"You really ought to see if the Rocheforts can provide for a horse. It's simply impractical to bring one of your own so far."
"I prefer not to ask them favors."
"So you're going to trot up on one of those shaggy mountain ponies from your stable? Do you even own any white horses?"
"Well, no, but there's a very even tempered gray mare I was given by one of the knights a few years ago."
"You are not getting married on a gray horse!"
I'd gone so ridiculously far as to be pleased when Anissina offered to help me plan my half of the wedding. I knew the theory, of course, and I had a head for organization, but this was hardly a grand affair I could muster enthusiasm for. I'd known I'd need help, and I'd at first just been thankful Mother hadn't felt up to sinking her claws into my dreadful marriage. Now that we'd arrived at the Voltaire manor, The Eyrie, I seemed to have regained some measure of perspective. We'd been here three hours and she was already driving me mad.
On the way here I'd been spared much simply by sleeping through most of the trip. I was taking an exceptionally long time to recover from my bout with the plague, due to running around most of the capital while ill, the lingering effects of the fire, and probably having a deified general invade my thoughts. Now I had no more excuses. I had only a few weeks to arrange what I could before setting off for Rochefort lands.
Anissina braced both her fists on my desk and leaned down so we were eye to eye. She'd forgotten to pack for the cooler mountain weather and had thrown on one of my father's old uniform coats over her usual clothes. The effect was actually rather grand. I wouldn't say so, of course. "You will write to your despicable father-in-law to be and request the use of a white horse from his stables. Now."
I muttered my assent. At least I had little to prepare for the actual ceremony. Having been proposed to, even so ignobly, allowed me to settle for learning my part, bringing along a token dowry, and making sure I had attendants. The onus of the actual celebration was all on the Rocheforts. And might they choke on it!
Anissina straightened. "Now, I assume you're having your mother and Stoffel give you away?"
"Who else?"
"Oh, I don't know. Raven would do it." She sat on the edge of the desk. "We can trust Celi to make sure her brother's turned out properly for the occasion. Do you know where the Voltaire wedding robe is?"
"The attic somewhere. How should I know?" I was being sulky. I knew it, but I couldn't help it. How could I be energetically exacting about planning an affair that made me gag to think of it? "It hasn't been used since before I was born."
"That's usually the case. Send a servant to go and find it."
By way of servants, we were a little short-staffed. I'd never minded before. I usually used my home as a retreat. One didn't need domestics running back and forth everywhere. I had a feeling, though, that I'd want to spend a good deal more time here. The situation in the capital was painful. Evert had managed to avoid coming down ill and Stoffel had ridden his coattails, coughing all the way. They were more in power now than before, despite it being in part their foolishness that had loosed the plague. I'd need to go, of course, try and minimize the damage, but there'd be little temptation to linger. And I was determined to spend as little time as I could at the Rocheforts' home. Aside from trying to keep Shin Makoku from ruin and seeing Gunter and my brothers, I was likely to follow in my father's footsteps and become a hopeless recluse. I sighed and added interview maids to the to-do list in front of me next to a sketchy picture of a cat.
"Have you thought about your dowry?"
"One thing at a time." I had a headache already. And no, I hadn't. I'd been particularly avoiding it. I should really get over these romantic notions, but the three gifts were supposed to have meaning and feeling behind them. By the end of this there'd be nothing left of my principles, but worse, I'd need to come up with some plausible story and repeat it with a straight face. I couldn't just pick out three valuable items to which I had no attachment and hand them over. Each had to have some arguable significance.
"Is that vase of your grandmother's that you hate still around?"
"The one with that gold and purple manticore? Yes. There's an idea." That would do for the first. The ancestral aspect would make it plausible.
"The silvered bridle General Dollenmayer gave you after you rescued his entire unit?"
"Useless thing's in a drawer in my wardrobe." I'd always been embarrassed about that. The rescue had been an accident. I'd misread my maps and sent my own troops out of their way. Hadn't slept in a week at the time. Still, it was counted among my better victories by most...
"Oh, funny story, by the way. Wolfram scorched the cover off of one of Evert's books while you were sleeping off the fire. Did I forget to tell you? He had it lavishly rebound in something ridiculous like electric eelskin. I've said a hundred times people should stop being so frivolous with scientifically valuable substances! But yes, eelskin and gold and such, and then he realized it was one of yours after all. Quite disgusted. He had it shipped up here. I believe it's your beloved copy of The Prophesies of Von Hoffenlich."
I groaned. "If I'd known Wolfram had set fire to it I'd have paid him. I've been trying to get rid of that idiotic book for years. I'd have thrown it out ages ago if it hadn't been a gift from Stoffel. ...Wait." Anissina grinned. "How do you do that?"
"Why, I expend a little extra effort from my superior woman's mind. Just to make sure a day never dawns that you awaken and know the empty, dead sensation of not owing me a favor." She leaned back against the wall, arms behind her head, smirking like a smug cat. "The legacy of your line, the prize of your days in battle, and a lavishly illuminated manuscript of what is to come. I wouldn't worry about Dirk ever realizing it's a nicely bound pile of wasted wood pulp. What sweeter set of gestures could you make?"
"Fine. I owe you."
"Indeed you do. Planning on including Conrart and Wolf?"
I hadn't thought about it. It would give me great satisfaction to include my half-human brother in the affair and rub it in the faces of all assembled, but I'd need to tread carefully and make sure Conrart also liked the idea. It was hard to predict with him. At times he was belligerent about his ancestry, at other times shy and self-conscious. And if I gave Conrart a part, Wolfram would also need to be included. Though the threat to marry him off was past, my own head in the noose instead, I didn't really want him anywhere near the Rocheforts. Better that he stay as far from this inevitable mess as possible. I'd go to far as to personally ask Evert to watch Wolfram for the days Mother would spend attending the wedding.
"I think it'd be better not to, all in all."
"Hmm, your mother will perhaps go so far as to vaguely apologize when she shows up with both of them in tow."
"Oh." Right. "I can plan to make them gift bearers." Not necessary for the ceremony, generally added for just such circumstances as having much younger family members who'd want to be part of the party. And at least I'd know where they were. And wolfram could serve one last time as my excuse for not socializing. Perhaps if I gave him a lot of candy right before to make sure he was in his brattiest, noisiest mood. "...Then I'd only have two." That'd be odd. I looked to Anissina. She'd been having ideas all along.
"Ask to borrow Giesela?" I glared. "I'll bet you anything your beloved will volunteer to turn up for moral support anyway."
"I wish he wouldn't." It would be one little extra taunt from the universe to have Gunter watching me as I entered my new husband's house. "I'll see about Josack." It'd help Conrart cope, and having the two of them would heighten the impact. "Or maybe borrow a twin." Who cared which.
"Your enthusiasm is underwhelming. We've got to do something to cheer you up. I've got just the thing!"
"Is it an experiment?"
"It is an experiment!"
"Alright, let's." She blinked at me for a moment. That almost made up for it. Anything to avoid planning a cheerful party for handing over my family's pound of flesh. It was almost relaxing to spend the next two hours with my hands in metallic gloves while Anissina tapped me for all I was worth in powering Mr. Indefatigable Kitchen Master. At the end of two hours the thing's arms entangled and started smoking. She put it out without starting much of a fire, and the cookies it had made were even somewhat edible. Odd recipe, though. I think it included lentils.
