Exile

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Her head was spinning. Her? He’d chosen her? Soft, pampered, mouthy her? The longer she sat and went over it in her mind, it started to make some kind of twisted sense. She’d been the most obviously privileged of the women chosen to be offered. If he was as interested in the idea of teaching her people a lesson as she’d been led to believe, it made sense that he would choose the disrespectful, pampered, mouthy one. She cursed herself for not just shutting up when she should have.

  After what felt like an eternity, she heard voices outside the door of the hut.

  Daarik stood outside of the hut with his father, as well as his advisors and the guards who had been left in charge of making sure his future bride didn’t try to get away. He shook his head at that notion. This was a mess and it was likely only going to get worse. After a moment, the priest who would be performing the ceremony arrived, along with the emissary from the human government.

  With brisk nods at one another, they entered the hut behind Daarik’s father, and Daarik was able to get another good look at the human he would soon be calling “wife.”

  She was everything his people hated about the humans. He knew this, and yet, he’d known even before she’d opened her mouth that he would choose her. When she’d proven herself to be an angry, irritated, unafraid female, he’d been even more sure. He was not heartless. He had no love for the humans, but he also had no desire to see a female, no matter the species, in misery. She was strong enough, defiant enough, not to be broken by living among beings who hated her. Her haughty attitude, her lack of care for sparing the feelings or propriety of the king and himself would serve her well as his wife.

  As they filed into the hut, he kept his eyes on her. She watched them each walk in, barely sparing him a glance. When the human emissary entered the hut, it looked as if she rolled her eyes.

  She was an… interesting creature. Much softer looking than any female he had ever known, with wide hips, large bosoms, and a waist that cinched, creating a long line of wide curves. Her dark hair flowed in loose waves down her back, past her waist. Her eyes were a golden brown color that reminded him of the leaves on some of the trees in autumn, in those areas of the world that still had an autumn. Her lips seemed to form an almost permanent pout. He’d noted her straight white teeth when she’d spoken earlier, so different from his. She had no fangs that he’d been able to see. Of course, he knew that already, from killing so many of her kind. Those teeth were useless in a fight. Her skin had a golden tint to it, and, now that he was in an enclosed space with her, he realized she smelled like flowers, which made him want to gag.

  “Lady Shannen,” his father greeted her, and she stood, giving him the barest of bows.

  Well. At least she had the sense and manners to show some respect.

  “Your majesty,” she murmured, and his father gave a low chuckle.

  “That word seems strange to me. Please, just call me Elrek.”

  She gave another nod/bow. “Elrek, then.” Daarik looked around, and noticed that his father’s top advisor, Jarvik, looked almost smug standing just inside the doorway. He’d been against this marriage, the one and only time Daarik and Jarvik had ever agreed on anything. Undoubtedly, Jarvik was looking forward to being proven right by Daarik’s choice in his bride, a woman who represented their enemies perfectly. And a royal, on top of it. Daarik smothered a sigh.

  “I know this is not the circumstance you longed for,” his father said to Shannen as Daarik watched impassively. “To be completely honest, I am not certain why my son chose you.”

  “Well, that makes two of us, then,” she said to his father, who chuckled again. Daarik shoved down his irritation. As if the other choices had been any better. An over-exuberant female who wanted to make a cultural study of his people, a mewling infant-woman, and a female who, though she may have fit in well enough among his people, showed nothing but pure terror when she looked at them. At least this one did not look as if she wanted to cry. She looked angry, and anger, Daarik could deal with.

  “Shall we go over the details of the upcoming ceremony, then?” his father said, and his future bride, Shannen, nodded. They all sat, except for Daarik, who stood behind his father’s chair.

  “You will be wed tomorrow before our people as well as your human emissary,” Elrek said to Shannen, nodding toward the pasty human who, Daarik already knew, his father greatly disliked. “Do you know anything of our marriage ceremonies?”

  Shannen shook her head, and Elrek continued. “They are simple. There are words you say to one another, repeated after our priest. And your wrists are tied together, and then more words are recited.” He paused. “Are there any human aspects of the wedding ceremony you would like to include? It is a blending of cultures, of races, so it would make sense to include something from your background as well.”

  Shannen looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Are there any traditions or symbols among your kind that mark a male and female as mates?” the priest asked her.

  “Oh. We exchange bands of silver or gold. It is s symbol of the marriage promise,” she said, and Daarik’s father nodded.

  He turned to the priest. “Speak to Jerle about creating these bands. He can come measure each of them.” The priest nodded.

  Elrek turned back to Shannen. “We will include this part of your human ceremony.”

  Shannen just nodded.

  “We are marked once we wed,” Elrek said, pulling up the sleeve of his tunic and showing the thin strands of metal embedded in his flesh, fashioned to spell the name of Daarik’s mother, Alira. Earth Mother be thanked she hadn’t lived to see her son wed to a human, Daarik thought to himself.

  He noticed Shannen blanch a bit as she inspected the marks on his father’s arm. It was not a process for the faint of heart, and even the most robust warrior had been known to faint during the process. It was meant to both permanently mark a mated couple, and to be the first trial, the first pain they suffered together. He glanced at his soft-looking bride.

