by Alix Nichols
“No,” she gritted.
“Five hundred.” He drew back a notch and fixed her with his tiny reddened eyes. “Five thousand. You won’t have to work another day in your life with that much money. You realize that? Do you still prefer to be a laundry maid and a convict’s wife?”
All while he spoke, his fingers searched and prodded her, growing rougher with every word.
She drove the heel of her shoe into his foot as hard as she was able.
He kicked her shin. “You little whore!”
Etana cried out as a bolt of pain shot up her body.
“Let go of her, you scumbag!” Lord Sebi’s voice rumbled from the other side of the screen, followed by the sounds of a tussle, blows dealt, guards swearing.
“That’s enough.” Superior Fo’s voice shook with suppressed fury as she grabbed Ultek’s arm and pulled.
Reverend Goyyem tugged at his other arm. “Hassin, Brok, over here!”
The vestals’ brawny stewards rushed in.
Ultek glanced at them and thrust two fat fingers against Etana’s hymen in a last-ditch attempt to deflower her.
Freeing one of her hands from his grip, she sucker-punched him between the eyes just like Rhori had taught her.
“Fuck!” Ultek swung his fist to punch her back, but the vestals’ stewards dragged him away.
He snarled at them. “Let go of my arms, you morons!”
They didn’t.
“I’ll have you arrested!” Ultek spat out.
One smiled, the other shrugged, and both looked at the vestals for further instructions.
“Let go of him.” Superior Fo said. “Chief Ultek will walk out of here, and he’ll keep his hands off Dame Tidryn as befits an officer of the law.” She trained her eyes on him. “Right?”
He mumbled something unintelligible and then said through gritted teeth, “Right.”
The stewards released his arms.
He muttered a curse before turning to Etana. “This isn’t over. We’ll see who has the last word. I won’t let you ruin my—”
“Chief Ultek,” Judge Mahabmet called from behind the screen. “Please come over here so that Dame Tidryn can get dressed, and my clerks can record Their Glories’ formal conclusion.”
A few minutes later, Etana stood next to Lord Sebi, her head down, as Reverend Goyyem dictated to the high judge’s clerks.
“We can proceed with the ceremony now,” Superior Fo said as soon as the healer vestal was done. “Please remove the bridegroom’s shackles.”
The guards glanced at a short man—probably the warden—who looked at Chief Ultek.
“Only the hands,” Ultek barked.
The abbess arched an eyebrow. “I’ll need him to be able to walk.”
“No problem, Your Glory.” The police chief gave her one of his blood-chilling smiles. “His ankle chains won’t prevent him from walking. You don’t need him to run, do you?”
She turned away from him.
As the guards fumbled with Lord Sebi’s handcuffs, Etana gave him a sidelong glance.
He was staring at her, his expression warm, reassuring, and sad all at the same time. Then it changed, as if a big, swollen cloud had slid under the prison roof, casting a shadow into Lord Sebi’s eyes.
“You sure you want to do this?” he mouthed to her, furrowing his brow.
“Yes, I am.”
He nodded.
“My lord.” Superior Fo turned to Judge Mahabmet. “The first part of the wedding ceremony must be held either in a temple, or out in the open. Which one will it be?”
“Take a guess,” Ultek blurted before the judge could reply.
Mahabmet exhaled slowly, exasperation palpable on his face. “The latter, Your Glory. We’ll do it in the prison yard.”
She gave him a small nod.
It took them a quarter of an hour to cover the short distance to the courtyard, what with the chains around Lord Sebi’s bare, bloodied ankles slowing them down.
Finally outside, Etana filled her lungs with clean air and exhaled slowly. Only then did she notice the crowd behind the prison gate. Hundreds of people. It looked like everyone who’d been present in Town Hall Square at dawn had followed the convoy to the prison instead of going home or to their workplace.
The drizzle had stopped, and the sun had come out.
People were everywhere, filling all available space around the massive gate. Faces were squeezed between its spiky bars, leaving no gaps. Others were up in the trees across the street or standing on each other’s shoulders to gain a better view.
