‘O’ course,’ Wonda said. ‘Tea? Water?’
Leesha shook her head. ‘Something that could take the varnish off my porch.’
Rojer laughed as his wives swung the reel together onstage, their bright silks billowing to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. With a dozen Jongleurs playing, they pulled Rojer into the dance, and Kendall as well, all of them clapping and laughing. Flamework began going off in the crowd, toss bangs, festival crackers, flamewhistles, and firewheels. A space opened up in the centre of the graveyard where Leesha stood, setting off rockets and shooting stars that lit the night sky.
The dancing died down as people stood in awe. Amanvah and Sikvah watched wide-eyed as Leesha put a rocket into the air, and clapped in amazement when it exploded into bright showers of colour.
‘Good time to pay our respects,’ Rojer said, leading them to the stairs stage left, closest to where Arlen and Renna stood. His wives dragged Kendall with them.
‘Tell us more of your Northland wedding customs,’ Amanvah said to the girl.
‘We usually give gifts when we pay respects,’ Kendall said. ‘But after that song … think any gift would pale.’
‘We must give something if that is tradition,’ Sikvah said.
Amanvah nodded. ‘We shall, in the manner we have been shown.’ Rojer didn’t know what to make of that, but he had little time, as the crowd parted to make way for them.
Arlen reached out, pulling Rojer into an unexpected hug. It was shocking. Since when did the Painted Man hug?
‘That was beautiful, Rojer. Heard the Song of Waning before, but never like that. It had …’
‘Power,’ Rojer said. ‘Power to kill a rock demon where it stands. You’ll have your fiddle wizards, as I promised.’ He turned and made leg to Renna, smiling. ‘A gift for your special day.’
Renna blushed as Amanvah went to her. ‘I am Amanvah, First Wife of Rojer, son of Jessum of the Inns of Hollow tribe.’ She turned to her companions. ‘This is my sister-wife, Sikvah, and my husband’s apprentice Kendall.’ The women bowed in turn, and Amanvah reached into her pouch, producing a piece of pure white silk.
‘Kendall tells me wedding gifts are traditional among your people. This is so among my people as well.’ She held up the cloth. ‘You are the Par’chin’s Jiwah Ka, and should have a bridal veil. This is my own veil, woven of purest silk and blessed in the Dama’ting Palace.’
Renna was silent as Amanvah tied the silk around her face, hiding her ward-stained face from nose to chin. ‘How long I have to wear it?’
Sikvah laughed. ‘Until the Par’chin removes it to kiss you.’
Renna snorted. ‘Core with that.’ She turned to Arlen, lifting the veil herself and kissing him deeply. Amanvah, Sikvah, and Kendall all laughed and clapped, and more folk cheered.
‘How was that?’ Renna asked, turning back. The veil fell back into place, and she made no effort to remove it.
Amanvah smiled. ‘Wedding traditions are not so different among my people.’ She looked to Rojer. ‘Sometimes I lament I will never have such a celebration.’
Rojer looked at her, seeing sadness in his wife’s eyes. Every Northern girl dreamed of her wedding day, and he realized the Krasians were the same way. He had shoved all tradition aside by marrying them on the spot, and, he suddenly realized, trodden their dreams at the same time. He would have to make it up to them.
‘You din’t?’ Renna asked. ‘Then share mine and come dance with me.’ She took Amanvah’s hand and reached out to Sikvah and Kendall, dragging them all into the dancing area. There was a great cheer, and the Jongleurs struck up another song.
‘You got two minutes, Arlen Bales,’ Renna cried, ‘then I better see you out here!’
‘Ah, marriage,’ Rojer said, and Arlen laughed.
‘Every time it gets tough, I’ll remember you got two,’ Arlen said, watching the four women dance. ‘You know what you’re doing? Marrying any dama’ting’s no light thing, and Jardir’s own blood …’
Rojer shrugged. ‘Could ask the same of you. Sometimes I think I know what I’m doing, and sometimes …’
‘… you’re just swept along with the current,’ Arlen finished.
Rojer nodded. ‘Ay. But you heard the power of the Song of Waning. And I’m finding myself happy, more oft than not.’
‘Know what you mean,’ Arlen said. ‘We might all die come new moon, but right now I ent ever felt so peaceful.’