Annoyed with her machine, Anissina retired to work on her latest short story. Unreadable nonsense, of course, but it wasn't as though she'd asked my opinion. Without her to keep me on track, I decided to slip off to bed. I'd find the wedding robe and decide which child I'd use to hold the third gift of my dowry come morning.
I was surprised to find how relieved I was to be back in my own room. The window was open, letting the cool mountain air flow in, almost too chilly for comfort. The walls were covered in old blue paper, bubbling and peeling in a few places. Right then I wouldn't have fixed it for the world. Bed, lamp, desk, wardrobe, and bookshelf were mismatched, an assortment of woods and styles. That had never struck me before, but after time in the palace, where every room was perfectly coordinated, there was something homey and even rebellious about it. I hung my clothes up and pulled out a nightshirt that smelled faintly of dust from long interment. No servants would come in and tidy up when I left in the morning.
No one could claim the Eyrie was anything but a fine mansion. parts might be in disrepair, but that was laziness on the part of its owners, not a lack of funds but perhaps a real taste for ruined grandeur. During the summer, the climate was anything but harsh, really quite appealing and sweet. I was only a week's travel from the capital, and that a generous estimate. Really, my image of the place as a retreat far from the travails of court was silly. I still drank in the image, even as common sense denied it.
The bookshelf was small, just a few hand-picked favorites, some of them left from when I was younger than Conrart. I should probably see about moving into the master bedroom, but Father's death was decades back. If I hadn't moved yet, I likely wasn't going to. My chosen reading was a novel of a chivalrous knight during the reign of the Seventh Maou, Hildegarde Von Voltaire, a distant relative thanks to a few subsequent adoptions and shifts in the family line. I didn't regard the name with anything but mild interest. The lead character, Geoffry Kilburn, was of more interest, as he spent the better part of his time swinging a sword about and winning the hearts of maidens. The part of me that was still fourteen and found this epic to be the very height of literary achievement through history was still in there somewhere, and I fell asleep with a chapter about battling a giant crocodile open on my face to a colored illustration of the beast.
I was halfway through a really splendid dream about hurling spears at immense, dangerous beasts while Gunter looked on in admiration when Anissina lifted the book off my face and let sunlight hit unexpectedly. Should have closed my curtains. "Who let you in?" Perhaps the small child within should be kept asleep. I sounded as petulant as Wolfram.
"It's ten. I know you're still trying very hard to recover, but get your lazy butt out of bed or I'll hook you into Mr. Jilted Lover's Splendid Revenge for charging while you sleep."
"...What does Mr. Jilt- Don't tell me. Why would you...? Never mind. I'm getting up." I rolled out of bed and sighed. I really had slept late. "Why do I let you in my house?" I finally settled on as I pulled out clothes. There was no one here but Anissina and some old family retainers. I decided to let myself get away with a ratty coat with sleeves a few inches too short and slippers instead of shoes. I was tempted to just throw vanity out the window henceforth. Who was I going to look nice for? Dirk? "I'll get breakfast and then head to the attic to find the robe. Does that suit Her Grace?"
"It'll do. Mind if I take apart the broken dumbwaiter in your father's study?"
"Yes." I might actually use it someday. Father's study, besides, was an almost sacred place. Moreso now that it had been included in my confused, possibly hallucinated conversation with Shinou.
"What if I fix it afterward?"
"Is it going to talk, sing, grow arms, attempt to fly, or turn into a small pony after the fact?"
"...No."
"Fine." It would do something worse. I didn't have it in me to argue. I headed to the kitchen for a bite of toast and herb tea and then made my way up into the attic. It was a meandering place, not always connected, a collection of spaces too small to be the next floor up. The largest room was in the northwest corner of the house. I started there. I moved crates of hideously bad knitting projects off of broken furniture. An ottoman as old as I was collapsed under the weight of a set of outdated encyclopedias I balanced atop it, which scattered enough dust that I spent the next five minutes sneezing.
A dresser that looked partially rotted seemed to hold promise. Its larger drawers contained only evidence of mice and a single, exceedingly ugly earring. Out of curiosity, I opened the top drawer, though it was too small to hold the wedding robe. I found two pairs of very gray socks, a candle, the other earring, a snail shell, and a packet of envelopes. they were tied with a frayed, red ribbon, suggesting they weren't a commander's war missives. I knew better, but I sat on the dresser and opened the one on top. My father's handwriting was some of the worst I'd ever seen, as though a variety of small insects had been dipped in ink and forced to skitter over parchment. Hard to mistake.
My Dear Cecilie,
The shores of Cavalcade are as lovely as you are. I'm sure that, should peace break out, we will travel here together someday. I have enclosed several pressed flowers from the region. Much of their fragrance is lost, of course, but should you be able to catch the echos perhaps your perfumer will be able to come up with something. The fashion among ladies here is to enamel dried flowers onto combs. It would suit you beautifully. As would any adornment.
Negotiations with the prince remain tense. The Maou is beginning to despair of ever establishing more than a cease-fire, yet it seems to me the humans here yearn for peace as our people do. The city is in tatters. It frays at the edges. One must have an eye for detail, but the shops are less busy than they ought to be in fashionable quarters. There are few people on the streets. The children you see are subdued, no doubt every one worrying about a half-dozen family members in the army. Parties are held nightly for all delegations, an attempt to keep riots from breaking out, to drown resentment in champagne and burn away fear with glittering chandeliers. I can take no pleasure in balls and receptions without you here, but I appreciate the gesture.
I met a child in the streets today who seemed hungry. I gave her the sandwich I'd bought for lunch, and she showed me her quarter of the city. A different world indeed from what I'd been shown. With the glitter of royal posturing torn away, I could not have told the human city at a glance from ours. There seems no reason peace cannot prevail. I have heard the animosity of humans called envy for our long lives and power. Does it remain for us to envy in turn most of the world to walk and take in and sweet natured children not raised to be soldiers?
You'll think me dull, writing to you of foreign lands, wartime tension, and what should be noble crusade and speaking of curly-haired urchins. Perhaps the little girl made me look to a future beyond the war. It must be hard to look forward to a wedding placed so esoterically at two months after your groom's return, and for that I apologize. But I continue to fix my eyes on that future, however uncertain.
There is a legend in this city, related—yes—by my diminutive guide to the city. Her name is Ananda, should my ramblings have piqued your curiosity, about eight years old as humans grow, black haired and dark eyed. This little token of luck counts for nothing here, though I couldn't help but find it striking. Her tale spoke of a grotesque fashioned by a human sorcerer in the distant past, a gargoyle to sit above his window. Through arts long lost he imbued it with the power to see and gave it but one objective, to watch over a child who played in the field outside his mansion, a little girl who was naught but anonymous waif. The child grew and so did the sorcerer, until, an old man, he passed from this world. He had done his work well, and the watcher watched on, eyes imbued with magic following the young woman as she made a life of her own with a farmer, bore several children, and grew old and ill herself. On the day before her death, with her children and grandchildren in attendance, their home was attacked by bandits, identified as demons (for Ananda did not recognize me for anything but a rich man willing to pass out lunches on a whim). Being excessively wicked, they dragged away the women and children, emptied the house of its few valuables, and planned to set it on fire with the men of the family within. When the house was set alight, a wind strong enough to knock over anyone standing in the open blew it out, and the sky went dark. When the moon's light returned, all the bandits were unconscious, and awoke only days later in jail, gibbering and mad. The old woman died with her family about her. When she was buried, her children gave her a fine marble headstone. On their second visit to the grave, they found a stone gargoyle perched on the marker as though it had been carved from the same block, watching over her still. Word has it that the human magician was the girl's father, unable to acknowledge her due to the adulterous affair that had begot her, which I find an unnecessary detail.
