Dark Lord's Wedding (51 page)

A mist rose screaming from the body. It fumed and clawed at the ceiling, trying to wriggle away. Jerani worried it could be the man’s spirit. It shrieked as it slid backward into the lady’s dress. Her skirt clamped around the ghost and swallowed it. Then the silk wrinkled, like hands beat against it struggling to get out. It dimpled with the spirit’s empty eyes and wailing mouth.

Her dress shimmered with the trapped souls the dead. She might’ve killed them all.

Yes, Jerani had chosen the right side. He wouldn’t want to cross her.

Pillow seats rustled from the kings’ table. The men had hefted their axes when the winged warrior had fallen. Now they blinked from their weapons to the lady’s dress. Even the jaguar knight snapped his mouth closed and made no move to attack.

Celaise’s gown had scared them. She frightened kings. Such strength, more than twenty charging bulls. A howling thrill filled Jerani to be near her. She glanced to him with a skin-tearing smile. Her fingers met his, and he held on. The claws of her gloves sank into his palm. He squeezed them deeper. She mustn’t ever let go.

With a
thunk
, the Talon fell to his knees. He leaned back, and his headdress swept the floor. “They’ve all failed you, Great Burning One, Bringer of the Seventh Cleansing.”

The lady strolled toward him, dress squirming behind her.

He angled his dagger over his own chest. “No heart has greater devotion to you. May it outweigh all their slights. Take it. Devour it!”

Jerani couldn’t believe the man would stab himself. The Talon had to expect the lady to reach out and stop him. She would be there in a breath.

He didn’t wait. His dagger gouged into his chest. His arms pumped, sawing into the ribcage with a horrible cracking sound. He spluttered blood, gagged, but kept at it in a fury. He would carve out his own heart.

“Impressive.” The lady’s hand clamped onto his. “Yet I didn’t give you permission to die.”

She flung away his dagger. It broke against the center column. Her gems stormed in a colorful rain over the Talon. His chest wound closed. Blood slurped back down his throat.

“I forbid one more drop to spill in honor of your god tonight,” Hiresha said.

“No!” The Talon quivered but couldn’t seem to move. Only his eyes could strike at her. “You cannot deny a god.”

“I can at my wedding.”

Men had lost their lives in front of Jerani before. Seeing life forced back into a man seemed even more wrong. Jerani’s insides were doing squishy things, and a rot of copper had filled his mouth from biting his tongue.

Hiresha patted the Talon’s cheek. “Don’t be so morbid on this happy night. You told me you wished for the heads of Bright Palms? That I may be able to arrange.”

The Talon’s bloodshot eyes jerked to look at the table with the paralyzed Bright Palm.

The Empire warrior stood over her, hand on sword hilt. “Figure she hasn’t got a spare head.”

“Yes,” Hiresha said, “yet others may be willing to donate theirs if it’ll spare the lives of sacrifices.”

The paralyzed Bright Palm said something too faint to hear.

The lady must’ve understood. “That’s insufficient reason to dismiss the arrangement. I would ensure the priests respect the spirit of your sacrifice. Come.”

The Talon slid after the lady toward the table. The lord went with them along with his Feaster knights.

Celaise held Jerani back a step. Her smile that shone so black during the day was now moon white. She asked, “Did you see their faces? They’ll never forget these gowns.”

“The guests won’t,” Jerani said. “You should be proud as a giraffe.”

“As long as they remember … as long as you remember, then it won’t matter so much what happens next.” The crescent of her smile slipped away.

“I think we’ll make it. The lord and lady together, no one’s hurting them. A fireball to the face and he only had to change his clothes.”

“The lord won’t let me get away. No matter how far I go, no matter where I hide, he’ll track me down.” Her black-feather brows angled together. “You could leave, alone. Jerani, go now when no one will miss you.”

He had to ask. “Will you?”

“Too much.”

His heart pressed toward her, squeezing against his ribs in a good pain. “If that’s what you need from me, I’ll go.”

Her eyes flickered from him to the lady’s gown. Jerani moved so Celaise could keep both in sight. She said, “I need you to stay.”

Happiness roared within him. “My spear will keep the Bright Palms from you.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I just want you near, to see my gowns, to be close.”

She didn’t need much help anymore at day. Even less at night. Other people tended their llamas. If she didn’t want him to mount her, what good was he for her? He said, “Then you don’t need me?”

“I just told you I did.”

“Those aren’t needs, just being here.”

“With me,” she said. “I guess that’s love.”

“Huh.” People outside the grasslands had strange ideas. All Celaise needed was for him to be close to her. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

He kissed her cheek, and she didn’t turn away. Her skin was as hard as obsidian but warm to the touch like the stone of a rumbling volcano. She reached up and flicked a clawed finger across his lips, and the bright surprise of it slashed all the way through him down to his loins.

“Let me show you something.” She passed her hand over his eyes. The feathers of her dress folded inward. They smoothed together and brightened to blue. She wasn’t wearing sky, just cloth, the kind any woman might have. “I tailored it.”

He stepped back to take all of her in. The dress fit against her curves. This was the one he had given her. She had done something with its sleeves, layered them maybe. “You’re a great dressmaker. Yes, that’s what you can do, when this is all over. Make dresses.”

“You mean us going away together?” Her fingers grazed his arm, sliced across his skin. A jolt ran to his shoulder, but there was no blood, no cut. Her lightest touch reached his bones. Behind Celaise swept the room’s flaming axe of candles.

