Chapter 41
From the Winter Council of the Year P.C.T. 45
Insofar as the advisors agree, so shall be the structure of the King's Council:
The Royal Council shall be formed from twelve Councillors, appointed by the citizens of each district of Marolando. Any man of goodly age and amenable disposition shall be eligible to claim the Seat of his district, so long as he earns a majority vote. Majority vote is determined by the number of votes earned compared to the number of votes cast.
Elections shall be held at least once every five years, or sooner should a Councillor be deemed no longer fit to serve.
Councillors may be dismissed at any time by the King, at his own discretion.
Any man of sixteen years may vote in Council elections. All home-bearing men over eighteen years are mandated to vote in Council elections. Failure to vote is hereby decreed a punishable offence. The vote of each man over sixteen years will be interpreted as the sole vote of his household. No two men in the same household may cast a vote. In case of any dispute, the elder voter's ballot shall be counted.
Should no men be eligible to vote in a household,
Bella's hand, cramping around the heavy, ornate pen, began to tremble, and a spot of dark, black ink blotted the page.
"Dammit," she cursed, bringing the parchment closer to her candle. The ink dripped down, rolling right to the edge of the page before it fell with a gentle plop to the pile of discarded papers on the floor. The scroll snapped up when she let it fall, and though the dry chuckle of the old Master piqued her, she said nothing to rebuke him.
"Let us look," said the man gently and Bella, red-faced and chastised, handed it up to him without a word.
The old man was called Den. Originally from Honeybee Point, he had entered the service of the royal household long before Edward had been born to serve as Master to the young Crown Prince, Edward I. The present King Edward did not know exactly how old the Master was. His kindly face, lined and cracked with age, gave her some idea, but Edward would not speculate, citing ill luck.
"Old is as old does, Bella," he'd said to her after her first lesson in the library. "I dare not inquire. He's been a fixture in this castle longer than any other living soul, and I dare not tempt the fates to take him from us."
"Just here," said Den, and Bella, recalled to the present, glanced down at her ruined parchment. Her hand was still shaky. Her letters, neat enough in ballpoint ink or pencil, had not yet developed the ornate flourish that Maronese script demanded. Her penmanship looked like chicken scratch next to Edward's near-perfect copperplate, and though her weeks of practice showed some improvement, she still had a ways to go.
Den gestured to a hastily looped capital C, which made Bella's face go pink.
"I'm not an artist," she complained and Den laughed again. "I've never had nice writing."
"Practice leads to mastery, as you well know," he said soothingly. Edward had told him about her education— about her work as a teacher— and Den had taken it so much to heart that Bella, though she really did try her best, could hardly bear to disappoint him.
"I might be a lost cause."
He tutted at her.
"Not a bit of it," he said and Bella, pursing her lips, said nothing until he had lowered himself onto a stool at her side. "I've had worse pupils than you, and I've made brilliant successes out of them."
"Perhaps," Bella agreed," But I doubt you've had any so unlearned as me. All the others, I'm sure, could actually speak Maronese with some competency. Language is a funny thing, you know, and once a mother tongue is learned, it is exceedingly difficult to unlearn it."
The old man's eyes twinkled.
"Indeed," he said. "But nevertheless, you are learning."
"I suppose."
"I know," returned Den. "I know our source writings don't make for the most lively reading…"
Bella fought back a grin.
"...but, they are important."
Indeed, she knew it well.
Deep in the archives of the old castle library was a deposit of old scrolls, so worn and faded that the ink had turned grey with age. The parchment, stained and tattered from centuries of study, was so thin beneath her fingers that she feared the slightest mishandling might tear it. The script was so ornate it was almost illegible— modern Maronese script, which in itself was a work of art in Bella's eyes, had nothing on these old writings— and only when she squinted, fighting to make out the old words in fading ink, could she make even the slightest sense of it.
Den was an expert. Den, though his eyes were failing and his hands had taken on a permanent tremor, knew each and every word in the documents he showed her. When her clumsy tongue stumbled over an unfamiliar Maronese word or an unusual, phonetic spelling, he knew just how to guide her. When her fingers, awkward and nervous, fumbled over an old manuscript, he was there to hold it steady. Den knew the laws of the land. Den had helped to write the laws of the land.
And now, in the deepest annals of the King's library, the teacher had become the student.
"I don't know how I'll ever remember it all," she said with a sigh, carefully rolling the old scroll back up to deposit it in its protective sheath. "There are so very many."
"You'll catch on," soothed Den. When she offered the scroll to him he took it, and Bella watched as he carried it up a tall ladder to rest atop a high shelf, out of reach of the bright sunlight cascading through the skylights. He moved with a confidence that was startling for his age— his feet were sure, his arms strong and wiry, and though he had to be nearly eighty, if not already past, the ladder seemed no real obstacle.
"As Queen," continued Den, rifling through some new papers and tucking some books beneath his arm, "it will be your duty to know them."
Bella felt a queasy, excitable ache in the pit of her belly.
When she was Queen.
That title still seemed ludicrous. That title, spoken openly by many in the castle now that the date was so near, still seemed so foreign. She would be a Queen. She would be the only Queen. She would have ruling power over an entire island— an island that both feared and revered her, that thought her a divine outsider come to bring good fortune.
Bella, fed up with this constant slander, had finally undertaken to learn the grand tales and legends of creation. The tale of the island being pulled from the sea. The tale of the Trickster bringing fire. The tale of Memory, whose own altar lay in this very library in the form of a dusty, stone bench revered only by scholars, and whose work she now studied, as written by the hands of men from centuries past.
The people said that these were her stories. The people said that she, like the countless unnamed in the annals of time, was a princess of the sky, or a daughter of the moon. That same Moon who, overcome by sorrow when she was parted from her Sun, let her tears shine silver in the night. Silver, they said, like her engagement gown— the gown which was, according to popular legend, a gift from her own, heavenly father to bless the match.