I thought you would find the tale interesting, but further, such devotion is always yours, Celi, and were it within my power, such protection, too. I look forward to the day I will hold your hand rather than read it.
With Love,
Florian
I reread the letter three times. With difficulty at first, thanks to dust, poor penmanship, and being a bit choked up. I'd been told, and not believed for a minute, that my parents had been a love match. There was Mother's obviously exaggerated story of his defending her honor at a ball before they'd even been introduced (implausible), Stoffel's somewhat bemused assurance that they'd been rather fond of each other, but that hardly held more weight than Mother's tale. But if there was anything to believe, it was stilted, awkward, earnestness that I could recognize in my father's words. Not because I suddenly recalled some great virtue in him. The man would always be a veritable stranger to me. Because, rather, I could hear the same in myself. Though lacking his courage, it seemed I was doomed to only express such artless compliments and strange, almost argumentative declarations of love in my heart.
My feelings on the subject were mixed. On one level, it seemed Shinou's half-remembered curse and blessing might not necessarily hold true. A Voltaire heart had unfrozen long enough to love while still holding tight to duty. No question he'd died young and his life had been difficult, but Father had known something of that peaceful, devoted love that I did. Attributing that happiness to the cold, preoccupied parent I remembered sweetened the recollections a bit. And wasn't there a simple wholesomeness to knowing my parents had loved one another, that I'd been conceived out of passion and not duty?
Of course there was. So my ill feelings on the subject were entirely revolting. Resenting him for not sharing that love with me, for achieving his object while I'd be forever denied, for not ever trying to be a father as he'd tried to be a husband. Perhaps it just wasn't in his nature, but he could have made an effort. And of course there was jealousy. Never a need to sell Florian Vol Voltaire into marriage to keep Shin Makoku from splitting apart. Perhaps I'd have one day found the courage to speak, to win my own love, but it was a moot point now.
I tried to shake off the insidious nastiness and managed at least to suppress it. I pocketed the letters and resumed my search for the wedding robe. I was a bit preoccupied, but luck brought me to its resting place, a hope chest otherwise filled with wooden blocks underneath a wicker basket of dusty preserve jars with an ostentatious mirror balanced on top. It was a miracle I didn't break the mirror.
It came up to my shoulder propped on the floor. Though it wouldn't be me in the Voltaire robe, I draped it over my shoulders for a look at the effect. It wasn't too dusty, so the color was as bright as cloth so old could be. Dark green, trimmed and embroidered in midnight blue. Wedding robes were always shapeless, oversized garments so they could be draped over anyone's shoulders and hopefully stay that way long enough for appearance's sake. It didn't seem to me to need any repairs. This portion of my wedding preparations I could even get behind. Maybe there were more interesting things to be found in the attic. I knew I'd wasted as much as an hour already, but maybe Anissina wouldn't think to look for me until I'd uncovered a forgotten sword, a box of good books, charmingly out of date clothes, old maps… Attics could be full of all sorts of things.
I stepped out of the corner where I'd found the robe and heard a shrill voice calling my name. Damn her. I rolled my eyes. "Yes, coming." Wench. I threw the wedding robe over my shoulder and ducked back into the hall. It sounded like she was hollering from downstairs. I sighed, loudly and tragically to let any listening mice and spiders know I was being ill-used (if I couldn't act like a brat in my own house and at the expense of my veritable sister, when could I?), and trudged down.
Anissina was not alone. Distinctly not. Hundreds of curses upon the witch's head. Gunter.
Bitterly, I remembered asking myself that morning who I might be dressing for, why I'd ever want to look presentable again considering my audience. The coat might have been new and well-fitting when I'd first met him seemed suddenly pathetically scruffy rather than homey and comfortable. My leggings were faded, my slippers were unforgivably untidy and ancient to boot, knitted by Anissina when she was first learning, never mind me. My hair was loose and hadn't been combed, and must be full of cobwebs. Every inch of me must have been. I was probably transport for a live spider or two. I felt myself blush unavoidably.
"I… wasn't informed we were expecting you," I said, faintly.
"He got here a bit earlier than expected." Anissina grinned and plucked a wolf spider off my shoulder. She immediately dropped it in a little specimen jar. No surprise she carried them on her at all times.
"I'd assumed the invitation I received was with your knowledge, though clearly…" Gunter shot a look at Anissina, who looked so unrepentant she nearly grew a halo. "I hope I'm not unwelcome?"
"No, of course not." Gruesome as I felt at the moment, much as his presence would rub salt in every wound, I was delighted to have him. Curses, I owed Anissina twice over in as many days. "I'm glad to see you." I smiled and extended a hand halfway before I realized how grimy my fingers must be. He took it anyway. I met his eyes, thinking of a dusty letter in spattered, fading ink, and ventured a more open smile than I usually allowed myself. Nothing to lose now.
"I thought you might need support. I've been home for about a week, but I came up the moment I had time. Giesela's staying with her natural father for a bit," he added, anticipating my question. "He doesn't see her often, but now that she's old enough to look after herself for the most part, it seems to me to be good for them both." He glanced around. My grandly austere retreat suddenly seemed very plain.
"Sounds like she'll enjoy it. The house is… a bit understaffed now. Let me take your things?" He hadn't come with much. It seemed like he'd ridden alone all the way, no carriage or retinue, just a horse and a bag. Gunter alone on the mountain roads with the wind in his hair, the smell of the sea and a gentle sun clinging to him still… Better snap out of it before I fell too deep in. I held out my hands.
"I can handle a cloak and a rucksack, Gwendal. Show me the guestroom?" He moved smoothly into not having anyone to wait on him. Commendable. Of course, I'd answer his every whim if he liked…
I blinked, embarrassed, and turned to Anissina. "Do you know which might be, er, habitable?" Half the guest rooms probably hadn't been dusted since Father had died. Before.
"The red one in the west wing and the little tiled one on the third floor. That'll be especially cool this time of year." She beamed angelically. I suspected her of cleaning it herself, or putting one of her creations to it, as the room was down the hall from mine and she delighted in evil. "I'll be testing Mr. Relieves the Last Need for Keeping Large Ungainly Men About the Place today, so why don't you let me get the bag. And you can show Gwendal what you mentioned." He was about to protest, as anyone would asked to submit to any of Anissina's monstrosities. At least she only wanted a moderately heavy object and not a guinea pig this time. He relented.
He had something to show me? Missive from the Rocheforts, perhaps, evidence of Evert being a sneaky bastard in ways that were just barely within the law, remains of shrapnel from another attack on my family just to prove who held the power? Anissina's was leaving and Gunter and I were alone in the home I loved, but I didn't let my heart lift. "What's the bad news?"
