The Wildwood Bride

Jemma can't sleep. She knows she should try to get as much rest as she can tonight. She has a long day of travel to the borderlands tomorrow, and longer still into the Wildwood. The sun had set hours ago and she's been laying in the dark, silent and still, but her ever-active brain won't quiet. Her thoughts keep turning to how, after tomorrow, this small bed will no longer be hers. Tomorrow will be the last morning she combs her hair and tidies herself as best she can in the fogged reflection the slightly-convex looking glass on the rickety vanity offers her. Tomorrow…

A quiet tapping on the window pane has her pushing the covers back to sit. The tapping comes again. Her bare feet are cold on the stone floor as she moves the short distance to pull the drapes open.

Crouched on the roof, just outside Jemma's attic room window, is Daisy, her dark hair loose and blown amess in the wind Jemma had thought ominous, a precursor to a storm. Jemma throws her curtains wider so she can undo the lock and wrestle open the sash.

"You know you could simply knock at the entrance. The Sister on duty would have sent you up, I'm sure," Jemma teases softly. "You're no longer a student, bound by curfew."

"Didn't want to risk it," Daisy shrugs as she slides into the room, a graceful, practiced movement. "In case they didn't let me in at this hour. Or worse, sent me to prayers."

Jemma smiles fondly at her friend, then gestures at the bed until Daisy sits on the edge. It's a tentative moment, and it hurts Jemma's heart. Daisy's movements are bold, confident usually, but already Jemma's pending goodbye is pulling at them.

She tries to shake away her maudlin thoughts as she makes the few steps to her rickety vanity, where she finds the stub of a candle she'd put out earlier. She strikes a match and lights the wick. It won't last much longer than a half hour. She hadn't seen a purpose in coaxing a new candle from Sister Unity, who has charge of the stores this moon's cycle. She means to make the joke like she normally would to Daisy about the good Priestess being misnamed, that she should have taken Sister Frugality. The hollow feeling in her chest extinguishes the words before they can leave her mouth.

"Oh, don't do that," Daisy begs as she catches Jemma's face in the added glow of light the candle provides. "You'll cry, and then I'll cry, and it will be a whole thing. And I don't want to spend your last night crying. We can cry tomorrow, just… just not tonight."

"Alright," Jemma says, lifting her chin stoically and setting the candlestick on the windowsill, where it is close enough to the bed to provide some light while they talk. "I can try."

"Besides," Daisy says. "I think enough tears have been shed tonight over this."

"You saw Fitz, I take it?" Jemma says, the dismay clear in her voice. Daisy's grimace is answer enough. "Poor Fitz. He's not taking this well."

"That is a vast understatement." Daisy toes her shoes off so she can pull her knees to her chest and propel herself until her back hits the wall. "He was already half in his cups when I came out to serve dinner at the inn, and it simply went downhill from there. I finally convinced Mack to help him – drag him, really - to the loft to sleep it off for the night."

"Which leaves you without a place to sleep. Oh Daisy, I am sorry."

"Hey, you're not the one in my cot, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead," Daisy points out.

"Yes, but I am the one who broke his heart," Jemma says, sitting heavily on the bed, though she doesn't move to sit next to her friend. Instead, she balances on the edge, spending a long moment simply watching the flame of the candle flicker. Daisy, irreverent and audacious as she is, surprises Jemma by holding the silence, giving her the space she needs to talk about what had occurred.

"He asked me not to go, tomorrow," Jemma says finally. "To run away and marry him instead."

"And you said no."

"And I said no."

The silence again stretches a long moment. Then Daisy reaches forward to take Jemma's hand, squeezes it. "That must have been very hard."

"It was," Jemma admits. "I'm very fond of Fitz, and I didn't want to hurt him. But I've never entertained any of those kinds of feelings for him, and even if I had…"

"You are," Daisy smiles sadly, "for all intents and purposes, betrothed."

"Yes," says Jemma. "A Covenant Child."

She makes a valiant effort, she thinks, to keep the bitterness from her voice.