Did they care about their champion’s fate? Or were they here for the follow-up to this morning’s show?
Reverend Goyyem touched Etana’s arm. “Go stand in front of Lord Sebi, my child.”
Her heart racing in her chest, Etana did.
Superior Fo beckoned to her steward.
He pulled a volume of the Book of Xereill from the pouch slung across his shoulder, opened it on the bookmarked page, and passed it to the abbess.
“You will exchange your vows now,” Superior Fo said, looking from Etana to Lord Sebi. “There will be no feast, I’m afraid.”
She gave them a sympathetic little smile and lowered her voice. “After the vows, we’ll move inside to your ‘love chambers’ for the ‘securing of the patience knickers’ and then the final part, the ‘unlocking of the knickers.’ ”
Chief Ultek tilted his head toward to the warden, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. “She means the inmate’s cell.”
The warden chuckled obsequiously.
“Is the bride entering this marriage without compulsion?” the abbess asked, raising her voice and ignoring Ultek’s comment.
“Yes, Your Glory,” Etana said.
Superior Fo turned to Lord Sebi. “Is the bridegroom entering this marriage of his own free will?”
“Yes.”
Superior Fo looked at Reverend Goyyem, hesitation flashing in her eyes.
The healer vestal spread her arms, mouthing, “We can’t.”
Superior Fo turned back to Etana. “I’ll skip the handfasting ritual, seeing as neither of you had a chance to ask a family member to procure the cords.”
Judge Mahabmet leaned forward, whispering to the abbess out of the corner of his mouth, “Would my shoelaces do?”
She smiled softly. “Anything that can be tied would do, my lord. But the ritual requires that the couple’s kin deliver and bless the cords.” She let out a sigh. “I’d rather not perform the handfasting at all than muck it up.”
“I see.” The judge drew back.
Chief Ultek rubbed his hands together, his little eyes lighting up. He’d just found a pretext to contest the validity of the marriage.
“It doesn’t matter.” The abbess injected her voice with feigned cheerfulness. “We’ll move straight to—”
“I have the cords!” a familiar voice sounded from the crowd outside of the prison gate.
There was a commotion as he jostled his way closer to the gate. “I’m the bride’s brother. Let me in!”
Rhori!
Etana’s heart pinched with affection and gratitude. Coming forward like this was no small feat for her shy older brother.
Superior Fo glared at the warden. “Well? You have to let him in!”
Reluctantly, the man complied, and a moment later Rhori was placing two fine leather strips over Etana’s and Lord Sebi’s entwined hands.
“Make a loose knot and repeat after me,” the abbess said to Rhori.
“This represents the joining of your lives,” he recited after her, tying the ends of the leather strips together. “They are linked and bound now, like these cords… Etana, you’ll share in Areg’s sorrows, joys, and dreams… Areg, you’ll share in my sister’s sorrows, joys, and dreams.”
“Easy,” the abbess touched his hand. “Don’t pull so hard. You’ll have to unfasten the knot in a moment.”
Rhori’s cheeks flushed. “Right. Sorry.”
“You’re doing great, my child,” Reverend Goyyem said.
Everyone, including people her own age, was a child to the elderly vestal, but Etana knew Rhori had a special place in her heart. No wonder, considering how much of his time, muscle, and woodworking skill her brother volunteered for the Healers’ Order.
Etana suspected Mayka’s condition had something to do with his zeal.
“May Aheya look benevolently upon this union, and may she give you patience,” Superior Fo said to Etana, before turning to Lord Sebi. “May she give you endurance.”
We’re going to need both, Etana thought.
The abbess turned to Rhori. “You will now undo the knot you made. Then you’ll fasten one of the cords around the bride’s wrist and the other around the groom’s, to wear as a sign of their union.”
Rhori did as instructed.
“Now you must say something to your sister, in your own words,” Superior Fo said to him. “It can be a piece of advice or a wish. Most importantly, it must be honest. Let the words come straight from your heart.”