"Nothing new. Come with me?" He smiled and looked almost shy. Of course I nodded, confused and oddly excited in the way one ought not allow oneself to become. Pessimism, I have discovered, is for self defense. I followed him back outside. The day had clouded over while I was in the attic and the air was damp, ready to rain if given a chance. The sun still filtered through the clouds, at odd angles and intervals, so the world looked both too sharp and dreamlike all at once. The deep colors were exaggerated, like the green of the moss on the ground, while the pale colors all turned to pure light or shadow.
And in the middle of the yard was a shape that sucked in any light that touched it. I breathed in sharply enough to be called a gasp. I'd never seen such a handsome horse, jet black but for a single star on its brow, satiny, lush black that drank and defied light. It wasn't saddled and stood beside a smaller horse, the the chestnut mare I recognized from early morning chats with Giesela. Forget what Gunter had to show me. "Yours?" I was taken. That much was obvious.
Perhaps Gunter was used to seeing a stunned, worshipful look on my face, because he didn't bat an eyelash at what was no doubt quite the display. "Yours. The same dam as mine but a different father. I wanted to give you your real wedding gift now to make sure your beastly fiancé has no part in it. There'll be some token on the day itself, of course. You'll have to work hard enough not to insult that idiot as he deserves without help from me."
Mine. Mine, and from Gunter. A young, fiery stallion that was all a horse ought to be. And… the thought I had was no doubt both wicked and childish, self-defeating and egotistical all at once. Black horses were fine to breed, sell, or own. A bit of an affectation (one I indulged in), but an ordinary enough indulgence. But as a gift, they were traditionally presented only to the Maou or to those lucky enough to have eyes to match their hair, double-blacks on important occasions like coming of age. Or weddings. In addition to a kind and generous gift, whether he intended it or not I saw the horse as a profoundly gratifying compliment. "Gunter, thank you." I didn't think I'd ever let myself speak to him so warmly and gently, making such eye contact. I was bolder at home, perhaps. And more reckless as an unwilling betrothed.
He smiled at me in return. For a moment my heart really did melt, the ice falling harmlessly away. For a smile like that I would have thrown off any shackles but the ones that held me. If Gunter had looked at me like that before Dirk… At least as the wind picked up around us in the yard I believed I would have kissed him. As it faded away again into a teasing breeze the moment faded with it. Oh, Gunter, never to be mine. "What's his name?"
"Gyre. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you changed it." He eased his cool, long fingered hand out of mine as he turned. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding his. Which made the movement far more natural, as I'd have been struggling to make my fingers release his casually and probably failed. Still, a pity I hadn't been able to pay the sensation proper mind.
"It suits him." I walked to the horse and stroked his mane. He tossed his head a bit. Seemed he had a temper, which I didn't mind in the least. I should have, strictly, but it was hard to object to an animal as prickly as I was that I would inevitably find a way to get along with. "Hello, Gyre." Gunter's own horse was still nearby. I could see that they were brother and sister, faintly. The star they shared, the rather proud bearing, perhaps something more esoteric. It was likely just that I was used to my own half siblings and the odd, half-imagined ways to identify us as brothers.
"So… do you know why Anissina decided to extend your invitation?" I was still looking Gyre over, admiring every inch. Splendid, splendid creature.
"Looking back, I should have realized it wasn't quite your sort of thing. She seems to have decided you need to have, in her words, a last hurrah before we throw you to the sharks."
Hadn't noticed such sentiments might not have my approval? Oh, Gunter, my airhead. "I wasn't aware I'd had a first hurrah."
"Yes, well, I'd also have invited all your friends, if you had any." Anissina strode out to meet us. "Take your new friend to the stable, Gwen, and then you're going to want a bath." I glared at her. "And then get ready for a bit of a trip."
"What in heaven's name are you plotting, you lunatic?" Couldn't I have a quiet few weeks at home before my deplorable wedding? With Gunter as a guest, it'd be divine.
"For some normal person, I'd probably suggest a trip to hot springs or a nice coastal city full of loose women and free flowing wine, or preferably both." She giggled, and even Gunter smiled, at the glower I wore. "But since it's our dear, gloomy Gwendal, I thought we'd take a few days in the caverns and see what interesting adventures we can scare up."
"Oh." Honestly, that didn't sound so bad. So of course the other shoe would soon be dropping. "And?"
"And nothing. We'll take food for a few days and go wandering. I'll be looking for some of that nicely resonant black crystal I found down there a year or so back, but you boys don't mind me! Now Gwen, go clean the spider webs out of your hair."
What could I do but obey? I was smeared with dust and worst. And this'd give me an opportunity to change into something less shabby and horrid. I walked Gyre to his new home. Gunter followed and the wench didn't. "I'm very glad to welcome you, Gunter, but you did catch me coming out of an attic I've not set foot in for a decade, so you'll have to forgive." I bowed a bit with mock courtesy. He smiled.
"There's a centipede on your ear."
"Oh." Revolting. I lost my moment's calm composure and ducked away. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
If there was one great luxury in the Eyrie, the baths were it. Going to a hot springs resort, on top of not suiting my temperament, would have been horribly silly. There were springs underneath the house that were channeled into the outdoor baths, toasty even in the dead of winter. The marble tiles and fountains were at least as impressive as the ones at the castle. I dumped a bucket over my head to get rid of the worst dirt before I stepped in.
The soak did me good. I began to plan for our trip. There was no getting out of it, and it might even be somewhat enjoyable. The cave system under the nearby mountains went on for miles. Part of it was elf territory, but I was fairly friendly with them, and the prince under the mountain was Wolfram's playmate, so I didn't worry about that. I only knew a small fraction of the tunnels and caves. No one knew much more than that. The space underground was practically infinite. But there were some impressive crystal caverns, some pools that glowed with iridescent colors, a river filled with strange, ghostly creatures without eyes. Plenty worth seeing. And more importantly, quiet.
I was lost in thought enough that I didn't react to the little splashes off to my left. If I noticed them subconsciously I assumed it was Anissina, who had all the respect for personally boundaries one might associate with an amorous squirrel.
"Hope you don't mind, Gwendal. It was a long ride." Gunter settled beside me. My heart skipped a beat or two before I could answer.
"Of course not. It's the best hospitality worth offering around here." I pushed my hair out of my face and smiled. And at the exact moment my hand was between my eyes and his line of sight, I stole the glance I couldn't resist. He was impossibly beautiful. I had only a split second, but my eyes drank it all in. Smooth, pearlescent skin marred with a few scars from blades. Slim as he was, the lean muscle I'd guessed at through the robes during our dance was perfectly visible, practically glowing. I could lose myself forever in that body, in each and every detail. A naked Gunter was reclining beside me. Could heaven be far behind?
Yes, but hell could be close. I tore my eyes away, forced every wicked, luscious thought to the back of my mind. I simply could not. For one thing, even dreams of situations like this led to very visible effects. I shifted, just to make sure if I did let my guard down enough to be ratted on by my own body, it wouldn't be immediately visible.
In the bath with Gunter. It would be so easy to pull him to me. Much as I liked to think of mine as a pure, almost courtly love, lust seemed the stronger right now. If I reached for him now, might I perhaps be able to beg a few moments of affection, something out of pity for my situation?