"Your parents made the bargain," Daisy says. "Let them deal with failing to meet the terms of their Petition."

"I couldn't," Jemma protests.

Daisy continues as though she hasn't heard. "What will they lose? Some ill-gained wealth? So what? Better than you losing your freedom, if not …"

She doesn't finish. It's as though she can't bear to admit what Jemma, too, fears she might lose.

"They didn't Petition for money," Jemma says quietly. "They aren't wealthy."

"But… they were able to send you to school here! And not as a charity case like I am!"

Jemma shrugs. "They weren't the ones who paid my tuition."

"Then what…" Daisy trails offs, shakes her head in confusion.

Jemma takes a deep breath. "My parents Petitioned the Wildwood to bear children. I was the price."

Daisy curses, a slew of words that turn Jemma's cheeks pink.

"Shhh," Jemma rushes to hush her. "You know better than to invoke that here, especially when you know the Wood is opening to send for me."

Daisy looks chagrined. "Sorry. It's just… No wonder you've always been evasive. Bad enough I was found just outside the Wood... But if they knew you'd been born because of Wildwood magic, not just traded away like… like…"

"I should have let them know," Jemma cuts her off. "Then you wouldn't have been alone, forced to bear the stigma because they thought you'd been abandoned by Petitioners, or spared a Taking, or…."

"Or that I might even be a Wildling? Jemma, you are a literal gem for considering it."

"I should have –"

"You should have done exactly as you did. Those superstitious busy-bodies can go … do things the Sister would box my ears for saying aloud. I stopped being alone the moment you were sent here. The snooty students were never going to warm to a charity student, and the village children weren't any better. Or the adults, for that matter," Daisy's rueful tone might seem uncaring, but Jemma knows better how much it stung. Still stings.

"They shunned me but you didn't," Daisy says fiercely. "And you didn't start even though it made them treat you like you were tainted before they found out you were to be sent into the Wildwood. Don't think for even a moment you've got guilt to bear. That's on your parents. You should just let them face the consequences and not go."

"Even if it didn't mean my life might be forfeit anyway – I was only born because of the Wood, after all - I have siblings. 'Your seventh born, to be borne back to the Wood.' Their lives…" Jemma trails off. "I won't be what causes them to lose theirs, too."

"I'm so afraid for you," Daisy breathes out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't… I don't want to make you afraid."

"It's fine," Jemma says, shrugging lightly though the thought is heavy in her chest. "I'm a little frightened, too, but ... So tomorrow I will go to my groom-"

"To your doom," Daisy may mutter softly, but it's low enough Jemma can ignore it.

"As promised," Jemma finishes.

"Only a little frightened?"

"I've known I'd be Taken since I was five years old," Jemma evades.

"That's not an answer and you know it."

"I do know," Jemma whispers. "I'm terrified. But it won't stop me from going. So…"

Daisy darts up, hugs her tightly.

"It's not fair!"

"No," Jemma says lowly, squeezing Daisy tighter. "It isn't fair. My life has never been mine."

"I don't want you to go," Daisy says, her voice muffled in Jemma's hair. "Even if it meant having you join the other women in eyeing me sideways like I'm a demon sent to steal their men or their souls."

"I'd never," Jemma says fiercely. "And maybe … maybe it won't a terrible fate. What would have been the point of paying for schooling, if it wasn't to be a ... wife … and not a sacrifice?"

"That's who sent you here? Your… betrothed?"

Jemma nods.

"Well, that's good," Daisy says firmly. "There wouldn't be any reason to sending you here if it was just going to eat you."

"Well, perhaps the creature only eats a certain class of bride. Perhaps a peasant bride would taste more terrible. Or perhaps it just wanted me to have a religious education that had more respect than hatred for the Wildwood, so I wouldn't fight it."

"I doubt it," Daisy says frowning. "It seems like a lot of trouble to take just to murder you."

"I hope so," Jemma worries. "But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. Those that enter the Wildwood don't come out the same. If they come out at all."

"'Nothing good comes out of the Wildwood,'" Daisy quotes lowly.