Etana gave Rhori an alarmed look.
This wasn’t just your regular reserved guy. Rhori was the most introverted person she’d ever seen. He spoke little at home or around his friends. As for opening his mouth in public, it had simply never happened before. No wonder he looked terrified. Poor sweetie.
Their gazes met, and then she heard a voice that sounded a lot like her brother’s. “If you’d asked my opinion, Etti, or Ma and Pa’s opinion, we would’ve advised you against embarking on this path.”
The voice did belong to her brother. Rhori was speaking without anyone prompting the words in front of dozens of people in the courtyard and hundreds outside.
“But you didn’t ask.” He smiled. “You’re headstrong like that. What’s done is done, and I want you to know that I—that your family—we’ll be there for you.”
Oh, Rhori.
His gaze shifted to Lord Sebi. “Both of you.”
Etana grinned, realizing that Rhori had just given her the verbal equivalent of a big-brotherly hug. And what’s more, he’d embraced not only her but also her husband-to-be. Rhori’s hugs were the best.
“Thank you, Sir Tidryn.” Superior Fo directed him to draw back.
Taking his place, she opened the Book of Xereill, held it before Etana and pointed out a passage. “Say the bridegroom’s given name, and read aloud from here to here.”
Etana cleared her throat. “Areg.”
Calling Lord Sebi—at least ten years her senior, and a hero she worshipped—by his first name sent her heart into a furious gallop. It was strange, awkward, and wonderfully intimate at the same time. It made the hazy notion that she was marrying him a little more real.
Areg, my chosen one. She drew a deep breath. “Areg, my chosen one. I will love you and honor you and cherish every moment we’ll have together.”
She peered into his eyes before reading the rest of the vow. “I will support you in every way I’m able, because you and I shall become one.”
The abbess nodded and moved the book closer to Areg.
“Etana,” he began.
She blushed at how much she enjoyed the sound of her name on his lips. Intentionally or not, his deep voice had turned it into a caress, a promise of what he had in store for her for their first night.
But when he read out the vow, he didn’t lift his eyes from the book to look at her. Not once. His booming voice remained flat and expressionless. Even when he was done, he trained his eyes on Superior Fo.
Not on his wife-to-be.
How different this was from the wedding of her friend Gullie. Three weeks ago, Gullie and her intended had recited their memorized vows while gazing into each other’s eyes. It was very romantic. Then again, Gullie wasn’t getting married in a prison yard to a man she hardly knew to save him from a beheading.
One of the vestals’ stewards brought over a tray with a small wafer, a pot of honey, and a glass of water. He leaned toward Areg and whispered in his ear.
With a nod, Areg picked up the wafer, dipped it into the honey and lifted it to Etana’s lips. “What I’ll give you as your husband will be as sweet as this honey.”
She ate the honeyed wafer while Revered Goyyem prompted her response.
Etana lifted the glass to Areg’s mouth. “What I’ll give you as your wife will be as pure as this spring water.”
Areg drank the water.
Chief Ultek snickered loudly.
“You have now bound your souls together,” Superior Fo said, her strong voice reverberating over Ultek’s. “Tonight, after you complete the ritual by joining your bodies, your marriage will be sealed in Aheya’s all-seeing eyes, and in accordance with the Ra-human law. Your destinies will entwine forever.”
“So be it,” Reverend Goyyem said, her gaze downcast.
Etana lowered her lids, too. “So be it.”
She heard Areg murmur the same three words before hundreds of other voices joined in. “So be it.”
7
Areg shot a glance at Superior Fo, awaiting her further instructions.
After the first part of the wedding ceremony had ended, the authorized people reentered the building. The vestals demanded that Etana and Areg be fed and allowed to use the central toilet, while Areg’s cell was cleaned and aired before it could be used for the “sacrament.” Under Mahabmet’s watchful eye, the warden reluctantly granted their demands.
When the group finally got to the cell, Superior Fo declared that no one besides the couple, herself and Reverend Goyyem could enter of the “love chambers” until dawn.