Perhaps. But only to earn his contempt thereafter. And there was a perverse satisfaction in going to my rotten fiancé unstained, as it were. Make myself a paragon of all he was not. There were few more hollow victories I could think of, but any port in a storm.
"Have you ever seen the northern caverns? They extend between Voltaire and Bielefeld lands." Just making conversation. I ducked my head under a spout shaped like a snake's head to wash out the soap.
"Not at all. I'd always assumed the north was eternally snowy, and it didn't appeal."
"We're not that far up. It's rocky around here, but this is just hills compared to what lies north." I snuck another glance at him as I wrung out my hair.
"I can see. I never got around to trimming your hair. Would you like me to now? I can even out the scorched parts, though they're already correcting themselves."
"Mmm." My hair grew fast. In another few weeks, the uneven ends probably wouldn't be noticeable. But then what excuse would I have for Gunter to run his hands through my wet hair? "Thank you. I can't quite reach around myself."
"No trouble at all. So tell me about these caverns." The mind can adapt to anything. Before long I was happily engaged in chatting with Gunter, and almost never sneaking chances to run my eyes over him. Once we'd dressed, he followed me to my room to fix my hair.
The only pair of scissors I had were a bit big for the job. He seemed dubious, and I had to admit it was odd to aim two six-inch daggers at the back of my head. No way around it, though. He sat me in my desk chair and hummed to himself as he began.
I really did intend to comb my hair myself beforehand, but in a hurry to comply, I'd left it undone. The most delicious moment of absent-mindedness imaginable. Gunter ran his fingers through to pull out the really big snarls, sending little shivers all through me, and then ran a comb through behind his fingers, a hundred times each side. I hadn't realized there was a single person alive who actually did that, but I hoped he'd never stop.
Evening out the ends of my hair didn't take long. After the breathtaking moments of electricity that had come of Gunter's fingertips sliding over my scalp, it was a bit of a let down. "There, you can't even tell there was an accident." He ran his hand once down the back of my head and neck to smooth it. He hesitated, letting his hand linger. Let it stay there, let its warmth on the nape of my neck remain…
"Gwendal, have you ever done anything different with your hair?"
"I like it long," I said, a bit weakly. Did he not approve?
"I agree. You've got too long a face to chop it off. I have the same problem. But I seem to remember you had bangs when you were younger."
"Yes. Mother liked them." It was ridiculous to discuss this, but if it would keep Gunter standing behind me. "I grew them out years ago. They made me look fifty."
"Hmm, to some degree, so does pulling it all back into a braid. Trust me to try something, perhaps?" I certainly didn't refuse. He moved around in front of me. I really couldn't have cared less what he was doing with the scissors (though the silver flash near my eyes was disconcerting). With him there, I was staring into his chest, watching his hair swing to the side, the shifts of his body through cloth, drinking him in.
"There. Much better. That's really quite handsome." He picked up a hand mirror that left its outline in the dust where he'd snatched it from and held it up. I had to admit, his alterations did suit me. He'd left the first few inches to fall just below my chin and tied the rest of my hair up in a bit of a twist. It did look more grown up. Far more flattering. I couldn't believe Gunter could make me care about this. For him, anything, I supposed. "Splendid."
"It's just hair." I even cracked a bit of a smile.
"Your crowning glory. Revel in it." He grinned widely. Oh, he was an airhead, sometimes. "Shall we head down and see about lunch, perhaps?"
"Good idea." I was mildly ashamed to show him to the mostly abandoned kitchen where I ate. I really would have to spruce up the Eyrie in the coming months. Maybe Gunter would visit often if I made it worth his while. Lunch was cold chicken and rolls with a few slightly wilted carrots on the side. The sort of bag lunch one brought to grammar school.
Anissina stuck her head in the door as we sat down. "Gwendal, darling, I need a quick jolt for Mr. Stimulates Abnormally Slow Brain Function."
"…Just quick?" It might be worth it if I could get her to leave us alone for a while. I'd have to put up with her constantly during out little spelunking trip, of course, but at least then she'd have something to do. Little pebbles to put in jars, crystals to poke and see how they conducted magic, cave creatures to terrorize. Her energy would have somewhere to go, and that meant relative safety.
"Very quick. I promise." Her smile was honeyed, and never had such sweetness dripped such venom. Uh-oh. I nodded to excuse myself and walked into the hall. What had I done now?
She had me follow her down a narrow hallway that led to the pantry, assuaging any doubt that she meant something horrid. Rather suddenly, she spun, grabbed my shoulders, and shoved me into the wall. I was the soldier and I should have been on guard, given I was trailing a woman that'd terrify a starving dragon. That said, Anissina was no slouch in her own martial skills, though during the war she'd been deployed only in healing witch and tactical engineering positions. And she surprised me, fair as fair got around her.
She glared at me with such violence I swear I saw lightening spark in her eyelashes. "Gwendal… There are only so many chances I can give you."
"…What?" And here I figured I'd dislodged the capacitor cap on the long range spectrometer of her translocation engine (which may or may not have been a real thing).
"Alone in the courtyard while he presented you an absurdly overdone gift? I even sent him to the bath with you. You're running out of chances, Gwen. I can only orchestrate so much, Gwen. I am about to just let Dirk have you and leave you and your oh-so-delicate boyfriend pining for each other forever, Lord Gwendal Hieronymus Von Voltaire IV. Oh, if I had my knitting needles on me I'd take your eye out for a lesson!"
"Anissina…" Arg. She meant well, for once in her life, but it wasn't to be and that couldn't be more obvious. "I am marrying—"
"You are marrying a man who couldn't care less about your fidelity any more than his."
"I am making a very important alliance in order to prevent a civil war. And should all the world crumble around me, damn it, I will do it right." A good heart secreted away in a rime of ice. An unimpeachable, lonely life. How could I disappoint Shinou and renege now? "I have more responsibilities to family and country than to my own gratification!"
She looked taken aback for a moment. I had sounded rather good there. Oratory was a gift I hadn't practiced much lately. Well done, me. But being Anissina, she collected herself in a moment. "He wants to screw you, too, numbskull."
"For one, no he doesn't."
"You love to think of him as an angel, but you used to think he was wise beyond reproof, too. He'd fall right into bed with you if you asked. He's lonely too. He likes you. What's stopping you?"
Even if she was right—and she wasn't—that would never be what I wanted. At first having Gunter inamorato would be divine, but it'd be empty soon. I wanted his heart, his real companionship, to see the devotion in those perfect opal eyes I knew was hiding in my dull blue ones. Anything less was worse than not at all. The best way to ensure that was to keep him my dear friend.
And… and I was afraid.
"Better a lifelong friend than an erstwhile lover," I finally answered.
"Fine. Refuse to be happy for ten minutes. Lock yourself forever in your ivory tower, oh Prince of Pompadoodle. Try and keep believing that remaining unstained gets you anywhere, Gwendal. But I wash my hands of it. Go back and listen politely and try not to think of him in your bed. No longer my problem." She made exaggerated "good riddance" motions and stomped off. I could tell she was honestly angry at me. She really did want to help. But at this point, my good opinion of myself, my honor, was about all I had left.