To the people, these stories were her history.
"Here," said Den, cutting into her daydreams with a start. He offered her another book, this one bound in red leather, and she ran her fingers over the dusty cover with a frown. "Try these on for size."
Bella, peeking carefully at the first chapter of the great, red tome, felt a sigh bubble up on her lips before she could keep it down.
On the Cultivation of Crops and the Raising of Livestock, from the year P.C.T. 102
Den chuckled, handing her another pen.
"Eighty six, My King," came a soft, defeated voice. Bella felt her heart throb with anxiety. "Eighty six, with five expectant mothers."
Edward, head hung low, let out a long, harsh breath.
"With or without supplies?"
"With some supplies," said Hema slowly, "though not many. Most of their crops were destroyed."
"Aye," said Edward. "Aye, I recall."
"We can take some," said Lorenzo slowly, and Bella peered at him worriedly. Lorenzo did not notice her concern— he watched Edward with careful wariness but Edward, absorbed by his own thoughts, took no notice. Lorenzo's gaze flickered between Edward and Hema, neither of whom spoke, before he settled instead on Bella, whose gaze he met at once.
"My Lady?"
She swallowed hard.
"I… don't know," she admitted. Her voice, small and shaky, seemed loud in the hush. The other ten councilors, all quiet and sombre, shook their heads.
"They must be resettled," said Edward finally, and Bella, grateful for the reprieve, sank back in her seat. Beneath the table, Bella felt Edward press his leg to hers in a show of quiet support. "They must be housed."
"As I said," repeated Lorenzo, "City East can take some."
"How many is some?" queried Hema. "We've got many families."
Lorenzo frowned.
"I would have to check with my building owners," he said slowly, "and with the treasury. Those without supplies will need to find work before they can pay."
"Before they can pay," grunted Hema, uncharacteristically harsh. "Half of our caravan are women and children. They may never be able to pay."
"With husbands?"
"Some."
"Fathers?"
"Fewer still," growled Hema. "It seems they were the main target… along with the land."
"Is the land arable, Hema?" asked Edward, speaking up over the bristling murmurs. "Is it yet workable?"
"Perhaps, and perhaps not," sighed Hema. "We don't know yet. It's still too wet, and there is too much ash to tell."
"How will you tell?" asked Bralto from the end of the table.
"We will test, I suppose," said Hema quickly. "Seed an area when the next planting is due, and see what takes. The fire destroyed the homesteads— not one house that burned is salvageable— but we may yet find good fortune when the ash is cleared."
"Which crops were lost?" asked Arman, who had so far said nothing, but had listened with a glimmering anger. "Which fields?"
"Potatoes," replied Hema, "and grain— wheat, rye, barley for sure, and perhaps the rice paddies near the river. We've yet to send anyone to check."
"But the farmer is gone?" asked Argos, his voice like flint. "There is no one tending it?"
"No," said Hema. "No. The family is gone."
The table, bristling, fell silent again. Rice, Bella knew, was a rare commodity on the island, as it only grew in one small span of marshland on the banks of the Sunon river. The rice paddies were manned by one family, as had been the custom for nearly two hundred years. The wisdom of that trade had been passed from father to son through countless generations, and was such a closely guarded secret that no other farmer knew the exact routine of plant and harvest.
"No rice, no wheat," said Corman, glancing worriedly up and down the table. "The fields in the south, My King, have yet to be tilled…"
"When is that expected?" asked Edward. Corman shook his head.
"Yield will be low," he admitted. "We rely on the north to supplement our own growth."
"Our crops are plentiful," cut in Mirka. His district, the Farmer's Village, was the Mecca of crop harvesting in Marolando, and was too far east to be in imminent danger from the west. "As is our norm. We have some wheat, Sire, and fields of potatoes. It is the livestock that concerns me… have the cattle and pigs been counted?"
"Not yet," sighed Hema. "Those farmers nearer the city have taken on what beasts they can, but as you well know, many families have fled to the capital for refuge."
Edward, disengaging his hand from Bella's, rested his chin on his folded fingers. Bella felt a familiar anxiety brewing deep in the pit of her belly but she schooled it before it could show, sitting back in her seat with her fingers around her golden goblet.
"Fewer farmers and fewer fields," said Edward, running a hand over his eyes. "Do we know how many beasts have been lost altogether?"
"Impossible to say," said Corman, shaking his head. "There is no central tally."
Edward shook his head.
"And grain?" he said again, glancing this time at Hema. "How many fields torched?"
"We're still gathering figures."
"Indeed." Edward's foot began to tap beneath the table and Bella, feeling the nerves rolling off of him like a wave, stilled his foot with hers. She saw the twitch of a smile beneath his anxious worry, though it was gone just as soon as it had come.
"A lesser yield, then," said Edward. "Fewer crops than usual. But we are not low yet, are we Mirka?"
"No, Sire. Not yet."
"And the winter crop?"
"Will be sown just after the summer harvest," said Mirka at once. "As is customary."
"In the south as well," said Corman. "We have not been importuned. Our crops— though we have fewer fields than before— are thriving."
"Be that as it may," said Edward slowly, "I would like a count, from all three of you. Crops, yields, a tally of livestock…"
Hema, Corman, and Mirka nodded at once.
"We must make sure our winter stores are full," he continued. "And we must prepare for the possibility…"
His voice trailed off and the men shifted uncomfortably. Lorenzo, seated next to Bella, glanced nervously through the western window.
"We must prepare for the possibility of further setbacks," said Edward carefully. Bralto, Lord of Southern Watchtower, let out a sharp, angry sigh. "We must be prepared for any further interference, and ensure that our borders are kept safe."
"We've no men," said Ramos, glancing nervously down the span of the table. "We've no new soldiers coming to the towers. Not for almost half a year."
