Return to the Shadows (25 page)

But Mark just slung an arm around my shoulder
and laughed because, well…he knew me, I realized. Well enough to
know that my family meant everything in the world—in two worlds—to
me. And well enough to know when to take me seriously and when to
laugh and shrug it off.

“Isn’t it…wrong…to get married without anyone
there?”

“Maybe. But think what a surprise it will be
for everyone when we get back.”

“Well,” I considered, longing to throw
caution to the wind and just say yes, “you’ll follow me, and
Ashley, everywhere?”

“We’ll never be apart, I promise you. Come
on, Claire,” he whispered, low and husky. “Have an adventure with
me.”

“Let’s do it,” I whispered back, and squeezed
his hand. For better or for worse…

Chapter Twelve

Reprieve

We were married in the ruins in a little
known, all but unfrequented spot high atop the mountain.

According to Mark—and the handful of
townspeople who had insisted on accompanying the magistrate—we were
standing, and would be wed, on sacred ground. Married. I was about
to get married. The words whispered over and over again through my
mind, a mantra that changed in tone and tempo on our way up the
mountain, sometimes a constant litany and sometimes chanted
silently in tune with each step taken until finally, we had reached
our destination. Married...

No one knew better than I did that it was
usually never too late to run if that was your best option.

But one look at the earnest hope that was
plain for all to see in Mark’s eyes, and I knew that I wouldn’t
turn tail and bolt—and it had nothing to do with the high
probability of injuring myself or falling off the mountain in my
heels should I have been tempted to run for it. Any bride would
have been a little nervous to elope, right? I thought I remembered
reading somewhere that the “runaway bride” that had been on the
receiving end of so much media coverage several years ago in my own
world had been one of those “long engagement” brides. I thought on
this as the eager townspeople positioned themselves into a tight
knit semi-circle around us in preparation for the ceremony. Maybe
that was the difference between normal wedding jitters and fleeing
from a church with an angry groom and massively confused wedding
party in hot pursuit. Time. It made sense in a crazy sort of way. I
mean, how many times has someone stopped in the middle of not
thinking of the implications of one thing or another in order to
have a change of heart? Almost never.

“Claire.”

“Hmm?” I glanced sideways at my intended.

“You’re doing it again,” he said in a tone
laced with amusement.

“What?” I asked, struggling in shame to
remember if he’d just asked me a pressing question, and shooting a
fast look at the holy man, who, thankfully, was still arranging his
ceremonial robes.

“That.” He traced a finger along my jaw.
“You’re daydreaming. Not thinking of running, are you?”

“No,” I said, perhaps a bit too hastily. I
hadn’t been considering it, not really. But still, once again, Mark
seemed to get into my head and his question hit a little too close
to home. “I was just thinking that people who elope usually don’t
give themselves time to run,” I candidly admitted.

“I see.” His lips twitched briefly and he
looked away, out toward the horizon off the farthest edge of the
mountain ledge. “And would you run if you gave yourself enough time
to think it over?” he questioned in a speculative tone.

“No.” I was truthful. “I don’t believe I
would run if I had a million years to think about it.”

“Well, that’s good because you’d never make
it off the side of this mountain in those shoes.”

“Mark!” I choked back the laughter and dared
a glance at the magistrate before whispering, “What about you?”

“No,” he whispered back. “I don’t think I’d
make it either. Face it, Claire, we’re just not dressed for
it.”

I shook my head, then linked arms with him
when we were motioned forward. The ceremony was about to begin.

“Mark and Claire, you wish to be joined
together?”

“Yes,” we answered.