  “We can forgo the marriage marks,” Daarik said, finally speaking up. Shannen’s gaze shot to him, and the others regarded him as well. “The rings we will be wearing are enough.”

  “Son, are you sure?” his father asked, and he nodded, eyes on his future wife.

  “Your people do not use marks as we do. Have you heard of this process?” he asked, speaking directly to Shannen for the first time.

  “All I know is that cutting and metal are involved,” she said, her face blanching a little as she spoke.

  “The rings are enough,” he repeated.

  “Thank you,” she answered. He met her gaze for a moment before looking away.

  “Well. All right then,” his father continued. “So we will do the marriage ceremony, and you will exchange rings, and then there will be a celebratory feast. After that, you and my son will move into the palace and begin your life as husband and wife. Simple enough. And he will bear witness for your people and return with his report,” he said, nodding toward the human emissary.

  “Simple enough,” Shannen repeated. “I will not be returning home between now and then.”

  Elrek shook his head. “Your family will send along any of your personal belongings. Though I note you did arrive with a trunk.”

  Shannen nodded. “Extra clothing and a few books. I do not doubt that you already know that, though,” she said, and Elrek chuckled.

  “Well, we couldn’t risk you sneaking any weapons or poisons in,” he said to Shannen.

  “That would have been a colossally stupid move, I think,” she said mildly, and Daarik found her pragmatism pleasing. She would do well enough living among his people. Not happily. He knew better than that. And he would not be much happier. But if they avoided one another and just got on with life as well as they could, it would be bearable.

  Somewhat, anyway.

  “There is the matter of the consummation,” the human emissary put in. He was a weasel of a man with beady dark eyes
and pale, sweaty flesh. Shannen had quipped that she was an example of what his people hated about humanity. But this man? He truly was. Weak, conniving, and with an ever-present look of slyness about him. “I cannot return with word that this marriage is official until I have witnessed it. That should happen as soon after the marriage as possible.”

  Daarik glared at the man, wishing for his sword.

  “That is barbaric,” he growled at the man. “I will not copulate for your amusement, human.”

  “It is the way of our people,” the emissary explained. “When the marriage of royals is concerned, when it is a marriage made to honor a treaty or contract, it is null and void until consummation is witnessed by a third party. That would be me, and one from your… people as well.”

  Daarik snarled. It would be difficult enough bedding the human without having another of the vile things watching. He transferred his gaze to Shannen, who was glaring at the emissary in a way that made him glad he was not the weaselly human. “Is this true?” he barked at her.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’d forgotten about it with everything else,” she said, clearly as annoyed and angry about it as he was. “I didn’t think it would apply to this,” she said, more to the emissary than to Daarik.

  The human gave a short, high-pitched laugh, full of derision. “Are you a fool? It especially applies to this. A promise between our people and theirs, one of our own given to one of them? It needs to be very, very clear that this marriage happened and that it is official.” He thought of something. “The marking thing. If she doesn’t get them, does it invalidate the marriage in any way among your kind?”

  It was Elrek that shook his head. “It is not required.”

  Not required, but meaningful. A visual, permanent representation of a husband and wife’s devotion to one another, their partnership through the best and worst that life would give them. Daarik had imagined the day he and his wife would watch one another get the elaborate inlays. A long time from now, granted, but he had thought of it. It was a rite of passage among their people, to see one’s name permanently melded with the flesh of your beloved. He would not have that.

  He would not have many things, it appeared.

  “Well. The consummation witness is,” the emissary said. “Are we in agreement?”

  Elrek gave a terse nod, and Daarik clenched his jaw.

  Shortly after, he stormed from the hut where his bride would be staying for the night, stalking toward the palace. Several females called out their willingness to keep him company on his last night of freedom, joking, of course, assuming that he would not really be unavailable to them after his wedding. Who could possibly expect him to stay loyal to a woman he never wanted? A human, no less.

  He walked, dust kicking up around his boots with each step. For the first time in his life, he looked into the distance, wishing for a fight. How he’d love to see the human armies or raiders coming for them now. That, at least, he knew how to handle.

  But the horizon remained empty, so he joined his soldiers instead. They, at least, had the sense not to discuss weddings or other idiocy.

  Chapter Two

  Shannen sat in the tiny hut she had stayed in the night before. Stayed, but not slept. After all of the officials, including the warrior to whom she would be wed, had finally left, she’d done nothing but sit numbly for a long time. Then she’d vacillated between rage and despair. Her isolation was only interrupted by a silent Maarlai who quickly and efficiently measured her finger, she supposed for a wedding band, and the female warrior who had been glaring at the humans during the selection ceremony abruptly slammed down a tray of cheese, brown bread, some kind of grayish meat, and wine.

  Shannen had been unable to touch any of it, and this only made the female Maarlai seem to dislike her more when she came later to retrieve the tray.