"Emmett will see to it," said Edward at once. "We will dispatch the men you need."
"And what of the mountain pass?" asked Lorenzo. The table, roused to attention by this query, watched Edward with a rising, nervous energy. Edward frowned, letting out a deep, sorry sigh, and began to toy with his goblet on the table.
"We don't know where these particular Westerners came in," Edward said, "though we have our suspicions. Men will be sent to guard the pass, as well as the river in the north, and the passage at Terosankta."
A murmur of agreement went down the table.
"We will continue to build our forces to replace the men we deploy," Edward went on. "You will put the word out in every district that the Commander is looking. I know there were many youths turned away in the past, but I think that this time, Emmett will not be so choosy."
The men drank in agreement.
"The curfew will remain in place, for the time being." Edward glanced over at Bella, who felt her cheeks flame red. "Until those responsible are caught."
"Do we know what to look for?" asked Arman.
"We have a description."
"A good one?"
"As good as we're likely to get."
There was a long, tense break in the conversation and Bella, desperate to fill the silence with something, took a sip of the dark, heady wine. It caught in her throat like an itch and she shrank back, fighting back a cough. It was Rohailo, so far quiet and subdued, who spoke up in the silence, his voice hesitant and unsure.
"And what, My King, might we expect once the perpetrators are caught?"
At once, it seemed like every man at the table sat up a little straighter. Edward, peering speculatively at his newest Councillor, narrowed his eyes.
"The same as we might expect when any criminal is captured," said Edward slowly. "He will be brought to justice."
At once, a murmur coursed around the table.
"Justice, My King?"
"Yes…"
"The King's justice?"
"Aye, the King's Justice," said Edward sharply. "Justice for each new widow, each child orphaned, and each life lost."
The council bristled again, though this time, there was no sullenness in it. The room seemed to crackle with electricity, though Bella knew it to be quite impossible, and she felt a shiver course its way down her spine. The mood had shifted almost instantly— the men, riled and saddened by the blatant assault on their livelihoods and their dignity, had come to the table with surly faces and heavy moods. Bella had felt the weight of it the moment she and Edward had stepped into the room. The men had risen, as they always had, and Lorenzo had pulled out Bella's chair at the King's left side. The men had greeted her— some with a word, others with a bow— and Bella had done her best to reply, but that heavy, desolate sadness had pervaded everything, leaving them cold, and sullen, and downcast.
But that heaviness had vanished with that one, simple word. The sadness, turned to righteous fury in an instant, had risen like a serpent from the grass, and when Hema, eyes gleaming with pride, drained the cup at his lips, it did not take long for the rest of the men to follow suit.
"To justice," said Hema, his voice low and rumbling. A collective assent went over the Council. "To the King's fine Justice!"
And Bella, sipping slowly at her wine, felt an eerie, creepy dread well up in her heart.
It was in the dusky twilight, just as the sky turned from azure to indigo that Bella, seated by the fire in the King's private rooms, found her voice.
"Edward?"
Edward, lost in his own private thoughts, looked up from the fire with a start. He blinked at her, shifting in his seat to straighten his slouch, and offered her such a wan, unconvincing smile that she frowned.
"What is it, sweet?" he asked, his voice rough with disuse. "What's the matter?"
Bella, lips pursed, placed her mug of hot, mulled wine on the table between them. Edward followed her motions with concern, leaning forward in his seat to reach out a hand. She let him twine his fingers with hers, his chilly hands almost icy against the residual warmth from her cup, and when she pulled him forward he stood, coming instead to sit on the empty cushion beside her.
"What is it?" he asked again as Bella turned to face him. "What's the problem?"
"There's no problem," she said at once, though his look of concern did not change. "I'm just… curious."
"Oh?"
Her cheeks went pink.
"I'm not sure I quite understand," she said slowly, and at once, he sat back in his seat. "I'm not sure I'm… clear."
"About what?"
"During the Council meet…"
His face fell at once.
"Aye, the meet," he sighed, and Bella caught her lip between her teeth. "Not a pleasant talk, I think."
"No," she agreed. "Not particularly, but…"
"But what?"
"At the end," she said slowly, and his face went quickly blank. "At the end, there was some talk…"
"Yes."
"Strange talk."
He said nothing, his gaze fixed worriedly on her face.
"I don't quite understand," she finished. "What exactly it means."
Edward, shifting uncomfortably, stared up at her with concern.
"Which part?" he asked carefully.
"The part about justice." The word came haltingly, and her heart began to race. "What exactly did you mean by it?"
He watched her still, his face as unreadable as stone, before he seemed to sink back into the sofa, blowing out a long, hard breath.
"How is it where you're from?" asked Edward, and Bella, taken aback by the sudden shift, shook her head. "For criminals? What do your people do with them?"
"They go to prison," Bella said at once. There was no Maronese word for 'prison' and the English was lost on him in an instant. "Like your dungeons," she continued. "Places to keep criminals secure."
"I see."
"And sometimes, there is a trial," she went on. "Depending on the crime."
"As it is here."
Bella nodded quickly.
"I know," she said. "I remember the stories."
"Yes."
"But what is the King's justice?" she queried. A strange, queasy ache in her stomach belied her nerves as she fought back her suspicion.
"Is there no punishment?" asked Edward delicately and Bella, frowning, shrugged her shoulders. "Is there no… discipline?"
"Of a sort," she replied. "Prison, mostly. Sometimes more."
"More?"
She glanced sharply at him.
"Sometimes," she repeated. "Depending on the crime."
"Just so," said Edward quickly. "Just so, Bella…"
Bella looked down at her lap. The fabric of her skirt, shiny and soft, caught the light from the fire, and she watched the shadows dance until she heard Edward's sigh.
"The King's Justice is the height of my power," said Edward slowly. Bella caught a note of displeasure in his voice— a hardness that made him sound stiff and sombre. "It is… the ultimate punishment."