"If you are really a Wildling, then at least one good thing did," Jemma insists. The corner of Daisy's mouth lifts as she tries to smile, and she reaches over to hug Jemma impulsively.

"So… speaking of things that change," Daisy says, shifting uncomfortably as she pulls back. "Did the Sisters tell you might have to expect, as a … wife?"

"Yes," Jemma nods. "It would seem the Sisters determined that someone ought to see to my education as a mother would, before a wedding night."

"I'm sure that went well, considering they all took vows and have no worldly experience."

Jemma can hear Daisy's eyes rolling.

"I just want you to know… it isn't as bad as they imagine. It can actually be a lot of fun."

Jemma barks a bit of a laugh.

"You aren't surprised, are you?" Daisy hurries. "You know I'm not exactly the type to keep to religious rules, and it isn't like the village look down on my any further as a 'Wildling'".

"No, no," Jemma reassures her. "Though I hope you are taking the precautions young ladies aren't supposed to know about but were gossiped about in the dorms anyway. I don't want you unhappily tied to anyone."

"No worries, there," Daisy says. "Turns out the midwife and the apothecary are both more than happy to make sure no little half-Wildlings end up running around. I've got more of a supply than I have men with whom I'm interested in taking a tumble in the hay. So … back to your own tumble talk? Was it all 'lay back and your flower will open for him and you'll bloom as a woman'? Because let me tell you, it is not helpful for the real deal."

"They sent Sister Merciless – Sister Mercy," Jemma teases just to make Daisy smile. "You forget, she used to be married, before her husband was Taken. She said much the same thing as you, really."

"That it isn't as bad as they preach to young girls to keep them from making naughty, fun decisions?"

Jemma nods. "Though not quite in those words. Just that perhaps I can make the best of it. Not just…"

"Lay back and think of Mother Modesty?"

"Oh, Daisy" Jemma says fondly. "Just when I think you can't get any more irreverent."

"Might as well exceed expectations," Daisy shrugs. "But I should go, so you can get some rest."

"No, stay," Jemma says, reaching to fumble for her hand. "Fitz has taken over your bed for the night, and I don't expect to sleep anyway."

"You should at least try," Daisy says firmly.

"I will," Jemma promises. "There's not much room, I know, but… I'd rather not be alone, if it's all the same to you."

"It's not all the same to me at all, Jem."

They both ignore the way their voices waver. They'd said enough tears, after all.

"Alright," Daisy says, slipping off the cot to strip out of her heavy skirt and shirt, while Jemma pads over to the wardrobe to take out a neatly folded nightdress.

"You haven't packed?" Daisy's alarmed voice is louder than she anticipated, if the hand she clamps over her own lips is any indication.

"No, I did," Jemma says. "It's just… I don't know that I'll need many things. What my purpose is going to be, as wife to a creature of the Wildwood. I've a few changes of dress and night clothes. I was hoping you'd come to say goodbye tomorrow, but if not, I was going to ask one of the Sisters to bring them to you."

"Jemma," Daisy says. "Those are yours, from your teaching wages..."

"Oh, don't protest," Jemma says. "They are good, sturdy material and I'm sure if they need fitting, it will still be less expensive than purchasing new clothes to take them to a tailor."

"Since I sadly still can't sew a straight hem," Daisy says ruefully. "Or a crooked one. Are you certain?"

"My parents bargained that I would come into this marriage," Jemma says firmly, "not that I'd bring anything at all with me. If my husband wants me to have more or different clothing, he'll have to provide it."

"Alright," Daisy placates. "I'm not going to turn away free clothes. And wearing them will remind me of you."

Jemma pulls Daisy into a tight hug, the plain cotton nightdress drifting forgotten to the floor while the two hold each other. Jemma isn't sure which one of them is trembling. They don't speak of it, don't examine each other close enough to see if one or both of them has failed to keep their promise not to cry. When they finally drop the embrace, Jemma turns abruptly, pretends to be occupied with the candle at the window, closing and fussing with the drapes while she composes herself.

