Talis closed his eyes, as though he couldn’t even look and Khatrene blinked. The Dark? Lae’s father? The man who bossed everyone around? Mihale has got to be joking.
‘And so I bring together those who will be wed,’ Mihale intoned, ‘Khatrene of Ennae, and Djahr of the House of Be’uccdha.’
All around her people were rising from their seats, clapping the back of one hand into the other, shouting words of encouragement, but it wasn’t until she felt her brother’s hand on her arm that Khatrene could bring herself to stand up.
Peripherally, she’d seen the man step in front of her, the bronze of his robe with some swirling design on it. But now Mihale had pulled her to her feet and she had to stop looking at her soup.
‘Khatrene?’ her brother said.
She swallowed. Then gradually, as though her head was being raised by a slow pulley, she looked up at the man her brother had chosen. The man she was going to have to insult. Their spiritual leader who had probably never heard ‘no’ before in his life.
Lean. Expensive clothes. Cadbury-coloured skin on his hands, darker than Lae’s. Nice hands, though.
‘Princess. You do me great honour by considering my suit,’ he said, and his voice was the soundtrack to her dreams.
Khatrene’s gaze continued up, registering the tattoo and the familiar features, then she fell into his eyes without a splash, like sliding into a pool of warm, dark honey. Her skin tingled and the light around her took on a shimmering, golden hue. The buzzing in her ears became a contented hum and she heard herself sigh, a soft sound that mixed pleasure and relief.
Around them the room fell silent but Khatrene doubted she would have heard an explosion. This was the man her brother wanted her to marry. The man who humbly asked her to consider his suit. The man she would have walked across cut glass to find.
‘Djahr,’ she said, trying out his name, surprised at how faraway her voice sounded.
‘Khatrene,’ he replied softly, and she thought she would melt onto the floor. She trembled, actually trembled when he spoke.
Lae, who stood opposite The Light and with Talis at her side, could see only her father’s elegantly robed back, yet she sensed the silent discourse between himself and his newly betrothed from the satisfied glances of those around her. The beams of strange hue emanating from The Light had pulled back from dancing around the room to encircle her father, and even as Lae watched, the swaddling glow turned gold and began to pulse, as though with a heartbeat of its own.
A soft sound of surprise came from those who watched, but Lae felt none of their excitement. Her stomach lurched alarmingly and she gripped Talis’s arm. ‘Betrothed, I am ill,’ she said, and leant towards Talis. ‘You must help me,’ she whispered. ‘Or I fear my stomach will betray my misgivings at this union.’
Talis turned to her, his eyes full of the same distaste that had so upset her digestion and a rush of gratitude swept over her. Gratitude and relief that fate had gifted her a man who shared her sentiments so exactly.
‘Look at the happy couple as though nothing was amiss,’ he instructed her and Lae obeyed.
Her father was bowing to his new-betrothed and beyond, Lae could see at last The Light, whose expression startled her. ‘She looks with love on my father. How can this be?’
‘Sit.’ Talis’s hand closed over Lae’s own as they both sat and she felt a fierce pressure there. ‘Breathe,’ he said, and so Lae did, her thoughts quieting with the even breaths. A tingle of Guardian power crept up her arm from his hand and then ventured forth to find her stomach and quieten its rebellious acids. In moments she could feel the sick tightness in her throat subside. Lae relaxed and Talis made to withdraw his hand but she held it still, feeling a warmth from his healing within her, low in her belly.
The secretive nature of his touch, hands held beneath the table covering, made her think of other secretive touches they might share, and boldly she let herself long for his large hands to touch more than her check or her own hands. Her breasts were still buds, unripened fruits of pleasure, yet they ached for his glance and the roughness of his sword-callused palms.
Heat filled her body even as these thoughts filled her mind and in a moment of passion she leant close to whisper, ‘I will not think of my father’s wedding night, when thoughts of my own occupy me so greatly.’
In reply to this daring comment Talis said nothing and as long moments passed, Lae’s embarrassment grew. Yet he could not know that the esteem in which she had long held him was recently deepened by desire.
A moment’s consideration led her to say, ‘I see you are much troubled by this merger. But do not fear that it will affect our own.’
Talis turned again to face her and his eyes showed some great turmoil. He shook his head and did not speak.
Lae was confused. ‘The Light will live in Castle Be’uccdha,’ she said, ‘and you with her.’ She smiled, hoping to steal the frown from his brow. ‘I will be with you, and have my father still. What more perfect life could we share? She will have your days and I your nights —’
‘No.’ Talis shook his head again and the weight of pain on her betrothed’s face stilled her tongue.
‘No?’ Lae could not find a place within herself to accept the word. In her eyes, Talis had never seemed more beautiful, though she did not care for dress or detail. Yet in the formal uniform of his House, with ribbons of gold falling from his broad shoulders and threaded down his warrior plaits, the darkest of fabric clinging to his long limbs he seemed all of a man any woman could hope for. Was he not to be hers?
‘Speak, my love,’ she whispered, and heard the tremor of fear in her voice. ‘What grief is this that steals my happy future?’