Bella swallowed hard.
"You mean…"
"I mean death," he said, and even though the word was spoken gently, she felt a coarse, unhappy jolt.
"And you…?"
"Yes."
The room fell silent once more.
"How often?"
"Never, yet," said Edward quickly and Bella, letting out a shaky breath of relief, felt his fingers squeeze her knee. "Not once."
"And your father?"
Edward frowned at her.
"Four," he said quietly. "Four men, all traitors."
"Traitors?"
"A danger to the realm. A danger to us," he explained. "Two were Western, and two were from town."
Bella shook her head.
"How…"
"How what?"
"How do you decide?" she queried. In her breast, her heart fluttered like butterfly wings. "How do you know?"
"Goodness," Edward sighed, tossing his head back. "I don't, Bella. Well, not truly."
She stared at him.
"It is the decision of the Council," he finished. "And the jury."
"Jury?"
"Always," he replied. "Always, in cases of death."
"But today…"
His face darkened at once. Bella, only somewhat perturbed, continued on.
"Today, you said…"
"Aye. I know what I said."
"Do you?" Bella asked, and at once, his liquid, emerald eyes fastened onto hers. He stared at her, a discontented pucker between his brows. She brought her finger up to smooth it, to wipe the frown away, but his face remained stubbornly creased and he turned his face to kiss her palm, his lips warm and soft.
"I do," he said again. "And I stand by it."
"Without a trial?" Bella asked, leaning away.
"If I knew them to be guilty."
"And how would you know?"
Edward stared at her.
"We have witnesses."
"Living?"
"Yes," said Edward lowly. "Yes, living. Thirteen of them living."
Bella stared at him.
"Did they see?" she asked, and he turned away from her. "Are they certain?"
"Yes." His words were sharp. "Yes, Bella. They are certain."
"Have you spoken with them?"
"Yes."
"Have you questioned them?"
He turned to her, his face suddenly dark with sorrow.
"No," he said, after a long, pregnant pause. "No, Bella. It would not do."
Feeling more certain of herself by the second, she opened her mouth to retort.
"Because," Edward cut her off before she could begin. "Because, Bella, they are all of them children."
And like a trap, her mouth fell shut, her face flaming so red she thought it might burst.
"Children?"
"Yes."
"Thirteen of them?"
"So far," he said.
"Where?"
"At the Home," he said delicately. "With the Matrons, now."
It took Bella a moment to understand.
"The orphanage," she said, without question. "They've no family?"
"None yet living."
"Not even…"
"Not even a godparent," said Edward gently. "People are scarce in the Grasslands, as you saw yourself. Farms are dispersed. Families are isolated."
"But…"
Edward waited, his face downcast.
"If there is no one left…"
"They are cared for," he said at once, and Bella, unable to help herself, glanced sadly through the window. She knew the orphanage was down in the village, to the east of the castle keep. She'd spotted the low, squat building on her walks with Rosalie and Esme.
"They are cared for," said Edward again and this time, she felt his hand at her back. She went readily— let him draw her into a tight, trembling embrace— and she rested her face against his shoulder.
She shivered, though the night was far from cool.
"Thirteen families," she said with sorrow. "Thirteen whole families…"
Edward pulled away, glancing down at her.
"Twenty nine families," he corrected softly. "Twenty nine gone, and over forty displaced."
Bella struggled to wrap her head around it.
"And so," continued Edward, "though I can see that it disturbs you, I must stand by what I said in Council today."
Bella, forcing herself to be still, could not meet his gaze.
"When the perpetrators are caught," he went on, "there will be consequences."
Bella pulled him tighter.
"When I lay eyes upon them, they will be made to pay. They will pay for the crops they've ruined, and the homes they've burned. They will pay for the bounty taken, and the livelihoods lost, and most of all, they will pay for those families who have been so thoroughly destroyed that there is hardly a hope in hell that they'll be able to rebuild."
"And the children?" Bella queried, swallowing back her sadness. "What of the children?"
"We will do all we can for them," said Edward gently. "Just as we always have. We will do everything in our power to give them the life they deserve— to keep their bellies full and their beds warm."
But to Bella, who had never known anything other than luxury, there seemed so much more to life than a warm bed and an ample plate.
On the long, marble steps of the temple Bella stood, awe-struck, as she stared up at the glittering facade.
"Come, Bella," chuckled Edward, his lips at her ear. At her back, dozens of spectators had come to watch, and there was a loud, rising cheer from the crowd that made her face flush red. Edward's arm was twined with hers, his solid presence steadying her nerves.
"Come," said Edward again, and Bella began to walk. The stairs were high— indeed, Bella had an unpleasant, queasy feeling as she climbed them, refusing to look back at the lower ground of the road for fear that the sight would make her dizzy, and she would fall.
Despite the fact that she had heard plenty said about the temple, she had not, as of yet, laid eyes on it. The steps beneath her feet were wide— great, unbroken slabs of glittering white marble, worn down in the center from centuries of wandering feet. At the top of these steps there was a massive wooden door, so highly polished that it almost seemed to reflect the square below. That door was set in walls of thick, immovable stone— not the red, hardy rock that made up the castle and the walls, but a shining stone of light grey, almost as smooth as the marble stairs. It spanned for such a length that Bella felt quite small in its shadow, gazing up with wonder at its one, great dome, topped with a small statue that she could barely make out.
At the top of the steps, Edward paused.
"Look back," he said and Bella, grinning, looked over her shoulder. The square was teeming with bodies— some with business in the great, round square, and others without, but all with heads turned and hands waving towards the pair of them.
At once, as if by instinct, Edward raised a hand in greeting and Bella, following suit, earned herself a rising cheer.
"Come," said Edward again. "We must go in."
"Are we allowed in?" asked Bella wondrously, glancing nervously at the door's handle, which was almost as big as her head. Edward chuckled. "It isn't… forbidden?"