"Did you really just call me the Prince of Pompadoodle?" She was taking insults from nursery rhymes now?
"Yes!" came the angry answer as I heard the door to the servants' stairs close.
I went back to lunch. Gunter had waited for me. The sweetheart. "…Do not offend that monster."
"I think you're too hard on her, but of course, she's nearly your sister. I have similar feelings about your mother."
"Everyone has those," I said, cheerfully disrespectful. He smiled and patted my hand. Dear Gunter. I ignored the little voice (Anissina's) in the back of my head that read the gesture as she would, that said Gunter's kindness might mean his willingness, if not his love. I wouldn't sully my most precious friendship.
He helped me pack for our trip to the caves. Not that he was a lot of use, either suggesting extraneous, useless supplies to weigh us down or getting distracted by random items Father or some more distant predecessor had added to the house. Our knickknacks were more strange than costly. But it was so cute to see Gunter busy examining the carvings on a cracking walrus tusk or trying to puzzle out the mad geometry of a coelacanth skeleton mounted on the wall that I blessed my Voltaire ancestors and their esoteric tastes. Even if it did wind up with our house being more than usually haunted.
It is very odd to wake up with a ghost fish swimming through one's room.
By afternoon we were ready, but it was too late to leave. Gunter, Anissina, and I enjoyed dinner together on the second floor balcony, overlooking the village. She produced a bottle of wine from my cellars and a fresh caught couple of perch from the lake made up the main course. Gunter told a long, rather rambling story about a half-human sorcerer who'd inadvertently created the Flybones in an attempt to animate gargoyles to guard his keep. It was likely untrue, a legend halfway to myth, but his voice and animation were more important than the story. I fell asleep that night slightly tipsy, cool in the breeze from my window, and with the smell of Gunter lingering in my precious handkerchief, spread out on the pillow beside me while I slept.
Anissina woke me by sitting on my chest about dawn, by which time the pleasant buzz had turned to a pesky headache and all I smelled was lingering sour grapes. I stumbled through washing, brushing my hair, and shaving, took three tries to get my hair to do what Gunter had yesterday and gave up with the cunning twist still lopsided, and stumbled down for breakfast. Though I longed to try Gyre for a good ride, Anissina hadn't brought her own horse and we'd only be able to ride a few miles before hitting the caverns, we walked.
Anissina seemed to have forgiven me for not letting her steer me into debauchery and walked a few paces behind us, scraping interesting lichen off of rocks. When I asked why she said she'd distill it into poison and let me know from there, so maybe I wasn't quite off the hook yet.
Gunter was enthralled, and it would touch the hardest heart to see him. The plants and landscape were so different from his home, he told me at length. The thick conifers and sparse ground cover reminded him of tropical mountaintops, which prompted him to tell me all about his time in the lands of unending summer. Personally I was sure I'd suffocate, but he seemed so excited. When we saw a bear from a distance he squealed, and Anissina (surprisingly good with animals) tempted it close enough to eat a crust of bread from his hand. When we saw an osprey dive at some silver darting shape in a lake he insisted on stopping to watch its repeated strikes at the fish until it flew away triumphant. Between us, Anissina and I could name most of the plants he asked about, though we couldn't begin to satisfy his curiosity about the stone beneath. Only Gunter's curiosity could extend that far. Really, I was a bookworm myself, but I liked to think with some eye to utility.
But however silly, the boundless quest to immerse himself in the world was charming. I ended up smiling as we walked. "You ask more questions than Wolfram."
"It's that or risk missing something. I can't ever set foot on a battlefield again, I'm no politician, and the opportunities among the nobility for a baker and singer are limited."
"You sing?" He must be a nightingale.
"Hmph, a bit. But you see what I mean, Gwen. My mind is all I have to offer. How could I afford to miss a thing? Oh, what's this one?"
"A ten-petaled blazing star. Here." I plucked one blossom and held it up for him. Released, the tightly intertwined petals opened slowly, uncurling into a tiny sunrise. His eyes opened wider and he let out a little gasp through a smile, half covering his mouth. He took it from me and tucked it behind his ear. I took the picture to heart, determined to remember it always, and kept walking. Anissina poked my toe with her totally unnecessary walking stick.
The mouth of the caverns does not look inviting. The stone is gray and dull (even to an undiscerning eye like mine that doesn't know one rock from another), the overhang is always damp, and however little wind there is, enough catches in the strange little twists and crannies in the entrance exist to make it whistle.
"Ah, black crystal, here I come!" Anissina lit her lantern with a thought and darted in. Gunter shrugged at me and we followed at a more leisurely pace. As neither of us were aligned with fire, we had to use a match to get our light working. Though my own alliance with earth served me well here.
"Is it true there are elves living here?"
"There are some near the Bielefeld side, though it's hard to tell whose territory you're under when there's a mile of earth on top." I held the lantern higher as we left the light of the cave's mouth. "They're difficult to get along with, though they respected my father and their current prince and Wolfram play together better than the brat does with Conrart nowadays."
"I've always wanted to meet some. There must be a wealth of wisdom to learn from a whole different people."
"Mostly surliness and distrust. The city has its attractions, but it's a few days' travel on the surface and I don't have any idea of the way down here. But there are a few beautifully iridescent ponds. The chemicals in the cave turn them all sorts of shades. There are a few living chambers where stalactites are still forming that I know of, and one cavern… well, I'll surprise you with that one."
"Oh, I'll be waiting. Where's Anissina gone?"
Good question. "Elsewhere? I suppose we should look." He spoke a charm that I assumed was meant to aid in discovering the whereabouts of pesky inventors, but it didn't seem to help much. I took note of where we were and set off in what seemed the most likely direction.
"I thought I saw a flash of red down there." Gunter pointed down a corridor I wasn't familiar with. I said as much, he agreed we shouldn't go far, and we started in the indicated direction.
It soon proved to be no glimpse of Anissina's hair or tunic that he'd seen, but a chunk of glittering crystal the color of blood that jutted from the wall. I was tempted to call it a ruby, but I didn't know enough of gems to know the difference between the most precious stone and a piece of colored quartz. "Pretty, if not useful."
"Seems a shame to leave down here. It'd make a lovely keepsake." Gunter smiled and tried to pull it from the wall. It refused to give. Before I could advise against it he braced his foot against the wall and tugged.
Three things happened at once. There was a loud scraping sound, Gunter toppled back into me in a pile of cloak and skinny, gorgeous mazoku sorcerer, and a crack appeared in the floor. I saw it sneak into existence, saw it widen. Perhaps had anyone but Gunter fallen on me I'd have been faster to react, to hop up and flee, but as it was, my hand was, by honest accident, resting on the very edge of what could be considered the small of his back, and that wasn't likely ever to happen again.
I still didn't really feel it was my fault when we went sliding with most of the tunnel into the hole that opened underneath. At least I was perfectly justified in holding onto his waist as we tumbled down with the other debris.
It was completely dark when the world stopped shifting. My shoulder and knee ached, but nothing felt broken, and there was a bit of wet, warm stickiness in my hair. Overall, not bad for a cave-in. And I'd taken most of the brunt for Gunter. He just sneezed in the darkness, and a moment later a cold, wavery light sprang to life. It centered on the signet ring on his finger.
