by Karina Halle
“Oh fuck,” I whimper as the pressure in my core tightens like a feverish spiral and my eyes pinch shut, my body pitching over the edge. I clutch him hard, nails digging deep.
“Fuck me!” I cry out and my words turn into a garbled mess as the orgasm crashes into me. My head goes back, my eyes opening to see the sky so bright beyond the looming darkness of the castle towers.
A sky of periwinkle blue.
I feel as free as that very sky.
Death is coming now too, a gorgeous, primal groan pouring out of him. Nothing has sounded sexier as he grunts into my neck, his forehead hot against my skin. His thrusts slow, then still, our chests heaving with our ragged breath.
A chilled breeze smelling of sea spray and garden mint washes over the open walls, cooling our heated skin. He pulls back and gives me a lazy grin. No, wait. It’s more of a smirk. I don’t think Death is ever lazy.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than this,” he says, brushing my hair off my face. “You’ll make a lovely bride, little bird.”
And then the hard, cold reality comes crashing into me again.
I’m going to be the Bride of Death.
Chapter 20
The Bride of Death
Despite Death’s wishes that our wedding be quick and rudimentary, word of our nuptials spread quickly across both the realm and the castle. It wasn’t long before others were planning the wedding for us. Or at least attempting to.
And by others, I mean Lovia.
Death’s daughter was beside herself with joy, probably already picturing her exit into the Upper World, and convinced her brother to ferry the dead for the upcoming week so that she could devote all her time to me.
Which is nice and all. I like Lovia a lot, and with Bell gone, it’s nice to have someone else my age (give or take a few eons) to talk to, especially someone familiar with my world and who doesn’t look at you like you have two heads when you start talking about life back at home. But the more she gets excited about the wedding, the more I feel this crushing pressure, like I’ve been placed in a slowly turning vice.
I don’t want to get married. I most definitely don’t want to get married to Death, someone I can really only stand when he’s shoved deep inside me. Growing up, tying the knot was never one of my goals. I mean I get it. I get that people want to be with the one they love for the rest of their years, especially when raising a family. But I guess I just never let myself even fall in love. Not really. And a family was always this wonderful thing that was meant for other people, not me.
After all, my family was fractured at such a young age…maybe I was the reason? It's a hard belief to shake, either way. Maybe all children of divorced parents think this way, but you can’t help but blame yourself a little. Or a lot. Maybe there was something wrong with me, that’s why they split. Hell, since I’m going down this path, maybe that thing that supposedly makes me “powerful” here, whatever that is, is what drove my parents apart.
“Why are you looking so glum?” Lovia asks, eyeing me in the mirror. She’s standing behind me, trying to figure out what way to do my hair for the wedding. So far she’s tried a million different options and doesn’t seem satisfied with any of them. “Getting cold feet?”
That’s putting it mildly.
“I’m just…I never thought my wedding day would be like this,” I admit, toying with how much I should say. “Honestly, I never gave a lot of thought to it. The only thing I did know was that if it ever did happen for me, my father would be there to walk me down the aisle…” I trail off, trying to hold back the tears that are abruptly rushing to my eyes, making my nose burn.
Fuck, I am so over crying.
“Oh,” Lovia says softly, her face falling in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
Honestly, neither did I. Not until now. Because none of this has felt real. Maybe that’s why I’ve just bounced along with everything that’s been happening to me, going with the tide, no matter where it takes me. Ever since I stepped foot in this crazy world, I feel like everything has been happening to some other version of me. Like there’s a chance that Hanna Heikkinen is still back in Los Angeles, taking pictures for her social media account, completely oblivious to what this version of myself is going through.
But this is real. Isn’t it? That reflection in the mirror really is mine. This isn’t some bizarre extended gothic sex dream, this is my life now and it’s changing by the second.
And it hurts, it hurts so much to know that my father isn’t here for these changes, as strange as they are. Hell, I even wish my mother was here. I would love to hear her commentary on what’s happening, hear her criticisms over what royal death gown I’m wearing for the day, or whether I’m polite enough to the Deadmaidens.
I just feel so alone and powerless and even though the wedding isn’t what I really want, it doesn’t feel right to have to go into it like this. I should have a partner in all of this, but that’s not what this marriage is all about anyway.
This marriage isn’t about me. It’s not even about us. It’s all about Death. It’s all about politics and tactics and appearances, everything to make him seem more formidable and in-charge, as if there’s anything else more formidable than the God of Death.
To make things worse, I actually haven’t really seen Death since he “proposed.” After our little session in the garden, he’s been elusive and he hasn’t been showing up in my bedroom at night either. The one time I did run into him in the halls when I was taking my morning stroll, and asked him where he’s been, he said he’s been busy and basically brushed me off. When I brought it up to Raila, she said that he was adhering to tradition, which is to not be with the future bride before the wedding. Like okay, but does he have to be a dick about it?
I have a hard time believing that, regardless. I know that Death sticks to traditions, but really, no sex before marriage? Is that a thing among the Gods? The God of Death?
Then again, Death is rather superstitious. I’ve noticed that he prefers things in certain numbers (in threes), that he never has his back to a door, and that he does certain things on certain days. Guess I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out since I’ll be fucking marrying him tomorrow.