"No," he said. "No, Bella. It is not forbidden. Least of all to you."
At once, she felt her stomach writhe. The great doors, which looked so immovable, gave one, loud creak, and began to swing open.
"See?" Edward said, bending so close that his nose brushed her hair. "Nothing to worry about."
As the doors swung inward, scraping against the stone floor within, Bella craned her neck to see the alcove that lay beyond.
What she saw did not disappoint.
Opulence and splendour, Bella knew, were not the ways of Island folk. There were no great palaces here, save the King's, and even it had more than one purpose. The King's home was not solely a residence— it was the seat of government, a courthouse, a training yard, and a homestead, all in one. The King was not the only occupant. The big houses along the city's western walls, which residents called grand, were really quite average in Bella's eyes— tall, narrow houses joined wall-to-wall with its neighbours, with yards so small that no garden could ever be grown. The markers of real wealth were the warped, single-pane glass windows that merchants installed on the fronts of their homes, the very richest marked by the same diamond pane pattern that had been used in the castle proper.
Opulence and splendour was expensive, Bella knew, and wealth on the island was finite. Gold was for coins, not artworks or walls, and precious stones were only seen in jewelry.
But when she walked into that great, sprawling temple, with its inlaid floors and high, unreachable ceilings, Bella suddenly felt as if she knew where all the wealth on the island had gone— a single candlestick, held in an ornate, golden sconce, would be enough to feed a family for a year.
She balked at it and Edward, watching her closely, let out a chuckle.
"Welcome to the Temple," he said gently, squeezing her hand in his. "Welcome to the House of Gods."
At once, Bella was entranced.
"Who built this place?" she asked, her voice echoing in the great, stone keep. "Where on earth did all this stone come from?"
Edward chuckled.
"We don't know, exactly. It is a very old altar," said Edward, leading her further into the sanctuary. "An old, humble altar…"
There was nothing at all humble about this place.
A great, stone room with seamless, rounded walls was towered over by a series of domes so high that Bella, staring up, could not make out just what was painted there. She walked down a wide aisle— almost as long as the temple itself— and on either side, polished to the highest gleam, were rows upon rows of hard, wooden chairs. Above her, in the highest dome she had seen from outside, Bella saw a series of geometric windows— triangles and hexagons in alternating patterns— that let in a circle of light from the world outside to fall, unencumbered, on a large, stone dais that stood at the farthest edge of the room. Windows paned with smooth, clear glass had been painted with brilliant gloss and shine, letting in rainbows of light that only just dimmed the scalding heat from the sun outside. On those same walls, inlaid with gold lettering and words that she could not read, were painted scenes from myth— great canvasses filled with portraits of deities, some glad, and others angry. By the window painted orange and red, Bella saw the myth of fire. By another window of forest green and jungle gold, she saw the form of a naked woman enticing beasts.
But it was the dais— that large, stone platform atop which Bella saw an old, rough-hewn altar— that gave her pause.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" asked Edward, letting go of Bella's hand when she took a careful step forward. There was no barrier here— not like Bella might have expected in the grand, Baroque churches in her own world— but still, she did not cross the threshold to step forward. Somehow, it did not seem right. Somehow, it did not seem holy.
She stared at it instead, her mouth slightly agape as she leaned forward to get a closer look.
The dais, carved from the same, grey stone as the walls outside, had been covered in a delicate inlay of mosaic tiles. Brilliantly coloured and deliciously preserved, Bella let her eyes rove over the floor, which had evidently been envisioned as the great, wide sea. Waves, formed by delicate shards of azure and cobalt, were capped by white waves of the lightest, foamy blue. Tiles as small as slivers had been carefully carved and hewn to fit into the tiniest gaps in the intricate landscape. The age of this art was evident— Bella could see some signs of wear in places where feet must walk— but even so, there was no loss of beauty as she gazed, bewildered, at the sheer magnitude of it.
"Such work," Edward said gently, kneeling down next to her to touch the tiles. "Such care. There are no artists like this left— I don't know where they found the time. But look at the walls… they are even lovelier."
He was not wrong. On the walls, encircling them like an impossible mural, Bella saw the island. There were tiny, glass trees, and great, stone buildings. A capital— much smaller than the one outside now— without its walls of protective stone. A tower of the castle in the distance— her tower, by the looks of it— and a great, sprawling wilderness of jungle, and plains, and mountains. The tiles were immaculate— everything from the finest texture to the most subdued or brilliant colour had been chosen with the utmost care— and Bella felt a curious mistiness in her eyes as she tried to blink it back.
"You admire the art, My Lady," came a voice from the shadows and Bella, startled, wheeled around at once. She stood up from the floor, surreptitiously brushing her hands over her skirt, and smiled sheepishly when she saw the man in the aisle, who presented himself with a low, respectful bow.
The Host offered her his hand and Bella, feeling rather foolish, took it gently. Edward, following close behind, did not seem to mind his sudden displacement.
"Is it to your liking?" asked the Host and Bella, flushing pink, nodded at once. "Is it… pretty enough?"
"It's prettier than I could have ever imagined," said Bella.
The Host beamed at her.
"High praise," he said, bowing over her hand again. "I thank you."
In the beauty of that highest of places, Bella walked with reverent delight through the inlets of rainbow light and colour. She had never seen the like of it— not in the hollows in the woods near her childhood home, not in the churches she'd visited on a trip to Europe. In this place, where the world seemed as vast as the wide, open sky, Bella felt as if she really were close to the heavens, and that alluring, mysterious God she had long sought, but never found. Here, in this palace of light, it was as if all the lovely things in the world had come together, sprinkled like dust to transform, to elevate. This was no mere construction of mortar and stone— this was a sanctuary, where the highest of all things was kept sacred and safe, and Bella, drifting slowly through its arches and aisles, was brought back down to Earth only when she felt Edward's fingers wrapped around her own.