‘That’s a gloomy thought for your wedding night,’ Rojer said. ‘All the more reason we have a dance.’
‘Ay,’ Arlen said, and they moved out onto the cobbles. He surprised Rojer with his skill in the dance, laughing as he swung Renna from one arm and Kendall from another. The Hollowers all moved in, taking turns linking with bride and groom, ecstatic looks on their faces.
‘What dances do you do at weddings in Krasia?’ Renna asked Amanvah when the players gave the Hollowers a moment to catch their breath.
‘We do not dance in public,’ Amanvah said, ‘but there is a dance we do for our husbands when we retire to the bridal chamber.’
‘Oh, you must show me!’ Renna cried. Amanvah and Sikvah looked at each other, then at Rojer.
‘Dancing is no sin here.’ Rojer smiled. ‘Just leave your clothes on.’
Amanvah shook her head. ‘There are some things no man but a husband should see.’
‘Ay, this we gotta see,’ Brianne Cutter said. ‘Ladies, form a circle! Krasian girls are going to show us their dance!’ In moments, the tall women of the Hollow surrounded Renna and Rojer’s women. Rojer was allowed to stay, but even Arlen was expelled, moving off to greet more well-wishers.
‘I have not given you a bride-gift,’ Sikvah said to Renna, taking the finger cymbals from her belt pouch. ‘Please accept these, to aid your dancing.’
She helped Renna put the cymbals on as Amanvah slipped her own onto her fingers. In moments she was beating out a rhythm and the Hollow women were clapping along. Rojer picked up the tune on his fiddle, using the warded chinrest to amplify the sound, and soon the Jongleurs began to play along, though they could not see into the tight circle of women.
Safe from the eyes of other men, Amanvah began by teaching Renna the twisting snap of the hips that she could use with such hypnotizing power. The young woman was quick to pick up the move, and many of the Hollow women, including Kendall and Brianne, followed along. Sikvah moved among the women, helping correct their steps and the swing of their hips.
Rojer felt a familiar twitching in his groin, and blushed, flicking his cloak to add some cover to his loose motley trousers. He had only seen his wives dance so before lovemaking, and it seemed they had trained him well. Renna and Kendall both took to the dance as if born to it, and Rojer felt himself blushing further, even as the Hollow women squealed with glee at the racy moves. Other Krasian women joined them, helping demonstrate the moves at their dama’ting’s example. At last Rojer excused himself, feeling as if he were peeping into bedrooms where he did not belong.
Some time later the circle broke, Krasian and Hollower alike flushed and laughing. The Cutters brought out the wedding poles then, and ushered the couple back together. A wedding pavilion had been raised at the far edge of the graveyard.
‘What is this?’ Amanvah asked.
‘The bride and groom will sit on those chairs,’ Rojer said, pointing, ‘which the Hollowers will raise up on poles and carry them around the square for all to see. Normally the procession goes to the couple’s new home, but when they don’t have one, they use the wedding pavilion. The Par’chin will carry his bride over the threshold, and the whole town will cause a ruckus while they … Ah …’
‘Stick each other,’ Kendall supplied.
‘Consummate,’ Rojer said. He glanced to see if his wives would be offended, but Amanvah and Sikvah seemed delighted at the prospect. They followed along eagerly as the procession circled the Corelings’ Graveyard three times, then arrived at the pavilion. Arlen leapt lightly down from the high
perch, catching Renna as she fell into his arms. He kissed her as they entered the pavilion and closed the flap behind them.
Immediately Amanvah gave an ululating cry, amplified tenfold by her warded choker. Sikvah and the other Krasian women followed suit as the rest of the Hollowers began to cheer and clap and stomp their feet, banging pots, pans, and ale barrels, clashing mugs, and doing whatever else they could to form a cacophony. Leesha set off more flamework.
Only the Sharum did not participate. Kaval glowered at the tent, and Rojer feared he would try to torch it.
Amanvah caught his stare. ‘If you cannot be polite, Drillmaster, then make yourself useful. Take your men and kill seven alagai in honour of the union, one for every pillar of Heaven.’
Kaval looked frustrated as he bowed. ‘We do not have our spears, dama’ting.’
Amanvah’s eyebrows formed a tight V, and both Rojer and Kaval knew she was losing patience. ‘For more than three hundred years, Sharum killed alagai without warded spears, Drillmaster. Have the battle wards made you weak? Have you forgotten your skills?’