Ultek began to protest, but then Mahabmet weighed in, backing up the abbess’s requirement as fully legitimate. The second part of the wedding ceremony had to be private, he argued. Apparently, there was even an article in Eia’s code of law guaranteeing that.
Why is Mahabmet helping me now? Areg wondered for the umpteenth time since the morning.
The man hadn’t lifted a finger to save Areg’s parents or to help Nyssa. He clearly didn’t care that much about justice. And yet, he was falling over himself to make things a little better for him now.
Guilt.
The many-tentacled monster must’ve penetrated the armor around the judge’s cold heart and was beginning to poison the blood in his veins.
Tell me about it.
Areg’s own blood had been poisoned for three years now, ever since the “scouting incident.”
“Is there an article in Eia’s code of law that requires I also seal the door viewer for the night?” Ultek asked Mahabmet, defiant.
The judge shook his head.
“Oh, good,” Ultek said with exaggerated relief. “For a moment there, I wondered whose interests you had at heart, lord governor’s or the convict’s.”
“Lord governor’s, of course.” Mahabmet glared at Ultek. “I do not condone rebellion. I mean, treason.”
The guards removed Areg’s chains. Opening the door, they waved him, Etana, and the vestals inside.
It was just the four of them now.
Reverend Goyyem cleaned and disinfected Areg’s ankles. Then she and the abbess unfolded the light screen they’d used for Etana’s examination.
“Step behind it, undress, and wipe your entire body with these.” Superior Fo handed Areg a humid sponge and a soft towel. “Let us know when you’re done and before you put your clothes on.”
That sounded… worrisome.
Then again, he’d made his choice when he said yes to Etana’s proposal, so he’d better get on with it.
While Areg cleansed himself, Superior Fo said to Etana, “When he’s done, I’ll give him these patience knickers to wear under his nightshirt, and I’ll lock them before I leave for the rest of the evening.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Your Glory, but I don’t have a nightshirt,” Areg said from behind the screen, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Iltaqa inmates sleep naked.”
He hoped his remark hadn’t come across as im
pertinent. This was Abbess Sannya Fo—a stern priestess his late mother’s age—not the young and jovial Prioress Aynu he’d known since they were children. Respect was in order.
“We have brought clean nightshirts for you and your bride, Lord Sebi,” the abbess said.
“Of course you have.”
Why did he ever doubt the vestals? Hadn’t they brought wafers, honey, cleaning sponges, and towels? Not to mention the famously sturdy patience knickers that many a young couple had tried and failed to rip off before the stroke of midnight.
He lathered his armpits, chest and stomach with the remarkably efficient sponge and moved down to his sex.
“May I continue now, Lord Sebi?” There was an unmistakable note of irony in Superior Fo’s tone.
Ha! So, the solemn vestal did have a sense of humor. “Of course, Your Glory.”
“Etana?” The tinge of irony in the abbess’s tone had grown into a full-blown smile, judging by the sound of it. “May I have your attention, please?”
“What? Oh.” Etana’s voice had a different quality, much coarser than usual. “Pardon me, Your Glory,” she muttered.
Poor thing, she must’ve dozed off on the abbess, overcome by fatigue and nerves. Areg smiled, his heart swelling with sympathy for the girl. She’d had quite a day.
“That’s all right,” Superior Fo said, “When you’ve cleansed yourself the same way your husband-to-be is doing now, I’ll lock you into patience knickers, too.”
“Right,” Etana said, her voice still raspy.
“The purpose of these contraptions is to keep the young couple from rushing into carnal love on their wedding night,” Reverend Goyyem said matter-of-factly. “With their sexes inaccessible, they have to spend the first few hours talking. Mild touching and kissing is allowed.”
Sweet Aheya above. It was strange to hear such words spoken by a vestal.
Dabbing the last wet patch on his side, Areg slung the towel over the top of the screen. “I’m finished.”
“Put those on,” the abbess commanded without looking at him and handed him a nightshirt and a tightly woven metal mesh shaped like a pair of cropped breeches.