"You're off someplace," he chuckled and Bella's head turned around. He was watching her, an amused, somewhat indulgent grin on his face, and Bella, refusing to feel even the slightest bit of shame, simply smiled back.
"Queen of the Starry-Eyed."
This time, she laughed.
"I've never been any place to rival this," she said again and the Host, delighted by her joy, bowed his head. "Never ever."
"Do you know where we are standing?"
Bella, glancing slowly around, shrugged. They stood at the foot of the dais again, in a small semicircle of brilliant white marble, and it was the Host that spoke.
"This is where the ceremony will take place," he said quickly. "This is where you will speak your vows."
At once, the lines she had learned with Esme in the twilight hours came back in a rush. Before her, perfectly at his ease, Edward watched her as if she were a scripted entertainment. The Host stood behind them, a foot higher than normal on the first step of the dais, and to her right were the chairs, suddenly innumerable.
"And the maids…"
"Will stand behind, just there," said the Host at once, gesturing to a nondescript expanse of floor just behind where Bella stood. "The Councilors there…"
Another spot, unmarked.
"And the guests," said the Host quietly. "The right for the King, and the left for yourself."
Bella stared at the chairs on her side of the aisle— at least 100 strong— and frowned.
Edward ducked his head.
"It is of no consequence," he said at once, and Bella, feeling rather foolish shook her head. The Host seemed to realize at once what he had said and he stepped quietly down from the dais, his head hung low.
"My most sincere apologies, My Lady…"
Bella, frowning, shook her head.
"No matter," she said quickly, though her frown did not ease. "It is no matter…"
Edward, suddenly nervous, squeezed her hand.
"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing down at the Queen's chairs. He knew as well as she that their occupants would be sparse. Esme and Jasper, as the King's blood family, were required to sit on the opposite side. Emmett, as commander, would take his proper place in the back. Rosalie, maybe, would stand for her, and perhaps her children too, but everyone— from the soldiers, to the staff, to the lowliest scullery maids, who had not even been sent an invitation— would be seated on the opposite side of the room.
"It matters not who is here to watch," said Edward quickly and Bella let him kiss her when the Host looked away. "It matters not who stands for us. We will have our family, Bella. The only family that matters."
"I'm not worried, Edward."
"And if anyone says so much as a word…"
But at once, she put her finger to his lips.
"Hush," she scolded. "Don't talk like that. Not about this, please."
Edward, looking at her with just as much consternation as before, only shook his head.
"I want it to be right," he said. "I want it to be just what you want."
"It will be," said Bella softly. "It will be, Edward. How could it be anything else in such a place like this?"
Edward sighed, his lips pursed.
"I wish I could bring them here for you," he said quietly and the Host, stepping politely away, disappeared beyond a tall, wooden door behind the dais. "I wish I could bring your people, to cheer you on."
Her twinge of sadness did not show. Her people, she thought. Her people. Charlie, and Jake, and Sue, and Boomer…
And at once, as if by divine inspiration, Bella felt her face go slack.
"What?" demanded Edward at once. "What's wrong?"
She grinned, glancing speculatively at the empty chairs.
"Nothing," said Bella. "Not a single thing."
Edward only frowned again.
"What if…"
Edward waited, allowing her a moment to gather her thoughts.
"What if," she began again, "we could fill those chairs."
"There is no one left."
"There are plenty of people left, Edward," she said quickly. "As you said yourself, those seats are meant for my people. What if we filled them with my people?"
At once, his face went blank.
"You mean…"
"I mean our people," said Bella quickly. "The Island's people. All who matter to me will be on your side of the aisle or standing up here with me. What if we let our people in instead?"
"It has never been done before," said Edward at once but Bella, unperturbed, simply grinned. "The Merchants would claw each other's eyes out to get a chance to sit in."
"No," said Bella quickly, startling herself with the swiftness of her reply. "No, Edward. Not the Merchants."
He stared at her, his face blank.
"Bring the children," she said, her heart throbbing fiercely as she thought of those poor, neglected souls in the center of the city. "Bring the families. The farmers. The tradesmen. Let them all in to see."
"The common folk?" said Edward, astonished and perplexed. "You don't know those people from a hole in the ground, Bella. Why on Earth would you bring them in?"
"Because I will be their Queen," she said, and even through his confusion and concern, he smothered a foolish, wholesome smile. "Because I want them to see me as I am— as a woman, not a God, who wants nothing more than to do right, and who loves their King with such a fierceness that the very notion threatens to set the world ablaze."
This pretty speech, spurring Bella's confidence, seemed to erode the last of Edward's reserve. He grinned at her, shaking his head. She grabbed him tight, her arms wrapping around his middle, and he did not straighten or nudge her away as he might have had the Host been looking. Instead he returned her fervour, letting her drop a kiss to the long expanse of throat that poked from the top of his tunic before he sighed, shivered, and brought his hands up to brush her hair back from her cheek.
"Then so be it," he said softly and Bella, beaming at her success, pressed a kiss to his lips instead. "So be it. We will bring the children, and we will throw open the doors. Emmett will be outraged, once he hears of it. He will have to hire an entire retinue to keep the madness in check."
Bella's laughter, bright and joyful, echoed off the stone.
Three days hence, on the dawn of a fine, summer morning, Bella woke with the birds in a haze of excitable nerves.
The world was, as yet, quiet. Mist, rolling lazily through the jungles and the fields, rose high enough to touch the sill of her window, which had been closed against the damp. Orange light cascaded through in beams, staining the wooden floor with its warmth and glow. Bella rose from her bed on quiet feet, glancing pensively through the wet, hazy glass.
From where it peeked over the distant, towering hills and trees, Bella watched as the face of the sun rose up to chase away the damp. First orange, and then on to burnished yellow and white, she watched as that great, fiery orb made its slow and careful way around the world, rising like a beacon for this, the most joyful of days. The thought of it gave her a queer, queasy thrill and she breathed in the perfume from the orchid on the sideboard, letting her head rest in her hand.