Kaval knelt and pressed his forehead to the cobbles. ‘Forgive me, dama’ting. It will be done.’ He seemed almost relieved as he signalled the other men and they left the Corelings’ Graveyard.
Any excuse to kill demons, Rojer thought.
‘If they’re killin’ seven, then we’re killin’ seventy,’ Gared said to Wonda. ‘Cutters! Get your axes! We’re going to give the Deliverer a wedding present: a demon pyre so big the Creator will see it from Heaven!’
Amanvah watched the Cutters muster and head off into the night, and she sighed, taking Rojer’s arm.
‘Father is right,’ she said. ‘Your people are not so different from ours.’
Wonda had done as Leesha asked, bringing her a small bottle of amber liquid. Leesha was not used to strong drink and had no idea what it was, but it burned her throat and warmed her limbs like the couzi Abban had given her, and soon she was in a comfortable fog, taking joy in the excited faces of children and adults alike in her displays of flamework.
But when they paraded Arlen and his new bride around the whole ripping graveyard three times before taking them to the wedding pavilion, it almost seemed like her children were mocking her. They all knew she shined on Arlen Bales. It had been the talk of the town.
Just like it had been with Marick. And Gared. It seemed no matter what she did, her love life was always the subject of whispers at her back.
The Hollowers’ raucous laughter cut at her. Did they delight in humiliating her so? Had she truly become her mother?
Again she saw Elona with Gared in her mind’s eye. But then Gared vanished and it was Arlen, whose bare warded flesh she had spent so many hours studying, holding her mother aloft with little more than his cock. Elona looked at Leesha and laughed, continuing to grind her hips and bounce atop him. Then her mother was replaced with Renna Tanner, shrieking with delight as Arlen thrust into her.
She could swear she heard the sound of them coupling in the wedding pavilion, even over the roar of the crowd. She set off festival crackers, but it did no good. She pulled a large rocket from her dwindling supply of flamework and set its stick base between a pair of loose cobbles, hoping the boom would put a ringing in her ears for the next few hours.
But she had trouble getting the rocket to stand straight, and when she struck the match, she burned her fingers and dropped it with a yelp, sucking them as tears ran down her face.
‘Night, look at you, you’re piss drunk,’ a voice said, and Leesha turned to see Darsy looming over her.
‘Give me those,’ Darsy said, snatching the matches from Leesha’s hand. ‘They call me woodbrained, but even I know drink and flamework don’t mix. Are you trying to lose a few fingers? Set a house on fire? Kill someone?’
‘Don’t you lecture me, Darsy Cutter,’ Leesha snapped. ‘I am Gatherer of the Hollow, not you.’
‘Then act like it,’ another voice said, and Leesha saw Elona come to stand beside Darsy. The last person in the world she wanted to see. ‘What would Bruna say if she saw you like this?’
We guard the secrets of fire for a reason, Bruna said. Men cannot be trusted to respect such power.
Suddenly Leesha felt horribly ashamed. Bruna would have spat at her feet right now, or struck her with her stick for the first time.
And Leesha knew she deserved it. The idea of letting down her mentor so was too much, and she shook, beginning to weep.
Darsy caught her and held her close, hiding the moment of weakness from the crowd. ‘S’all right, Leesha,’ she whispered. ‘We all have our moments. You go on with your mum. I’ll handle the flamework.’
Leesha sniffed and nodded, wiping her eyes and standing up straight as they broke apart. She walked slowly over to her mother, trying hard not to stumble on the uneven cobbles. When Elona offered her arm, Leesha took it with dignity. Only her mother knew how heavily she leaned on it.
‘Just a bit farther and you can rest,’ Elona said. They moved over to one of the many benches that surrounded the cobbles, and the goodwives there quickly rose, dipping quick curtsies as they yielded the seat.
‘All right,’ Elona said. ‘How much have you had?’
Leesha shrugged. She fumbled in her apron, pulling out the bottle Wonda had given her and handing it to her mother. Elona held it to the light, then pulled the cork and sniffed at it. She snorted and took a pull. ‘I’d be starting to feel a tingle myself if I drank that much, so I’d wager you must be ready to slosh up everything you’ve eaten since the morning purge.’