“We might,” he said.

“If there’s a way, we will. Promise it.”

He cupped her hands in his like he might hold stream water that he had walked ten miles to find. Jerani bent over and kissed her fingers. The clear shock of her numbed his lips and made his face throb along his warrior marks. “I promise.”

“I do too,” she said. “Just us, together and free.”

“Safe on the grasslands.”

She pulled her hands away from his. “There’re no dress shops on the savanna.”

“Guess not.” Tightness in his stomach curled him into a hunch. He leaned into his spear. His insides spun to the side. He was upside down on the ceiling of a glass house. Jerani didn’t belong here. Not with her.

He didn’t know if he should’ve promised after all. What future could they have together? If they made it that far. No family and no herd and no tribe.

“I’m sorry.” She rested a hand smoldering across his chest. Her eyes had taken the color of her gown, bright at the center like blue suns. They would burn him, but he could stare until he went blind.

Celaise glided past. Blackness sprouted from her back. Feathers splayed from her hips. Her blue dress had gone as if it had never been. She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to follow.

Maybe he shouldn’t. If she couldn’t ever leave the lord, Jerani might have to leave her.

He couldn’t. Jerani knew he needed her too. She had called that love. It was more like being trapped by flash fires, too hot all around, too smoky to think straight, too bright to see a way out. The lord would burn them all alive.

But the lord had vowed to give Jerani something, anything. The lord owned Celaise, and he shouldn’t. Jerani could ask for her freedom.

Would it work? The lord might keep his word. He might not lie. Jerani had to try. He would ask. What a wonder if the lord agreed. Jerani could leap and spin around the top of his spear, but this wasn’t the place. He might fall to the floor, far below, or land on the bright crystal axe things.

Jerani caught up to Celaise. Tingles ran up from his toes to his ankles. Was the enchantment in the ceiling letting him go? If he dropped, he might fly. No, his feet stayed planted. Everything was right.

“Our promise,” he said to Celaise, “we’re going to keep it.”

Hiresha had tolerated impertinence long enough. The guests would sit at their correct seats. She and Tethiel could never succeed at uniting the guests without first balancing enemies against each other.

She Attracted the Talon toward the third table. His place was beside Alyla, with a setting of gemstone tiles depicting the pyramid temples of the City of Endless Day. There Fos sat. He might’ve even confused the design for the ziggurats of their home. He still had to leave.

She needed a tactful way to extricate Fos. Even more finesse would be required to install him at the kings’ table without objection. They still stood with their axes, their faces flexing with uncertainty. The kings would want to support the Talon, yet all Hiresha had done was save his life. They would look foolish sitting down after rising for a confrontation.

“Scrumptious!” The lord clapped his hand together. “You’re already standing. Gather round, gather round. This next course is so precious that there won’t be enough for all.”

The veiled servers carried out entrées concealed with silver lids. The king brute turned to inhale appreciatively at the aroma. The jaguar knight’s whiskers twitched. Tethiel appeared to have presented a suitable diversion.

“No one returns alive from the Valley of Orchids,” he said, “but my children have done so to bring us the legendary nightbliss flower.”

The servers rested their hands on the tray handles, ready to reveal the dishes. A distinct and unforgettable smell had already escaped, not one easy for Hiresha to quantify but most similar to a conflux of vanilla and paprika.

“One taste of the nightbliss flower,” Tethiel said, “and you’ll ache forever for another. It is the perfect pleasure, over in an instant and worth a lifetime of pining.”

Tethiel had the attention of all the guests except the Talon and Alyla. She reclined in a hammock chair brought for her. Only her chest moved, under the power of the enchanted topaz.

The Talon crouched across from her in his newly vacated and correct seat. The despair that had slackened his expression moments before had blazed away with exceptional speed. Now he spoke with such purpose that red spittle flecked from his lips. “The Winged Flame will exalt in the fire of your blood, but no quiet leeching will do.”

“Correct,” Hiresha said. “As the Bright Palms have little heat and less fear, you would say their life force is confined to their skulls.”

He raised a fist as if holding a lantern or the hair of a severed head. “What honor to the Great God for their precious water to cascade white down his temple.”

“Your desire is great.” Hiresha floated at the front of the table, between the Talon and Alyla. “Hers is nonexistent. The difference must be made up in an offer.”

In her semi-reclined position, Alyla had to peer at the Talon past her nose. “I could accept on behalf of the Order, if your terms uphold our tenets.”

Hiresha touched one of the Talon’s opalescent feathers. “How many innocents would you spare for the sacrifice of each Bright Palm?”

“Ten,” he said.

“It must be twenty-five at minimum. A Bright Palm is one in a thousand, statistically speaking.” Hiresha felt less than at ease negotiating sacrifices, and she was glad for it. One shouldn’t be too comfortable bartering lives, even if the Bright Palms could not be classified precisely as people.

Hiresha folded her hands over her bodice, with its lace of human ivory. She was still achieving the greatest good for the greatest numbers. The tenets of the Bright Palms could align with the Talon’s bloodthirst, and their dependence on her as a mediator would also meet her needs.

The Talon was rocking back and forth in excitement. Bright Palm Alyla had stayed motionless, of course, and she spoke in her monotone. “Our first tenet is to protect the Innocent, and weakening ourselves in sacrifices may endanger people to Feasters.”