It was like this that Esme found her, brimming over with her own tears of joy and excitement and Bella, as calm and composed as a bride could possibly be, greeted her with pleasure. Together, they began the rituals that would take her to that Altar of the Gods, where she would pledge herself to her land, and her people, and her husband.
The dawn came and went as Bella gave herself over to her preparations. A bath was drawn, perfumed by sweet oils of lilac and orange blossom, and her hair was washed in two waters. Alice, arriving just as Bella slipped into her thin, breezy undershirt, had brushed her hair first with one comb, and then another, finishing up with the soft horsehair brush that chased away the frizz. Curls were wound, braids were tied off with fine, silvery ribbons, and flowers— delicate, white star-shaped blossoms— were added last.
"You are a very picture," said Esme at once and Bella, rather surprised by her own image in the glass, could say nothing. Alice was as giddy as a girl, bouncing on the balls of her feet so that even her hair seemed to hop, and she pressed an impulsive kiss to her Lady's rosy, bare cheek. There was no makeup in Marolando— the very idea of it had sent Alice into fits of giggles when Bella had tried to explain— but with her high colour and bright eyes, Bella found she did not much miss it. With her hair so carefully done, and her face alight with the glow of anticipation, Bella found that she looked almost pretty, though she never would have dared voice that thought out loud.
The dress came last.
In the flurry of plans that had consumed her over the past weeks, her choice of dress had been rather a conundrum. Bella had never been to a Maronese wedding— indeed, she had barely attended any American weddings, for all they featured in television and films. Edward had been of little help— he knew only what he had seen as a boy, and as a boy, had hardly paid any mind at all to the details of toilet and dress. He did not know how brides arranged their hair, or what style skirt they were expected to wear. He did not know about fabrics and hemlines, or flowers and ribbon, and had greeted any hedging suggestion of hers with an easy, happy agreement.
So when Bella, having sought out a more feminine opinion, had decided on her raiments, it came as a surprise to her when Edward, just two weeks prior, had asked to see it.
"It's not customary," Bella had laughed, though she had pulled the garment out readily. She had asked for it to be made in white— that, at least, would be familiar to her— and Edward, grinning like a fool when she held it up to show him, had nodded easy approval.
"You are lovely, Bella," he'd said, and her face has gone as red as a beet. "Purely lovely."
"You'd say the same if I wore a burlap sack."
"Probably."
Bella, feeling rather tremulous, donned the dress with careful attention.
"Lovely," said Esme, fastening a line of tiny buttons along her spine. Alice, head cocked, was eying the hem. "You are lovely, darling. The white just suits."
Only after the dress had been commissioned to a seamstress on Market Street had Bella learned that her choice of fabric was strange.
Maronese women, Bella had learned, did not choose white for their bridal day, as Bella thought normal. Instead, they wore gowns of such exquisite colour and flare that Bella, by contrast, would look quite plain. Esme's dress had been a bright, vivid scarlet. Edward's mother had been married in cloth of gold. Even the farmer's daughters, poor and simple as they were, often donned green, or yellow, or pink— never pale or pastel, but bright like gemstones, glimmering in the sun.
The white, however, did not make Bella worry. Her talk with the seamstress had reassured her that the utmost care would be taken to create her gown in the highest of fashions. The skirt was full— Bella could feel the weight of it settled on her hips— and the top, while fitted, was loose enough to stay cool. She wore sleeves of lace, hand-woven by weavers on the eastern coast, and all along the bodice, sewn in with impeccable stitches in designs of flowers and leaves, were hundreds and hundreds of tiny seed pearls.
The effect was such that Bella, radiant and shining, caught the light in facets and glimmers, and only when Alice added her veil and her flowers did Bella take a good, hard look in the glass.
The effect was magnificent.
"You look like a Queen already," said Alice admiringly, standing back to survey her handiwork. The gauzy veil, held in place with a lovely golden comb embedded with green gemstones, was draped to cover her face. This custom, at least, had not been lost in the translation of cultures. Maronese brides and Americans alike would cover their faces as they entered the sanctified marriage ground, and only when the Host declared her a wife would that veil be lifted.
"Come, Bella," said Esme, leading her away from the glass. "Come away, now. It is almost time to board the carriage, and Marta wants me to check over the girls."
At once, Bella saw Alice's wide, girlish smile disappear behind her own bedroom door.
In the blazing summer heat, Bella heard the roar as if from underwater.
People— more heads and faces than she had ever seen gathered on the island before— had come out in droves to watch the procession. More than her first ride through the city, which had overwhelmed her with sights and sounds. More than the New Year, which had seen inns and taverns full to bursting. More than seemed possible, given the confines of the city, and all of them for her, the King's Bride.
From her place atop her seat, lofted high out of reach of any grasping hands, Bella gave a shy, quick wave that sent the crowd into a tumult.
She rode in her carriage alone. Her driver— the stable master in a grand, ornate suit— directed a fleet of four handsome blood bays through the narrow, cobbled streets of the city's west end. Around her rode soldiers— six at the front, and six at the rear— and behind them, gathered together in a giddy, giggling carriage of their own, were her girls.
The girls, all combed and scrubbed to the highest perfection, had been put into position by Marta. They had chosen the dresses long ago— green for her eleven newcomers, and a deep, handsome violet for little Alice. All the dresses were new— the girls from City East had revelled in this fact— and they had all been sent to the cobbler for new shoes. Their hair was done in the Northern style— long at the back, with a coronet of braids to keep it off the face— and though the day was hot, they wore the customary silk kid gloves. They, unlike Bella, did not seem meek and shy. They revelled in the glory of the crowd, soaking up each attentive compliment as if they, themselves, were brides, and Bella left them to it, too amused to be anything near cross.