  That morning, the sun had risen bright and hot, the sky dawning a bright orangey pink out her window. Even here, in the midst of what was once a thriving, thick forest, it seemed impossible to escape from the oppressive heat during the daytime. Night brought a chill that went straight to the bone, it seemed, but during the day, the sun baked everything leaving the soil in dry crumbles, the once-magnificent trees spindly and anemic.

  Our fault, Shannen thought as she turned away from the window. It was what the Maarlai had claimed for years, and she was probably one of the few humans who agreed with them.

  She busied herself combing and brushing her hair, then coiling the long braid around her head, keeping her hair up and out of the way. She changed her underthings, then slipped into the lightweight, body-covering gown she always wore, in a stone gray that reminded her of the color of her husband-to-be’s skin. It covered her from neck to toe, loosely skimming over her curves. The sleeves ended in wide, flowing cuffs that she could tuck her hands into. She took a matching scarf from her trunk and wrapped it around her head and neck. By the time she was finished arranging and tucking, only the top of her nose and her eyes with their thick, arching eyebrows, were visible. It comforted her, to be covered this way, to dress as she had for her entire life, necessary protection from the sun’s damaging, poisoning rays, and one of her people’s few precepts that she actually liked: modesty. She felt free when she was covered, when her emotions were unreadable and she was unknowable. She’d been forced to wear a simple green gown the previous day that had shown far too much of her body for her liking, and she’d hated having her hair and face so visible. It had felt like she was someone else, and that feeling had only added more to the overwhelming confusion of the day before. Propriety, modesty. These were among her people’s most beloved ideals, even if not everyone held to them. They seemed to be the direct opposite of how the Maarlai lived, since she’d seen many of their women walking around in form-fitting pants and tops that barely covered their breasts, let alone anything else.

  Her face reddened at how she’d been paraded before the king and warrior like a piece of meat. She knew the other females she’d been offered with suffered none of the shame she did. They were from outer districts, which had always been much less modest than her own. The lower classes usually were, she remembered her uncle saying derisively. Her people had always credited their love of modesty and hard work as the reason they were the rulers of what was left of humanity. In all honesty, it was just because there had more of them than anyone else.

  Until the Maarlai had decided to make their presence known.

  The Maarlai vastly outnumbered humanity in general. Her people’s, her family’s renowned might, had been a joke in the face of the angry tide of Maarlai that had stormed over the land from the forest, mountains, and other forgotten places. Aside from the sheer savagery in the way they fought, what terrified her people, all of the remaining humans, most of all was the fact that the Maarlai had been sharing the planet with them for centuries, and not a soul had known they were there.

  Seeing the village now, she at least partially understood why that was. So easy to overlook, especially when one’s vision was clouded with pride, as her uncle, her king’s had been for far too long.

  It made no sense to think about it all now. What was done, was done. She tore her thoughts away from the past before she started down the dangerous path of excessive reminiscing. She still had the scars on her back, proof of how much it hurt to remember the past.

  She sat, folding her hands in her lap, and waited. What felt like only seconds later, there was a knock at her door, and she rose. She could hear the crowds assembling outside in the village square already.

  A tall, elderly Maarlai female entered. Her hair was snow white, and she wore the same dark leather pants many of the females did, though Shannen noted that she wore a long brown fabric tunic instead of the halters many of the females wore.

  The elderly female looked her over.

  “You’re wearing that?” she asked Shannen in Common.

  “This is the traditional dress of my people. I wear it all the time,” Shannen said quietly.

&nb
sp; “It looks like something one would mourn in,” the older Maarlai said, kindness in her tone.

  “It is not meant to. My people value modesty. I have dressed this way since I was a girl.”

  The older female nodded. “All right, then. Are you ready?”

  Shannen took a breath and went to the older woman.

  “I hope you didn’t take that as an insult. The humans I am most familiar with seem to be much more lavish and celebratory in their fashion,” the female Maarlai said.

  “I did not take it so,” Shannen said. “And it is not meant as an insult to your people that I dress this way.” She paused. “Really, they will probably appreciate it.”

  “What makes you say that?” the Maarlai asked.

  “The less of me they have to look at, the better. I know I am repulsive as far as the Maarlai are concerned.”

  The older female was looking at her, and she finally let out a laugh. “You will do well here, Shannen of House Lyon,” she finally said.

  They reached the village center. The wooden dais the king had sat upon the previous day was empty now, save for the priest and the human emissary. As she walked toward it, she noticed Daarik, her future husband, waiting at the base of the dais. He bowed low to the elderly female.

  “Grandmother,” he said in Common for Shannen’s benefit, and Shannen looked at the elderly woman in surprise. The Maarlai just gave her a small smile and patted her shoulder, and then climbed the stairs of the dais, standing beside the human emissary.

  She turned to her betrothed. He was studying her with an inscrutable look on his face. He looked imposing as always, even without his armor. He wore a set of black leathers and boots, very unlike the finery most human males wore to their weddings. His hair was pulled back again.

  “The priest will say a few words, and then we will climb the dais together,” he said to her in a low voice. If he was taken aback by her clothing, he did not let on. Likely, he did not care either way. “My grandmother is there to bear witness for our people, as that human is to bear witness for yours.”