“There’s that face again,” Lovia says. “Is it still your father? Or is it the hair? We can try a different look.”
I don’t give a shit about what my hair looks like for the damn wedding, but Lovia is so invested in it that I don’t want to break her heart. She’s probably the only person in this whole castle who is actually looking forward to this thing. I guess weddings aren’t very common in Tuonela.
“The hair is wonderful,” I tell her adamantly. “Really. But please, let’s not fuss over me. Your father said he wants it to be as quick and painless as possible.”
She rolls her eyes. “Such a romantic, right?”
“He is the king and he knows what he wants,” I tell her firmly. “Besides, this is all for political gain. You know that, don’t you? He doesn’t love me.”
I don’t mean for it to come all out like that, but it does.
Lovia doesn’t seem bothered, though.
“Do you love him?” she asks, and I swear she looks hopeful.
I try not to wince. “Does it matter?”
She sighs, pouting slightly with her pink lips. “I guess not. I’m just happy that he has someone.”
I snort.
“Even if that someone is literally forced into the marriage?”
Her eyes soften sympathetically. “I know how this all seems to you. I don’t pretend to have the answers. I just want you to know that even though he’s Death, my father isn’t as bad as he seems.”
The jury is still out on that. The only time Death seems to redeem himself is in the bedroom, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go on that alone. I mean, it’s been days since I’ve seen him at all. There’s a chance I’ll never get to sleep with him and then what do I get? Whole bunch of being the Queen of
Death for eons to come with no dick.
“What about you?” I ask her as she starts taking my hair down from the updo. “When you go to the Upper World, do you see yourself getting married?”
She laughs and shakes her head, strands of blonde hair coming loose from her braid. “I am not suited for marriage. In this world or the next. There are always shamans and other Gods coming through this land trying to win my hand. It’s the stuff legends are made of—the Bride of Tuonela is supposed to be me. But my father never wanted to give me away like that. He gave me freedom from the start to be who I needed to be, so long as I did my role.”
I mull that over. Daddy Death and his daughter seem to have a pretty pure relationship, and that’s something that wins him major points in my book. But the points don’t add up to much when you consider the negatives. Mainly being the whole God of Death thing, keeping me as a prisoner, and forcing me into marriage.
“You do want to marry him though,” she says, her voice singsong as she lets my hair flow over my shoulders. “You may not love him, but you do want to marry him. That much I can tell.”
I’m about to protest, but then I stop myself. I have to remind myself of the truth, of the real truth. My purpose. My plan. I find it harder and harder to stick to it without having Bell here to remind me each day, but it still remains. When I marry Death, I become a queen. And while I have zero experience being a queen, it will give me power and clout. Over time, I will get used to the role, and Death will get used to seeing me in that role.
And just when it seems like he’s really got me, that’s when I go.
It’s a long con, maybe the longest con ever, which means it has to start now.
So I just give Lovia an awkward smile and shrug. “Well, who doesn’t want to be a queen?” I tell her.
That seems to please her, enough that she lets it go.
However, she doesn’t let the whole wedding thing go.
The next morning, the day of the ceremony, she has Raila doing a full-on body spa treatment on me, from waxing my legs with frosthoney, to the sugar scrubs, to dustings of edible powders from herbs that only grow under falling stars. Then I’m being crammed into a red gown with a black lace veil and my hair is being threaded with crimson poppy petals and black feathers and shining rubies.
I have to admit, I do a double-take when I see myself in the mirror. I may not have a crown on my head yet, but I look like a queen. So much so that I hardly recognize myself. For once my height makes me look statuesque instead of huge, my strange face looks ethereal and wise. I carry myself differently here, wearing the clothes instead of the clothes wearing me.
You suit this place, a voice inside my head says. You know you do.
You belong.
But I still don’t want to believe it. I can’t.
This isn’t my place to be.
“Are you ready?” Lovia asks me. She’s wearing a silver gown that’s cut scandalously low and inappropriately high, her hair long and loose, carrying a bouquet of flowers that look to be made from crystals.
“As I’ll ever be,” I tell her, giving her a weak smile.
She takes my arm and leads me out of my room and down the stairs, Raila behind me and holding onto the train of the red gown. I actually never asked where the wedding was taking place, I assumed in one of the massive halls in the castle. But to my surprise, we keep walking down…down…down.
“Where are we going?” I whisper as we get to the cellar level, the air damp and chilled, filled with bad energy that makes me want to run away.
“The crypt,” Lovia says to me.
I stop dead, Raila nearly running into my back. “What, the crypt? Why?”
“It’s a church,” Lovia explains patiently.
Yeah. A fucking creepy ass church of saints with missing eyes!
And it’s tradition, Raila says. To be in the presence of the Old Gods while a new God is sworn in. Even if you are but a mere mortal, Hanna, you become a Goddess in name when you take this crown. The Old Gods and the saints will watch the ceremony from secret dark places, bearing witness to everything new.
Man, Raila has definitely been drinking the Sect of the Undead Kool-Aid, hasn’t she?