The carriage rolled through streets and alleys, parting crowds that had thronged on the roads. They, desperate for a glimpse of the King's bride, had been turned away from the temple proper. The nearer they got, the more Bella understood why these eager petitioners had been denied— on the stairs, flocking like geese, there was a crowd of a hundred or so, and beyond, in the great domed cathedral, swam a sea of people, all staring eagerly for the merest glimpse of her pale, nervous face.
When the carriage stopped, the noise seemed to rise in a crescendo.
"Princess!" they cried, though that title had never— and would never— belong to her. "Princess!"
"A thousand blessings!"
"My Lady!"
"My Queen!"
Bella sat stock-still, just as she knew she must, until the door to her carriage was opened and a white-gloved hand appeared to guide her down.
"My Lady," murmured the unknown soldier, bowing low over her fingers. "A dozen blessings, My Lady."
Before she reached the stairs, holding tight to her bouquet of fragrant flowers, her little ladies scrambled forth from their own carriage. They had been taught just what to do— each knew her role in the line of procession, and each fell into place so swiftly that Bella, thanking the Gods for such quick and eager learners, had barely to say a word. Alice held the end of Bella's train— a most coveted spot in the lineup— and the other little girls flocked around, some touching her skirt, others her veil, and others flanking friends and mistress alike, scattering petals or carrying candles.
High in the bell tower, far above her head, Bella heard the pealing of the great, clanging bell to herald her arrival. Birds, flocking from gutters, flew high into the sky and Bella, without knowing quite how she managed it, ascended the stairs among raucous cheers of blessing and love.
When she reached the small landing at the entrance to the Temple, she felt a steadying hand on her arm, and a quick, friendly squeeze on her hand.
"You've come," said a little voice, teasing. At once, Bella beamed. "And you look just like a very Princess of the blood."
"Thank you, Jasper," said Bella.
"Are you well?"
"Quite."
"All of your nerves still intact?"
"As many as can be hoped for," Bella laughed. "Thank you for doing this."
She felt another squeeze on her hand, which he had hooked through his elbow.
"It's what's right," he said at once. "And it's what's needed."
"I thank you," she said again. "For everything."
The boy beamed over at her— almost down at her— and she held her chin up high.
"We are waiting," he said, leaning low to stop her maids from hearing. "My brother is waiting."
"Then let's not keep him."
Together, arm in arm with the Prince, Bella walked over the threshold of the massive, towering cathedral. Heads, bent to whisper to friends and neighbours, snapped up at once and they stood, as one massive entity, to bow as they walked past. Bella's eyes roved over the crowd— there was Rose, seated in a place of honour near the front, and there were Carlisle and Esme, in the place of Edward's parents. Finn, dressed in his finest, held a handful of petals which, like all the children lining the aisle, he tossed readily onto the path at her feet, grinning so widely that Bella, with a sudden rush of affection, could not help but smile. Her wishes had been honoured: on the King's side, Bella saw many families of noble birth— men in suits with wives and daughters frightfully adorned. The wives of Councilmen, and their sons and daughters, in special seats along the side. There were some wealthy merchants, and traders, and consultants from all corners of the realm, and they all smiled when she passed, her face hidden behind her veil.
On the left, where her people ought to be, Bella saw an entirely different crowd.
A line of young, work-worn women, all in their best, brown frocks, stood at the furthest end of each row of chairs. Besides the front row, which held Bella's few especial guests, these plain, but wondrous faces made up the bulk of the Queen's crowd. The rest of each row, five in total, was made up instead of small mortals with tresses combed and braided, and faces scrubbed to a sweet, pink clean. Some were older— almost grown ups in their own right— but the vast majority were young, and those wondering eyes followed her with such rapt attention that it took her all of thirty steps to look away, facing instead towards the high, tall dais.
Though Bella watched the children, Edward only had eyes for her. He was smiling— a wide, true smile that had been so rare these past few weeks— and this joy was one that reached every corner of his being. He looked his best, dressed in fine black trousers and boots, and a shirt with buttons down the front. His coat of green was most becoming— Bella had never seen him wear anything so ornate before— and his sword, polished to a high, glossy gleam, shone out from the scabbard at his belt. Dressed as he was, it did not seem too big, and he seemed somehow taller, as if he stood a little straighter.
When Jasper reached the end of the aisle, glancing up with a grin at his elder brother, Edward leaned in to buss his cheek before Bella felt her hand released.
"I thank you, Jasper," he said, too low for the crowd to hear. Out on the steps, Bella saw her retinue of guards form a warning circle to keep the noise at bay. Jasper, grinning from ear to ear, said nothing in return.
"I love you," said Edward quickly, as Jasper turned to take his place beside Esme. Bella's maids, arranging her skirts just so, scampered off to find their spots. Opposite, the Council stood, each in their very best, and none with such a smile as Lorenzo, who looked for all the world as if it were his own child's wedding, and not his King's.
When Edward turned to her, his eyes fixed on her face beneath the veil, Bella thought she caught a sudden glimmer in his bright, green eyes.
"And welcome to you," he said, taking her hands up in his. "A most ardent welcome to you. You look beautiful, Bella. Absolutely beautiful."
And when the host began to speak, Bella thought that she felt just as lovely as she knew he thought her to be.
A/N: Thank you for your patience! I know it's been a long time coming. Summer is finally here, which means a break from teaching, but so far, I've been so busy I've had almost no time to write. Thanks for sticking with me!
As always, let me know what you think! I've had an influx of reviews and private messages lately about a number of my stories, and I always love hearing from you (even if I don't always have the time to write a reply).
Note: "P.C.T.", as used in reference to years at the beginning of the chapter, refers to "post common tongue". It is used in Marolando to distinguish between the shift from the old language to the new, about two centuries ago. In my mind, the current year is between 200 and 210 P.C.T.