When she finally turns, Daisy is already in the nightdress, and has bunched her clothes onto the vanity, in a half-hearted attempt at folding them. She smiles sheepishly, if sadly, as she crawls into the narrow bed and scoots over to the wall, holding up the plain grey quilt for Jemma to tuck under.

Jemma takes a breath, extinguishes the light.

/

Jemma doesn't sleep so much as drift in and out for what is left of the short night, her hand tightly clutched in Daisy's. She doesn't think Daisy has slept much either, as she sits up as easily as Jemma when the soft knock comes, and the door creaks softly open.

"Jemma? Are you awake?"

Sister Mercy's face is ever stoic in the glow of her own candle as she comes in on quiet feet, not blinking even when she finds two weary young women in the bed instead of one.

"Yes," Jemma whispers belatedly. "I'm awake."

Sister Mercy briefly lays a hand on Jemma's shoulder, squeezing lightly before letting go to open the drapes. The sky is the bare grey of just gone dawn, the sun not quite yet on the horizon.

"It's time to dress," Sister Mercy says, not without compassion. "The carriage will be here soon. Sisters Gentleness and Trinity will be here shortly with a basin and some water."

Jemma nods.

"Will you need their help preparing, or…"

"I'll help her," Daisy says. "It will be like old times."

Sister Mercy's lips lift slightly, a ghost of a smile. Another soft knock on the door and the young novitiates are let in, each carrying a pitcher of water, one steaming, the other presumably cold from the well. Sister Gentleness hurries to set hers down along with rags pulled from her apron, taking the pitcher from Sister Trinity so she can set down the empty basin she had propped between her elbow out, Daisy quickly scooping her bundle of clothes out of the way. Silently, the three Sisters file out, leaving Daisy and Jemma alone.

Jemma moves to the basin, emptying the hot water into it, then adding the cold until it is a temperature she can live with. Quickly looping her hair to knot on top of her head, she strips out of her nightdress and uses a damp cloth to wash away the remnants of a restless night. She'd had the ritual bath the night before. Seven washes attended by seven Sisters, a mixture of seven oils anointing the water. Her hair still smells faintly of roses.

Daisy hands her the underclothes she'd left folded in her wardrobe, helps her lace her stays loosely for the ride ahead. She's fortunately proportioned enough she almost doesn't need one. While she was still a student and not a tutor in the school, the other girls in the dorm used to look wistfully at her tiny waist and tell her they wished they were able to achieve as much without pulling their corsets so tightly. Perhaps it will please her husband. Perhaps it won't. Whatever else he may or may not have been before the Wood, he is a creature of it now. For all she knows, he could have a face made of tentacles and wish she had the same.

She unknots her hair, letting the loose waves fall about her face as Daisy hastily redresses in yesterday's skirt and flowy blouse, uncaring of the wrinkles she can't shake out. Jemma, on the other hand, takes out the carefully-pressed traveling dress she'd hung in her wardrobe yesterday. Daisy helps he step into it, buttons it up the back with nimble fingers.

The dress is a simple shift in pale grey. Not the gown most girls dream of for their wedding. Daisy ushers her to sit at the vanity, then makes quick work of pinning Jemma's hair up in an elegant twist. She's finished not a moment too soon, as the sun makes its way up the horizon and Jemma feels more than hears the carriage arrive. Jemma makes to rise, but Daisy's hands on her shoulders stop her. In the ill-made glass, Daisy's reflection nods down at the small wooden box next to her comb.

Her necklace. She'd nearly forgotten.

It had been sent to her five years ago, on her sixteenth birthday, a gift from her future husband. She wears it rarely, as it is finer than anything else she owns and seems to warrant an occasion. She supposes there is no better day than her wedding day.

Jemma slides open the lid, carefully lifting out the thin, fragile-looking chain. It's a silvered metal so fine it becomes nearly transparent against her skin, leaving the tear-shaped scarlet stone to lay against her sternum. Her fingers shake as she secures the clasp behind her neck. It falls, cold, against her skin.

It looks like a drop of blood.