“In other words,” Lovia whispers to me as we approach the crypt, the candles burning outside as before, “The Old Gods will see the new queen sworn in and the prophecy shall be fulfilled. At least, that’s the hope, isn’t it? Anything to help stave off an uprising.”
I swear to god, if I hear the word uprising one more time… I mean, what the hell is there to rise up against? The dead should be happy that they have a city to go to instead of the eternal suffering and chaos and whatever there was before. Then again, it’s usually those at the bottom that want to bring down those at the top. Perhaps some will choose eternal damnation so as long as everyone has to suffer equally. A better life isn’t always good enough if others have it even better.
There’s no more time to ponder it. We walk through the door and into the white crypt and I’m surprised to see there’s only a couple of people inside. Well, one God, and a big, winged unicorn.
Kalma is standing at the altar of bones with the crown of crimson in his hands, looking at us expectantly as we enter. Sarvi is on the other side of him, wedged between the creepy, eyeless statues, their candles eternally flickering.
“Where is Tuoni?” Kalma asks us.
“Uh, here with you?” Lovia says.
No, Sarvi says, then realizes no one understands it. The unicorn looks at me. He is supposed to come down last. Hanna, you are supposed to wait for him at the altar.
Oh, of course Death would make you wait for him. He has to be different, doesn’t he?
But even though I’m joking inside my head, I can’t ignore the kernel of unease in my stomach. That something is wrong. It doesn’t help that I’m standing in the creepiest place in all the land and I swear the snakes in the shadows are hissing at me, telling me to leave.
“He better show up,” Lovia says, taking me by the arm again as Raila picks up my train and we walk down the aisle. “It’s rude to keep a Goddess waiting.”
She gives me a reassuring smile as we get to the altar but even I see the uncertainty in her eyes.
I look over at Sarvi and the unicorn seems to shrug, albeit warily.
I then glance at Kalma and he does the same, eyes kind but on edge, and my attention is captured by the haunting beauty of the crimson crown in his hands. Up close, it’s horrible and beautiful all at once, the way the black bones and ruby gems mingle with each other like blood and darkness becoming one.
The more I stare at the crown, the more that it calls to me, in that throaty way that the Book of Runes was, and I can practically feel it hum with power. Then again, this whole crypt is like that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that those statues aren’t statues at all, but actual people and Gods who are waiting for their chance to rise. I feel like if I stare at them long enough they’ll move.
I shake that feeling out of my head. It won’t do me any good, I’m already as spooked as it is.
A few minutes pass. Then a few more. The energy in the room hums louder and louder and finally I have to break the awkward silence.
“Don’t tell me he got cold feet,” I joke.
Kalma gives me a nervous smile.
Sarvi says nothing.
Lovia frowns.
Raila, well, who knows what’s going on under that veil. But she stays silent too.
I’m about to make another joke, anything to lighten the mood and dissolve my nerves that are out of control, when suddenly there’s a loud BOOM and the entire crypt shakes, pieces of the ceiling crashing down, nearly hitting the statues.
“What the fuck!” I cry out and Kalma reaches out to steady me.
I must find Death, Sarvi says, and the unicorn gallops out of the crypt, hoofbeats echoing against the walls, black mane and tail flying behind it.
“What was that?” I ask Lovia as the dust settles. “Do
you get earthquakes here?”
She shakes her head. “Not that I’ve felt.”
“Not for a long time,” Kalma says gravely. “Come on, we need to get out of here. The crypt might not be safe.”
He puts the crown back on the altar and then takes me by the elbow, quickly leading me out of the crypt, with Lovia and Raila right behind me, carrying my train so I don’t get stuck on something.
We’re just past the wine cellar when there’s another BOOM and everything shakes again, bottles of vintage rolling off the shelves and crashing to the floor. Fuck, Death is going to be pissed about that.
“Bombs?” I ask as I’m ushered up the stairs. “How about bombs? Do you guys do bombs in this land?”
Kalma doesn’t say anything, though there’s fear in his eyes, something I never expected to see in the wizened old man.
“Are the Realms colliding? Are we under attack? Veils flopping over? Someone tell me what’s going on,” I tell them as we get to the main floor. “Hello?”
“Loviatar,” Kalma says to her. “You take Hanna to your father’s quarters. The wards will hold there against whatever the hell this is. Make sure she can’t leave, and that no one can get in. And I do mean no one.”
I shall go too, Raila says, making a move to the stairs.
“No,” Kalma says sharply. “No, you are coming with me, Raila.”
I exchange a look with Lovia. I don’t like the idea of being locked up in Death’s room, but I do like the idea of being protected by wards from this strange attack on the castle. I mean, it is an attack, right? Hard to say since no one will fucking answer my questions.
Kalma grabs hold of Raila’s arm, holding her tight enough that I hear the bone of her arm snap and he practically drags her away. Ouch. What the hell was that about?
Meanwhile Lovia is running up the stairs with my dress in her hands and I’m taking the steps two at a time to catch up.
“What was up with Raila?” I ask Lovia as we round the corner of one level and take the stairs to the next. “Pretty sure Kalma just broke her arm back there.”