from close by. She smiled to herself—Darren’s abundant siblings had always been a source of good-natured lamenting from him, though she knew he adored every one of them.
Someone had brought the grooms’ horses forward, and Jon and Gareth helped their respective brides astride before mounting up behind them. With a wave and a shout, they were gone down the road, and most of the guests followed down in their wake, seizing a bread roll for luck as they went.
Rose scanned the mess they had left and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the monumental task of cleaning up. Not only did the yard have to be tidied and the scraps given to the goat, but the cow still needed to be milked and the horse to be fed.
The sky was dark by the time she and her family were done, and the few guests who were not in a fit state to leave had been given a place to sleep in the barn. Completely exhausted, Rose’s family retreated into their house; anything further could wait until the morrow.
“I am glad to have you back, Rose,” Mercer said, kissing her on the forehead as they bade each other goodnight. “Grant me a favor and promise not to get married for at least ten more years.”
She laughed. “Now, Father, what if a handsome lord rides into town tomorrow and asks me to be his wife?”
“Then I would say you may assent so long your handsome lord agrees to host the wedding.”
“I doubt we need be concerned with either lords or weddings for a while,” Aunt Tess commented wryly. “What I am concerned with is whether those louts in the barn will disturb the cow. If she gives me sour milk in the morning, I may find a use for your sickle after all.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The room stank of imminent death despite the flowers overflowing their vases and the breeze blowing through the open windows. King Derik lay propped upon a mound of pillows, his closed eyes sunken and his face yellow and wasted from the poison that was eating him from the inside out. Elaine gasped as she caught sight of him. She had been warned what to expect, but the King’s appearance nevertheless shook her to the core. Gone was the strong, sturdy man she had last seen nearly twenty-one years before. Here instead was a man brought low, struggling to endure the last painful days of his life. At his side, Queen Kariana wept quietly.
Movement in one corner drew Elaine’s eyes to where three fairies—clearly triplets—sat in somber vigil. The sight of them sent anger searing through her veins as she remembered the disaster they had helped wrought the last time they had met. One of the triplets—Ceara, she was almost certain—rose and approached, and Elaine had to work quickly to suppress a scowl
“Oh, Elaine, Kenden—it is so good to have you both here!” Ceara gushed.
“The King summoned our services; it was our pledged duty to come,” Kenden informed her frostily. Elaine rested one hand on her husband’s arm in silent support. She knew only honor had permitted him to obey the King’s request—after all, it was King Derik’s refusal to listen to Kenden’s advice that had led to the crippling of her husband’s wing.
“What have you done thus far for the King?” Elaine asked Ceara in as level a tone as she could manage.
“Nothing,” the triplet announced, her fluttering hands indicating her bewilderment. “He refuses to let us use magic to save his life.”
“Nonsense,” Kenden frowned. “Why else would he call us here?”
“I sent for you,” Queen Kariana confessed quietly, dabbing her eyes with an already-soaked handkerchief. “You must use your magic to save my husband, no matter what he says. He cannot die. The Prophesy—”
“No, Kariana,” King Derik rasped, the sound of their voices having roused him. He attempted to sit up further in bed, but quickly fell back against the pillows, lacking the strength for even that small an exertion.
Queen Kariana stroked his head, earnestly pleading with him, “Please, my love, you must let them help you. I cannot—will not—lose you, too. Your country needs you. I need you.”
“Oh, my beloved Kariana, do you still not see? Whether I die now or in a few years, the Prophesy will still come to pass. What we must strive for now is to preserve as much of our country as we can.” He turned his fevered gaze on the fairies. “Saman and Takia’s armies are advancing even as we speak—their soldiers will cross into Nathar within the week. I have asked King Tirell to take up my crown—he is a strong leader who can defend my country well—but I have yet to receive a reply. Even if Tirell does agree, he still needs time to gather his armies—time we simply do not have. You must use your magic to save my country! Halt the invasion before it can turn to utter devastation—that is all I can ask.”
“A laudable request, I am sure,” Kenden remarked stiffly, “but you do not need all our magic for that. I am sure one of us could be spared to heal your body as well.”
The King shook his head. “No, Kenden—I learned long ago the price of such selfishness. Magic must be cherished and saved for the direst of emergencies, not wasted trying to sustain a life that has run its course. It is my kingdom that matters now. You m–must not let it fall into c–chaos and ruin!”
He began to cough, and Kariana quickly held her handkerchief to his lips. When she took it away, Elaine saw that it was dotted with blood.
“You must stop the Pr
ophesy from coming to pass,” King Derik begged when he could speak again. “You must—”
His eyelids fluttered closed.
“Is he—?” the triplets asked in near unison.
“Sleeping,” Kariana confirmed, rising slowly from his side. A tear trickled down her cheek. “At least, this time. But he is right—it is our kingdom that matters now. Will you help us save it?”
“Of course, we will,” Elaine assured the Queen, holding out one hand in recognition of her plight. “We have not used our magic for many years, and that has made it strong. United, we may make all the difference.”
“Thank you,” the Queen murmured as she squeezed Elaine’s hand. With one last look at the slumbering king, she gestured for the fairies to follow her out of the room.
As they did so, Kenden murmured to his wife, “You know as well as I do that no prophesy made by a fairy seer has ever failed to come to pass. Why give the Queen false hope?”
“The King is not dead yet, and much can happen in a week. Would you let this kingdom fall without even trying to prevent it?”
“We helped this country once before and look were it got us—a thankless exile and a missing daughter. If Nathar is destroyed, it would be no more than it deserves.”
“For shame, Kenden! There are good people here. We are not the only ones who have suffered, you know,” Elaine inclined her head meaningfully toward Kariana. “At least our daughter is alive. We owe Kariana whatever is in our power to give.”
Kenden looked at Elaine for a long moment, and then sighed. “You are right, as always. I have held onto my anger for so long . . . it is hard to let go. I am trying. But even so, Elaine, there are simply too few of us. Mait is dead and Liliath is out of reach, and we do not even possess the Focuser anymore to enhance our power. Without our daughter’s Old Magic or the Focuser’s ability to aid us, I fear we have no hope of defeating the seer’s prediction.”
* * * * *
Riven: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 3) Page 8