The elderly magistrate smiled his approval
and asked us to join our left hands, and then he opened an old,
faded brown leather book and began to speak in a language that I
could not understand. Keeping my head bowed so as not to disturb
the ceremony, I peeked up and to the side, catching Mark’s eye
immediately and raising one brow in question. He smiled in answer
and gave my fingers a light squeeze—apparently all was well. The
man before us continued reciting from the book he held open with
gnarled hands. Maybe it was Terlain’s equivalent to Latin, I
speculated, keeping silent. The ceremony was no less beautiful
because I couldn’t understand a word the magistrate was saying, no
less special because of its haste. It didn’t take long before I was
swept up in the magic. I let the words flow over me and through me,
and the breeze was cool and crisp and cleansing all at once. I
drank it in, wishing I could freeze time, take a picture, and
remember all of it forever, to be relived over and over again.
Every scent, every word, every sound was committed to memory in
those precious seconds.

When the magistrate fell silent, Mark and I
looked up expectantly, our hands still linked together. I was
pretty sure that Mark looked up because he was familiar with the
marriage ritual and whatever was to come next; I looked up because
the man had stopped reading from his book, and everyone else seemed
to be staring at him right then. What was next? Were we supposed to
say something like we would have done back home? I do? I will?
Maybe even just a simple “yes?” I didn’t have the slightest clue,
so I stayed silent, smiling slightly at Mark and watching for an
opportunity to take his lead.

The magistrate closed the book and set it
aside on the ridge next to where we stood; he took my right hand
and placed it carefully in Mark’s, and an old woman from the
village came to stand next to him. She held the bloom of a giant
white flower in her hands and she had the kindest eyes I’d ever
seen. The woman cupped her hands around the blossom, clutched it
tight, and raised both arms high above our heads. I leaned a little
closer to Mark, uncertain, and in the next instant, the woman gave
a joyous shout and opened her hands to release a burst of glitter
that rained down upon our heads.

“Wow!” I exclaimed, grinning up into Mark’s
face and gripping his shoulders with both hands.

“The marriage blossom,” he explained,
brushing a fleck of glitter off my nose before pressing a kiss to
my lips amid a backdrop of laughter and applause from our small
crowd of witnesses.

“My wife,” he murmured, staying close.

“Mark…” My eyes widened. A large group was
headed our way. I watched them materialize through the mist,
becoming more solid with each step. Women, I finally noted, pulling
away from my new husband long enough to grip his arm and turn him
toward the procession. The magistrate fell silent, as did the
townspeople. Even Mark watched the scene with a grim calm that was
alarming.

“I don’t believe it,” he muttered, moving to
stand in front of me.

“Mark?” I whispered, straining to see the
women in black over his shoulder. They were closer now, almost upon
us, but their faces were mostly obscured by the dark cloaks they
were all garbed in. “Who are those women?” Visions of jealous old
girlfriends danced absurdly in my head and I smothered the urge to
laugh. Judging by the anxious, half-fearful expressions on the
townspeople’s faces behind us, the situation was nothing to joke
about.

“I think they’re the Matrons.”

“The Matrons,” I breathed, reverent and
excited all at once. “Wait.” I frowned. “You think?”

“No one that I know of has ever seen them in
person like this,” he explained, still radiating tension.

“Oh.” I couldn’t believe it. “Well, are they
violent?” I asked, though from everything I had read last year in
my brother’s notes, they weren’t reported to be.

“Not that I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, then quit blocking me!” I demanded,
darting around his shoulder to stand next to him. “I want to see
too.”

“Get behind me, Claire.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You might get hurt.”

“You just said they aren’t violent.”

“There’s always a first time for everything,”
he insisted, trying to shove me behind his back once more.

“Stop,” the tallest black-cloaked woman
intoned.

“See?” I muttered to my irate husband. “She
told you.” As far as I was concerned, these Matrons were all
right.

“Damn it, Claire,” he whispered furiously
before falling silent.

“Shut up. You’re being rude,” I whispered
back.

“Be silent, both of you!” the magistrate
pleaded quietly from somewhere behind us.