For reply, Talis turned to glance at another. Lae followed his direction and found Kert Sh’hale watching them closely. Lae eyed him curiously then returned her attention to her beloved. ‘Does Sh’hale grieve you, my love? Will I poison his water?’
Talis made a sound that could have been a laugh, though humour obviously sat far from his heart. ‘Sh’hale wants your hand,’ he said, then looked to Lae. ‘Would you have his?’
Lae thought she would slap her betrothed, to wake him from delirium. She shook her head, ‘I plight my troth with you. I will have none of him.’ This last said loudly enough for those beyond to hear. ‘What do you mean by this questioning? Would you take back your vow?’ Tears hung close but Lae would not shed them before this company.
Talis closed her both hands tight with his, and his voice came fierce with emotion. ‘You will find no pain from me, Lae of Be’uccdha. I can act only for your good.’
‘Then marry me and be my love,’ she whispered, feeling the thread of tears on her cheeks despite her resolve. ‘My heart is sore to lose my father’s love to The Light. I could not bear to lose your vow as well.’ Lae knew it was not fitting for the daughter of The Dark to plead, and yet she did. Should Talis die in battle she would find the strength to live, but should he choose another …
‘If you have lost my vow, I shall give you no more treasures to keep,’ Talis chided her softly, and she found a smile of sweet relief to gift him.
Shyly, she touched a braid of his hair and then closed her hands in his. ‘I shall ask my father to hurry the day of our wedding, so that neither of us will long for the other and be denied.’
Talis nodded at this, although he did not smile, then both turned back to watch The Dark take his place at the table beside his King. The golden aura The Light projected followed her father as he walked around the table and there enfolded her brother as well, placed between them as custom dictated. The King smiled at each i
n turn, but they only had eyes for one another.
Their courtship of forty days, during which time they must not touch or be alone together, would be long for The Light, and though Lae felt anger at the one who had stolen her father’s affection, she now also felt a kinship of longing with Khatrene. The eyes of her childhood friend had not left her father’s and Lae saw in them all the hope and desire and passion she herself felt for Talis.
There would be no more talk of Sh’hale. Lae would see to it that Talis knew her love was blind to all but him. She would reside in the Volcastle for forty days, and in that time if she had not secured an early wedding date from her father she would call herself stupid. That, and Pagan her better.
She vowed this, then shuddered at the thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘My Lady of Be’uccdha,’ Kert said, bowing low.
‘Not your Lady,’ Lae corrected, hoping he took offence as she made to sweep past him on her journey to the Ceremony of Haddash in the Volcastle’s Great Hall, an observance she would sooner forgo. Though no serpent of the Fireworld had come through the Hallowed Flame in her lifetime, Lae felt sick at each year’s ceremony, fearing for her father who stood so close to the mouth of destruction, and her betrothed whose powers opened the way between the worlds. Yet she must go, and to add vexation to anxiety, her beloved’s nemesis now blocked her progress. She frowned and backed up a pace. ‘By your leave, Sh’hale,’ she said, not looking at him, but rather at the thick hedge beside him.
‘Would you leave, Lady?’ he asked, moving toward her, yet not close enough for her to take umbrage. ‘I would speak a word with you.’
‘And which word would that be?’ she said, her gaze still on the thick leaves of the hedge and its berries which she knew to be poisonous.
‘Why … marriage,’ Sh’hale said and Lae caught her breath. The insolence of the man to speak of such —‘I would wish you happy days,’ he said. ‘I hear you are soon to wed the Guardian Talis.’
Lae struggled to smooth her frown. ‘My thanks to you, Sh’hale,’ she said stiffly, and turned her glance on him, disturbed momentarily by how striking he looked in the morning light, his dark hair and coal eyes a sharp contrast to the pale skin that was the mark of his beautiful mother. ‘I … have waited long to marry Talis and the approach of our wedding pleases me greatly.’
‘As I am sure it pleases him who will be your lucky husband.’ Sh’hale smiled graciously and Lae was taken aback. She had heard that Kert Sh’hale was cruel and thoughtless, yet these words showed him to be an honest friend.
‘I shall give your words to my betrothed too,’ she said, ‘that he may join me in gratitude for such kindness.’
A look came to Sh’hale then, a wistful resignation that she did not understand.
‘You may do this, Lady,’ he said, ‘Though I doubt he will receive my blessings readily. His mind is settled against me and nothing I do will set the matter to rights.’ He appeared genuinely distressed at this and Lae found her assumptions about this son of Sh’hale to be further undermined.
‘What turned him against you?’ she asked.
‘A quarrel on the Plains,’ Sh’hale said, and moved closer as though to impart a truth. ‘Though I will not reveal the cause to you. Not for my own sake,’ he assured her, ‘but because the nature of the rivalry was such that may … distress a wife to hear.’
Lae frowned, wondering what rivalry it was. ‘I am not a wife yet,’ she said. ‘And I would know about this quarrel before I become one.’
Sh’hale tilted his head to look at her again. ‘I wonder, does your betrothed see the wisdom beneath your beauty?’