"Useful charm."
"Oh, Gwendal, I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry." Lost in endless caves under enough dirt and stone to submerge the highest towers of Covenant Castle? Beat marrying Dirk any day. "Will the light last?"
"Not for more than half an hour. It's a stopgap measure. I'll find the lantern."
And hope it hadn't been crushed to uselessness. I helped him look despite his protests, and we found it with just one broken plate not far from where we'd landed. That gave us much more light and wasn't visibly tiring Gunter out, so we could look around.
The cave-in hadn't been polite enough to arrange itself so we had a ramp to climb back up. The wall behind us was sheer and the stone was soft. Even if we could find handholds, it'd crumble in our fingers. "We'll need to look for a way back up. You have parchment on you? If we keep a map we'll be able to find our way back here to try our luck on this wall, if need be."
Gunter swallowed. He looked a bit pale. I patted his shoulder. "Really, it's not a disaster. I'm sure we'll find a way out soon." He was so contrite.
"It's not that. I believed you'd forgiven me the first time." He held up his hand. One fingernail was split and bleeding rather profusely. "Any injury that's been caused by pressure tends to make me a little queasy and unbalanced is all."
"Oh, Gunter…" I sighed and tied a kerchief around it. "You have the parchment?"
"Yes?"
"Than let's go." I knew where the entrance was above us, so best to try and work our way back in that direction, or so said logic. We went slowly, Gunter clearly still sure I was angry with him (and I would have been, if it hadn't been for Dirk and, well, the fact that Gunter could get away with murder as far as I was concerned). I matched his pace and let him rest. Though a small wound, he was right about the shakiness such a blow produced.
The caverns we walked through were fairly bland for a while. A few pretty rock formations, but not much but gray stone and damp floors. I slipped once on a patch of slime and a white salamander crawled up my sleeve, but that was the highlight of our quest to that point.
Then we came on a cave that glowed faintly bright blue. We rested beside that for a while, Gunter telling me all about copper and how it magnified magical properties of storms and other weatherworking magicks. He had a way of making one feel severely undereducated.
The cavern after that was alive. Every surface was covered in a viscous fluid that was adding more to the rocks every day. The stalactites and stalagmites looked liquid themselves, like half-melted sculptures in lovely colors. Gunter cheered up a bit then and I found it impressive myself. While he was examining a rivulet of green water between two mounds of rock, I snuck I a petty and selfish use of magic, urging the stone to subtly form Gunter's name and mine. In a few centuries it would either be eroded away or written boldly across the floor, depending which way the water went. If only our companionship in the living world could go in as many directions.
And then we stepped into a legend.
My knowledge of the caves came from elves and from the diaries of family members, Voltaires before me who'd done some exploring in their spare time, some distant cousins or younger sons hoping to make a name for themselves, discover something amazing. Several made oblique mentions to a local story from the time of Shinou, a tale so romantic and silly no one would believe it was true, but which resonated nonetheless. And yet we found it.
The chamber we walked out into was uniquely round and smooth. The walls were that black crystal Anissina found so appealing for reasons of her own. Though above our heads they were studded with what looked like it might be moonstone, in smooth little droplets, most of the cave was all solid black.
Gunter began to tell me about how such black glass formed, but I shushed him as gently as I could. Even in the entryway to the round little room, I heard whispers. An echo of an echo, a voice in the dark that carried distance and age though it was, my ears told me, right ahead. When Gunter heard it, and saw I wasn't rushing in to rescue some poor soul calling for help, he stopped and was quiet with me.
On tiptoe, I walked into the room. It grew louder as we walked until we almost stepped right into a hole in the floor that fell smoothly away and down past where our lights could reach. Directly above, the whispers became loud.
It was a wordless song from nowhere, echoes trapped forever by the impossibly smooth stone, bouncing round and round off the walls of the cylindrical well in the floor. The tune was old and simple, the voice pure and sweet, and its ghostly melody, though quiet, entered the very bones. It resonated in my very heart. It was, at the same time, the most beautiful and most horrifying thing I'd ever heard, a keening, desperate sorrow, the expression of a gifted artist. After a moment of listening one wasn't even hearing with one's ears, but bones, instead. My whole body was suffused in the mourning song. It was too beautiful to move, to risk disrupting for a moment with a sudden movement, yet it was utterly maddening. My fingers itched to be pressed into my ears, but I still wanted to listen, and despite that, it wouldn't make and difference. The song was everywhere, inside and out, forever strengthened and repeated in its hole, escaping to ensnare the senses of anyone who walked by.
I don't know how long I'd have listened, but Gunter suddenly tore away from my side and bolted through the cavern to the other side. I was snapped out of the spell myself and followed, but more slowly, escaping the song only once I'd left the cavern entirely. It took minutes to cross the floor when a few steps really should have done it.
Gunter was waiting for me, white faced, a ways down the cavern. I'd had the lantern, so he was waiting in the dark and looked like he'd tripped as a result. He gaped at me. "What was that?"
"Nanda's chamber." He just blinked at me. "Local story, I suppose. All that's been passed down is the name. Nanda was either a young man from the country's army or a young woman whose husband was a soldier. Either way, this was back during Shinou's War." It felt good to speak, to hear our ordinary voices, to be close to Gunter's warmth rather than cold, singing stone. Even relating what I'd always thought was a horrid story, whatever positive spin patriotism and optimism put to it. "There are conflicting versions. In some, Nanda's attacked by a possessed victim of Soushu's, in others mortal but well armed soldiers from the opposing army. Either way, Nanda fled into the caves and was still pursued, and rather than give up, hurled him or herself into a deep pit just before they caught up. The pursuer or pursuers assumed the prey was dead and left, but Nanda was still alive, just with two broken legs and the knowledge that the village was busy defending itself and no help would come. Nanda was a singer, and rather than lie still and give in to pain, kept the notes up until the last breath. The surviving villagers found the cave well after Nanda was dead, but the song never stopped, echoing forever just like we heard. Even Shinou's supposed to have come to see and hear." My eye twinged unpleasantly as I spoke. "In the story, the song's one of victory, but what we heard is the voice of someone dying alone and without hope." I swallowed and shivered. In none of the stories was it mentioned that someone had found a way to raise poor Nanda back out of the pit. There were no doubt ancient, dusty bones waiting along with the unending notes behind us. I shivered harder, and Gunter hugged me. We stood that way for a while, me too shaken to even enjoy it. There was beauty behind us, a memorial to one so long dead and obscure even gender was forgotten, but the chill was too much on top of being lost and alone.
We walked on after we could force ourselves to stop cowering. Not much further, though. Whether it was because of Nanda's voice or just having been trapped in a cave in and picking our way through underground tunnels all day, we were exhausted. Gunter and I made camp, such as it was, in a fairly dry alcove, close together. It was chilly. By then I was recovered enough to like it, to watch him fall asleep before I put out the lamp, steal the softest of kisses right on his cheekbone. Ghosts and falling rocks alike wouldn't touch him. My sweet, silly Gunter.
When I finally fell asleep, inched a bit closer to him than I otherwise would have been, I didn't feel alone in my dreams. A voice I recognized, that had a different way of resonating all through me, was speaking in the darkness while my poor eye throbbed. "A good child. A brave girl. They told her story the best they could, but she lies forgotten under miles of earth and travelers react with revulsion. And what will you do about it, Volatire?"