Exchanging a sombre look with Daisy, who seems to have been equally affected, they make their way down the stone steps to the entry way. Not a word has been spoken between them. Daisy takes Jemma's hand as they descend the stairs to whatever awaits Jemma, squeezing light as the door opens.

At the sight of the carriage itself, Jemma can't help but suck in a breath in a sort of shocked dismay. The thing appears to be woven of branches, and no horses draw it as it shudders to a stop in front of the convent school. Instead, it seems to have walked on the four bent legs, looking altogether more like an insect's limbs for all that they are made from dried, wooden boughs that come to points sharp enough she can near picture them spearing through her ribs.

Daisy's grip becomes almost painful as the entwined branches part, like opening a cage. Jemma winces, but it is Sister Charity's stern look that has Daisy stepping back as her friend is summoned forward. A couple of the town boys who work in the stables are visibly shaking as they carry Jemma's trunk in reluctant steps toward the carriage. They yelp and drop it as a branch coils away to reach for them, as though impatient with their progress. Her luggage doesn't have time to hit the ground, but instead is caught mid-air, the branch pulling it to the back. Then vines wrap around it, securing it. Jemma sets her shoulders, pushing the fear down, and moves toward the carriage.

Eight Sisters surround Jemma, then, seven forming a circle around her. The High Priestess steps before her, takes her hands. The proxy for her groom. The seven Sisters chant words in a language Jemma doesn't know, but so ancient she feels it to her bones. They fall silent, too soon and yet not soon enough, and for a moment she feels as though the world has frozen, such stillness surrounds her.

Then the High Priestess speaks the binding and, like the sound of a door slamming, Jemma knows it is done.

Her hands are dropped, and the High Priestess nods.

"You can have a moment to say your goodbyes," she says, not unkindly for all that she's always been so stern. Jemma tries to smile as she turns. She can feel her lip trembling. Daisy is no better. Tears run liberally down her face as she launches herself at Jemma. The High Priestess clears her throat.

Jemma looks around. The people of the village are lined up along the road, as far back as tradition will allow them. She scans their faces, hoping, and a pang hits her heart when she doesn't see Fitz. Her gaze drops and she moves to step in the carriage.

"Wait!" she hears, and she spins on the spot. There, running up the hill, is Fitz. He's come after all. "Wait, Jemma!"

"I'll give you just a moment," the High Priestess warns.

Fitz is panting, hard, when he makes it to her. He's pale and haggard, partly from heartbreak, partly from his hangover, if the greenish tinge to his skin is any indication. She's worried, for a moment, that he intends to try to stop her again, to hurt them both all over.

"I thought you might want to take this," he says instead, pressing a thin leather volume into her hands. It's an oft-borrowed book of verses from the Fitz family library. "It was always your favourite, and Da won't miss it. 'Nonsense rhymes' and all," he half-smiles, a wry but resigned sort of sadness.

"Thank you, Fitz," she says sincerely. The verses will be a comfort, of course, but his well wishes… those will be more. She pulls him into a hug, the kind they used to be able to share more freely when they were younger and still considered children. What does propriety matter, now, as she leaves to face whatever awaits her?

He returns the hug, then steps back. Daisy, who had disappeared to give them space it would seem, comes around the corner, her pace quick. She has flowers clutched in her hand.

"Here," she says, moving to tuck them quickly in Jemma's pinned curls. "You should look like a bride, at least a little, on your wedding day. For good luck."

"Oh, Daisy," Jemma protests. "They'll simply wilt."

"No, they won't," Daisy says. "You know the ones I pick last longer than anyone's."

She pulls Jemma into one last quick hug, then the High Priestess takes her arm, and Jemma is moving away. The Sisters lay their hands on her in blessing as she passes, and Jemma thinks it is Sister Mercy who squeezes her shoulder, as though willing her to be brave.

Before she can think better of it, she is stepping into the carriage, the branches weaving themselves shut behind her. Through a small gap in the boughs, she can see Daisy and Fitz's hands clasped, white-knuckled as her transport lurches forward.

"Be brave, Jemma," she tells herself as fear tries to overtake her. "Be brave."