Lae felt her heart stutter a beat, so intense was the glance that carried these flattering words to her ears. The shadows appeared suddenly deeper and she wondered if he had come nearer, so distant seemed the sunlight that had warmed her skin, and so close the breath of his lips which now touched her face.
‘Your betrothed chooses better than he knows,’ Sh’hale said. ‘On this occasion.’
That last sentence echoed in her mind but Lae did not understand it. In truth, she could not move for the glance in his eye and the scent of his nearness. ‘I choose too,’ she said softly. The wind shifted and his cloak fluttered against her arm like the softest moss. His gaze moved from her lips to the side of her face where the tattoo of Be’uccdha would soon lie, proudly proclaiming her womanhood. Lae could scarcely breathe.
‘My Lady,’ he said, then held her gaze a moment longer before bowing to take his leave.
‘Sh’hale,’ she whispered, and watched as he strode away, his bearing not that of a thief in the night but a noble of the realm, proud and honourable in both thought and deed. How had her betrothed come to think so badly of this man who wished them both well?
Lae leant back against the solid hedgerow with a palm to her chest, the better to settle her too rapid heartbeats. Yet barely had her eyes closed a moment when she heard a voice that set her teeth on edge.
‘So this is how you come to have the men of court fawning at your feet?’
Her eyes sprang open to find Pagan leaning on the opposite hedge.
‘Waylay them in private,’ he went on, ‘and invite them to flatter you.’
Lae looked a dagger at him but within herself she found a thread of truth in his words. Had she not invited Sh’hale to flatter her? And she a maid to be wed this very year. ‘I did but inquire of Sh’hale what quarrel it was he had with my betrothed,’ she said, and set her face to show no guilt.
Pagan’s tone was cautious. ‘Kert has long coveted the role of King’s Champion. This is the rivalry which has held them from friendship.’
‘Yet that should now be gone,’ Lae argued. ‘Sh’hale has what he longed for and there still exists a divide between them, a rivalry not fit for wives’ ears, whatever that may mean.’
Pagan nodded at this. ‘Lucky for Talis that you are so uncommon dull.’
‘Such was not Sh’hale’s summation,’ Lae said before she could stop herself.
Pagan smiled. ‘A daughter of The Dark should not hold herself so cheap as to be flattered by the airy words of a —’
‘These are not airy words,’ Lae snapped. ‘Sh’hale has asked for my hand. Talis himself told me.’
‘Has he?’ Pagan raised an eyebrow as though to show surprise but Lae knew well he would have known. ‘And you meet this thwarted suitor alone for private conversation?’
Lae blushed, frightened now at where her words had led her. If Talis heard of this, might he think her swaying in her favour? He must not.
‘You will not speak of this to Talis,’ Lae said, and when Pagan shrugged and made to walk away she snatched at his shirtfront and held him there. ‘Promise you will not tell or I will …’
Pagan looked at her intently. ‘What? Sever my head from my body? Put poison in my glass?’ He leant his face close to hers. ‘Kiss me?’
Lae thrust him away and he laughed at her expression.
‘Fear not, “our Lady of Be’uccdha�,’ he mocked Sh’hale’s speech, ‘I would sooner kiss Barrion of Verdan than shred my silken cushions on your blade-sharp lips.’
‘Silken cushions?’
Pagan smirked and she hated him more, for his lips were plush compared to her own. ‘This was from the mouth of one who appreciated them,’ he bragged.
‘A kitchen maid with your money in her pocket. What truth coul
d you have from her?’
‘What truth is there from you, Lae?’ Pagan asked, stepping close to her. ‘What truth when you tell my stupid cousin that you love him alone? And here I see —’
‘Nothing,’ Lae said. ‘You saw a kindness graciously accepted. Nothing more.’
Pagan shook his head. ‘You think me dull.’
‘I think you hateful,’ she cried. ‘That you would twist my actions into the appearance of betrayal. I only sought the cause for the break between my betrothed and Sh’hale so I might mend it.’
‘Trust me, you would be better not to know.’
Lae eyed him warily. ‘Do you say this truthfully?’
‘Do you love Talis?’ Pagan asked straight and for a moment Lae saw not a stupid boy but a man who wished to serve his cousin.
‘I do,’ she replied, no lie in her heart. Though she loved her father first. Talis was dearer to her than any other man.
Pagan eyed her up and down, glanced away. ‘Fool I may be, but I believe you,’ he said.
Lae snatched at his shirtfront again, uncaring that she creased his ceremonial finery. ‘Then you will say nothing of this meeting to my betrothed?’
‘If you will ask nothing more about his quarrel with Sh’hale.’
Lae struggled with that, then nodded her acceptance.
‘Perhaps you will release me now?’ Pagan asked and she quickly stepped back, her hands at her sides now, having left his shirt in disarray. Pagan lowered his head to reclasp it, his hair falling forward to hide his smile. ‘I will also not tell my cousin that his betrothed tried to undress me.’
‘You …’ What small moment of friendship might have passed between them was gone in an instant. ‘I would undress you only the better to find a place to house a blade,’ she hissed.
‘Then I shall be wary enough to keep my shirt closed if you come to kiss me,’ he declared and without even a bow, took his leave.
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