There were twelve of them and they stood in
two rows of six. I gasped when, as one, they all reached back to
lower the hoods of their cloaks. All were older, but still very
beautiful, and all had long bright hair that reminded me of liquid
silver. They all wore identical expressions of calm efficiency that
probably would have been downright scary had I not already been
somewhat familiar with them; as it was, their unflappable statures
and silence was still very much unnerving, but I stood tall and
proud next to Mark, vaguely aware of him doing the same thing
beside me. What were they doing at our wedding, of all places? Not
that I wasn’t honored, but the Matrons were basically the ultimate
high council of Terlain, though from what I could tell, they often
deigned not to interfere with the people of Terlain. They had been
notably absent during the most recent uprising of Kahn and his men,
yet here they were at my wedding?

Somehow, I doubted it was a social call that
brought the reclusive Matrons to the mountain, to us.

“There was a wedding here today.” The middle
one spoke in a clear voice.

“There was.” I smiled at her, hoping that
they couldn’t tell how nervous I felt. “You just missed it. You’re
the Matrons, aren’t you?”

They nodded. “And you’re Claire Roberts.”

I nodded in return, feeling the anxiety bloom
larger than the enormous wedding flower—hopefully, I wouldn’t
explode in a flurry of glitter, although right at that moment I
felt like anything was possible. So they knew me on sight. The
Matrons had come to talk to me then. I felt the tension flowing
from Mark in waves and his almost imperceptible shift toward me,
and knew that I was correct in my assumption.

“You’ve come for me,” I stated, deciding to
take the bull by the horns and just come out with it, get it over
with.

“We’ve come to see the woman who’s caused so
much talk in our world—and the man.” They spoke as one, perfectly
in sync with one another. “It’s good to meet the Warrior of the
Ruins. You’ve done well. The evil one’s flame is almost
extinguished now.”

“Kahn?” I asked, addressing the question to
the woman who stood front and center. She was the only one who had
spoken without the others, so I felt safe in assuming she played
some sort of leadership role within the group, though it was
impossible to be certain without knowing more about their
infrastructure.

“His army is all but obliterated,” the leader
informed us. “The few that remain alive have scattered to the
forests to run and hide.”

“The beasts still run rampant,” Mark
countered, seeming somewhat less anxious.

“Yes,” the woman agreed. “There is much yet
to be done.”

“The fences have failed,” Mark pointed out,
his expression grim.

“Yes.”

“Why? I—we, the people of Terlain—thought the
spell you cast on them was iron-clad, permanent. Can you tell us
what happened?”

“Perhaps it was time for the people to
fight,” she answered.

“But what about Kahn himself?” I boldly
voiced the question before Mark could say something unwise about
the countless lives that were lost, the villages that were heavily
damaged or even destroyed. Kahn’s destruction covered a wide swath,
and we were still trying to get an accurate body count.

“He’s gone to ground. For now.”

I sensed her response was deliberately
cryptic and, more importantly, that she wouldn’t say anything more
on the subject. Still, I had to try to glean what information I
could from them. After all, it wasn’t likely that we would have a
better chance, not with the Matrons anyway.

“He is still a formidable enemy. Although
you’re safe for now, it won’t always be so. You must be ready.”

“Now when you say it won’t always be so…” I
wet my lips. “Are we talking next week or next month, or maybe,
say, twenty years from now?” I asked hopefully.

“Claire,” Mark sighed.

“Right. Sorry.” I bit my lip. “We’ll be ready
for him, whenever that time comes.”

“We will stand against him,” Mark agreed,
straightening his shoulders.

The woman inclined her head, the barest hint
of a smile on her pale lips.

“Can you reinforce the fences?” I asked,
almost afraid to hear her answer.

“Perhaps at some point.”

“Oh,” I said, momentarily deflated.

“You have both done very well for the people
of Terlain,” she said, bringing us back to the original reason for
their visit.

“Thank you.” Mark and I acknowledged the high
honor with words that somehow seemed woefully inadequate.

“And thank you for coming here, on our
wedding day, to congratulate us. It is an honor that we do not take
lightly,” Mark assured the women.

“This is not the only reason why we have come
here on this day.” The woman’s eyes zeroed in on me.

“Oh?” Mark queried.

“We’ve come to warn her.”

“Me?” I uttered stupidly. Like they could
have meant anyone else.