Leesha shook her head. ‘Just need a minute to catch my breath.’
‘Well you’re not going to get it,’ Elona said, straightening and giving the laces of her dress a subtle tug to lower her neckline the way she did any time a man entered the room. ‘Eyes in front. Don’t slosh.’
Leesha looked up, seeing Count Thamos approaching, looking splendid in his fine clothes and jewels. A few Wooden Soldiers shadowed his steps, but the count seemed not to notice them, his handsome smile relaxed and easy. He made a leg in that smug way Royals had, bowing when their station did not demand it.
‘A pleasure to see you again, mistress,’ he said, and turned to Elona. ‘Surely I would have heard if you had a sister, so this beautiful woman must be your mother, infamous Mrs Paper.’
Leesha rolled her eyes. She had at least expected the prince to be more original. If she had a klat for every time a man used that line to ingratiate himself with Elona, she’d be richer than Duke Rhinebeck.
Elona’s response was likewise identical each time, tittering like she had never heard such cleverness while looking down and blushing fetchingly. Leesha doubted anything could truly make Elona blush, but her mother could do it on command.
Elona offered her hand for the count to kiss. ‘I’m afraid the stories are all true, Your Highness.’
That’s honest word, Leesha thought, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
Thamos’ smile was positively predatory, like the wolfish grin of Messenger Marick. Leesha could not stand the thought of Thamos looking at her mother like that. Not when she was right here. Not tonight. She put a smile on her face and gave her own dress laces a tug.
‘Enjoying the festivities, Highness?’ she asked, pulling his eyes back to her and holding his gaze as best she could. His eyes kept dipping lower and then flicking back, but like Elona, she pretended not to notice.
‘I’ve never been to a wedding in the hamlets,’ Thamos said, ‘and I see now what a loss that is. This makes court balls seem dreary by comparison.’
‘Oh, you flatter,’ Leesha said. ‘How can Hollow women in their homespun dresses compare to painted courtesans in silk and gold?’
Thamos’ eyes flicked downward again, and Leesha felt her smile widen. ‘Courtesans care more for themselves than anyone else.’ He smiled and held out a hand as the Jongleurs struck up another dance. ‘They may tumble, but they never reel.’
The nex
t few hours were a blur as Leesha danced and laughed with the handsome count. He shared her with the other dancers grudgingly, always keeping close, and his kisses in the carriage as he drove her home were warm and full of passion. His member was stiff and hard in his breeches, and she pressed close, grinding into it with her hips and thighs. She felt herself growing wetter by the moment, and was considering the mechanics of taking him right there in the carriage when they pulled up to her cottage and the coachman hopped down to set the steps and open the door.
Thamos stepped down first, giving Leesha his hand to lean on as she wobbled unsteadily to the ground.
‘Head back to the revel,’ Thamos said to the coachman. ‘I’ll walk back.’
‘Highness,’ the coachman said. ‘It is night and these woods are full of Krasians …’
‘Come back at dawn, then,’ Leesha said. ‘Just go!’
The coachman shrugged and cracked the reins, heading off down the road.
‘Subtle,’ Thamos said, grinning as Leesha took him by the arm and practically dragged him inside.
She made no pretence, pulling him right into the bedroom. She lit a dim chemical light, then turned and pushed him hard, so he fell onto his back on the quilts. She smiled and hiked her skirts, crawling atop him, kissing his face and lips and neck. ‘And now, Your Highness, I am going to take advantage of you.’
Thamos squirmed, undoing the laces of her dress as he nuzzled his face into her cleavage. ‘Usually it’s the other way around.’
Leesha smiled. ‘Ay, but we do things different in the Hollow. I am going to ride you from now till your coachman returns.’ She reached down, unbuckling his belt, then fumbled with the snaps and laces of his breeches. She’d imagined herself having his member in hand in seconds, but she finally had to break eye contact and look at the last knot before she could untie it. She yanked the trousers open at last, but the member she found had lost much of its rigidity.
She took it in hand, stroking gently at first as she kissed him, but he remained soft. She moved higher, pressing his face into her breasts as she pulled harder, and that seemed to help, stiffening him enough for the deed. She kicked off her petticoats and pressed him to her opening, but again he wilted.
The Daylight War Page 53