"Send an expedition down. Have a proper memorial raised. Try and find a way to pull her bones out. …Lord Shinou." Were honorifics required in dreams?
"And what will you tell your liegemen about that?"
"That a girl singing with her last breath deserves as much honor as the general who led the forces."
"Cheeky." But did I sense he approved? I dreamed then of following the end of a white robe around corners. When I woke, Gunter was up already. I led him by the same paths I'd seen in my dream. Nice to think Lord Shinou could make himself so useful, except it made me worry about what his plans for me might be such that they were worth granting dreamed maps to lost nobles.
Probably just didn't want to see the repercussions if Dirk and I didn't wed. Gunter was pleasantly surprised and quite complimentary when we saw Anissina coming toward us, scolding me mercilessly for getting lost, finding out whose fault it was, and scolding him even longer. We all felt we'd had enough of the caves and headed home. And from there, little time remained before my wedding.
Gunter and Anissina both headed south a day before I did to handle making sure my family was in line to perform their necessary roles. And also to give me time to say goodbye to home one last time before I'd come back wedded and bedded to a lout. Perhaps the black satin chair in the solar wouldn't care much about the change, but I would, and that was enough.
When I finally arrived at Covenant Castle, Wolfram was waiting for me. "Gwen! Gwen, I heard you fought a monster in the caves? Can I see it? Can Alapai? Can I visit Alapai and go see the monster?"
"Not a monster. Not quite even a ghost, little brother. Are you ready to help give me away?"
"No." His face scrunched up in his most stubborn way. "I'm not gonna. I want to keep you."
"I wish you could, Wolf." I gave him a ride into the castle on my shoulders. He was persuaded to show me his clothes for the wedding, which cheered him up the way only displaying finery could. Conrart shrugged at the suggestion he display his, but Josack was happy to oblige. He actually blushed when he first saw me. I reminded myself to keep a close eye on him. Partaking in a glamorous, momentous affair for noble mazoku would be both treat and torment for the boy.
Mother, of course, looked splendid. Unnervingly so. Stoffel looked himself, but with his buttons shinier. Raven came along to help carry things and offer moral support, for which I was thankful. The two days I spent at the castle in rapid, maddening preparation disappeared far too quickly. I was in a haze all the time. Finally, the day was upon me. I'd leave now, and when I returned my family allegiances would no longer be mine and I'd be the ransom for the nation, peace my groomprice. Dealing with ghost girls seemed palatable by comparison.
Shinou was irksomely silent when I visited the temple. My eye did hurt a little, though.
I couldn't hold onto details or experiences. The more I tried to drink in for the last few days as myself alone, as Gwendal unsullied, the more they vanished. Wolfram and I went for a walk, or maybe that was with Conrart. Mother fitted a jade pendant into my hair for luck one morning. Or after dinner; I wasn't sure. Anissina and Gunter had gone on ahead. There was no one in the castle I could speak to but Wolfram, and though he'd listen he was getting old enough to understand. I wouldn't overburden him.
I was finished.
The days of travel it took to reach the Rochefort's manor were no more respite than the time at the castle had been. Minutes dragged, but hours vanished. I almost punched Stoffel for a comment to Josack. Not even a particularly nasty one. The boy shrugged it off. But I needed to be doing something other than staring down the barrel of despicably married life.
We arrived in the morning. The wedding was set for the early evening to be followed by a feast. I'd been so efficient in my preparations there was nothing at all to do. Now that I could only hope to get it over with quickly, seconds took eons to pass. I stared at a clock. I made the acquaintance of a skittish, ill-bred (if pretty) white horse I'd be riding to the wedding. I rechecked the boxes that contained my dowry gifts. I paced back and forth a lot. Gunter and Anissina must be here somewhere, but the two grooms weren't to mix with the party. It wasn't seemly. At least I didn't see Dirk, either.
And finally, a quarter mile from the Rochefort's front gate, I was hopping onto the unpleasant cob, Frostling. Mother was on my right, holding the reigns. Stoffel took the left, hand on her neck, trying to look extra regal. My hair was dressed as nicely as the stubborn stuff would agree to being. Mother had procured new formal clothes for me, the old new ones having been burnt to greenish crisps. Josack, Conrart, and Wolfram fell into step behind, looking nervously excited, sulky, and smugly sulky, respectively. I could only try and keep my face neutral. A smile would have cracked the fabric of the universe.
Dirk was waiting at the steps. I swung down with something like elegance, despite Frostling's twitchiness. I'd recited the hated words a dozen times a day since leaving the Eyrie. After a while, they became just sounds, thoughtless, flat, no more an investiture than breathing. "Dirk Von Rochefort, in accepting your hand I have granted my heart. Do me the honor of accepting me into your home."
He stumbled a bit over his. He didn't look as bad as I remembered. Maybe, in this crowd and in formal clothes that didn't suit him, he looked a bit younger. "The honor is mine and my heart is granted in return. Enter, and become one with my blood." He unfurled the Rochefort marriage robe, an unflattering combination of canary yellow and light blue. It hung on my shoulders like a cobweb on a coathook, but no marriage robe was flattering.
"In return do me the great honor of binding your blood to mine, and let our houses become one." I shook out my robe and draped it over his shoulders. He looked slightly less like a little boy playing dress up, but only slightly, and that advantage was ruined when his shoulder slipped free.
"Let our houses and our homes be one. That you may being in partaking in what I have, I grant you my sigil." This one was his advantage. No worrying over what dowry gifts would pass as meaningful, just a carved red brooch with the Rochefort crest emblazoned on it. Oh, I'd wear that everywhere.
Actually, I'd have to. Damn.
"I accept your gracious gift with full heart. That my life and yours may be joined entirely, I offer these tokens. Firstly, an artifact gathered by my grandmother in an exploratory expedition to the summer country." Josack stepped forward, perfectly on cue, and handed him the vase. He didn't bat an eyelid, apparently not recognizing Josack's ancestry and assuming him to be some minor branch of the family's cousin. "The mark of honor granted me by my commanding officer in recognition of victory in battle." Conrart gave him the bridle. They scowled at each other, but only a little. Hopefully no one noticed. "And a newly bound book of ancient prophecy, lives past and present bound into one to look toward a bright future." Oh, the nonsense. I got just a moment's amusement when Wolfram pretended to overbalance standing on tiptoe and dropped the book on Dirk's toe. It looked sweet and endearing, and Dirk looked a bit of a lout for frowning at him as he stooped to pick it up.
He hadn't appointed anyone to stand nearby and take the gifts, and was left standing awkwardly for a moment before his father quickly stepped up. My little joys were becoming so very petty. Dirk looked at me. "Your gracious gifts' message further deepens my love." Oh, the line was in the ceremony, but it felt like an arrow to the heart. "Give me your hand, and let our life as one begin."
Oh, goodbye, youth and what was left of innocence. Goodbye Gunter, and the sweet, hopeful dreams that now are truly impossible. Goodbye, freedom, peace of mind. Goodbye, my heart. Let the ice take me now, to my Lord Shinou's satisfaction. I gave him my hand, and the marriage was sealed.