The Shining City (56 page)

“Neil.”

“What did my mother say to ye?”

“She wished me well this evening.”

“Really? Is that all?”

“What else would she have said?”

“I dinna ken. I thought perhaps . . .” He hesitated, his eyes searching her face. He saw how angry she looked and said unevenly, “She did say something. Oh, Bronny, I‟m sorry. . . . My mother has no‟ been well lately. She‟s got this fancy into her head. . . . She thinks . . . she thinks . . .”

“She thinks ye are in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“And are ye?”

“Yes.” He said the word on a long sigh.

Bronwen tapped her foot impatiently. “Neil, in about two hours‟ time I am jumping the fire with your best friend. Do ye really think it is wise for ye, or your mother, to be telling me this?”

“So she
did
say something! What? What did she say?”

“She did no‟ mention ye.”

Neil heaved a sigh. “I thought she had. . . . Ye looked so upset.”

Bronwen looked down at the pointed toe of her slipper. “She thought fit to tell me that my husband-to-be does no‟ love me.”

“He canna love ye as much as I do,” Neil said simply. “Oh, Bronny, must ye really marry him?

He doesna understand ye, truly he doesna. He is so angry still about Mat. He blames ye. But
I
ken it‟s no‟ your fault, Bronny.”

She searched his face with her eyes. He was much the same height as she was, and he was standing very close. She could see nothing but sincerity in his face.

“Ye‟re alone in that,” she said bitterly, and looked away.

He caught her hand in both of his and carried it to his lips, kissing her palm fervently.

She pulled her hand away but said with mild curiosity, “Ye and Donncan have been the best o‟

friends since ye were bairns. Does it no‟ trouble ye, flirting with me the very day o‟ our wedding?”

“I am no‟ flirting,” Neil said, very low and intense. “I‟m in love with ye, Bronwen. I have loved ye all my life and I will never love another. Ye and Donncan were betrothed as children. Ye have never been given the chance to ken your own hearts. It was no‟ fair to any o‟ us. If ye had been free, do ye no‟ think I would‟ve told ye how I felt earlier? And if ye and Donncan were happy, do ye think I would tell ye now? O‟ course I wouldna. But I can see ye are no‟ happy.”

Bronwen did not know what to say. Tears choked her. Neil pressed her fingers in sympathy.

He said, “If ye do no‟ want to marry him, just let me ken. I‟ll take ye away. I‟ll do whatever ye want. We can go to Arran, we can go to the Fair Isles, wherever ye want. I can keep ye safe from the MacCuinns, if ye are afraid they would be angry. I would love ye and look after ye all our lives, I‟d make ye happy, I swear it. Just let me ken. . . .”

For a moment Bronwen almost reached towards him, almost begged him to take her away. It was intoxicating to have a man love her so deeply, so intensely, for her own sake and not merely for some political gain. But then she took a step away, shaking her head. “I am a banprionnsa and a NicCuinn,” she said. “If this wedding fails, so does the Pact o‟ Peace. We could have war again.

Do ye think I want that?”

His shoulders sagged. “No,” he said.

Bronwen held out her hand to him. “I‟m sorry, Neil.”

He took her hand and bent to kiss it. Over his head Bronwen saw Elfrida watching them and felt her spine stiffen. She pulled her hand away.

“Time for me to go and make myself bonny,” she said gaily. “See ye again at sunset.”

Neil‟s hand dropped to his side, his eyes widening in sudden hurt. Bronwen smiled at Elfrida and made her escape. She went straight to her room. The door had barely shut behind her before Bronwen had stripped off her hot, damp, clinging gown and dived naked into her pool. She swam to the far side in three swift strokes and cursed its smallness, turning and striking out for the edge again. She would have liked to have swum so far her lungs labored and her arms ached with exhaustion. She would have liked to have dived so deep that light diminished around her and strange bulbous eyes began to glow like weird whiskered stars. She would have liked to fight the waves, surging up their foam-dappled sides and leaping beyond their sudden slap and hiss and crash. She would have liked to scream and shout and smack someone very hard—Donncan preferably, for making her weep in public and show that she cared, when he so clearly did not.

The water in the pool heaved and splashed as she swam, stroke, stroke, stroke, turn, stroke, stroke, stroke. At last she lay still, floating facedown, breathing noisily through her gills and watching hexagonal reflections of light break and coalesce on the tiled floor of the pool below her. Gradually the tumultuous water subsided. The hexagons steadied. Still Bronwen floated, arms and legs spread. The salt of her tears flowed into the salt of the pool, and no one saw or heard.

Sea-child . . .

Bronwen jerked upright, her tail slapping the water.

Thunderlily sat cross-legged on the side of the pool, regarding her with clear eyes. Her long mane of white hair hung down her back and pooled on the ground around her.

Why do you grieve?
the Celestine said, in response to Bronwen‟s wordless demand.
I heard you
far away. I came.

Did ye really hear me?

Yes.

Were ye listening for me?

Yes.

Ye shouldna have. It was private. I wanted no one. . . .

I know, but I could not help but hear.

Bronwen swam to the side of the pool and climbed out, water streaming from her. She caught up a linen towel and wrapped it around herself.

Only because ye were listening
, she thought crossly.

I am sorry.

Bronwen sighed. “Is it time already?” she asked aloud.

Yes
, Thunderlily hummed.
It is time. The earth is turning, the sun moves towards the horizon,
soon it will be dusk and your people’s midsummer fire will be nothing but embers.

It is time
, Bronwen repeated, and the thought was both pleasure and pain to her.

I too am to be mated
, Thunderlily said somberly.
His name is Stormstrider.

I saw him at the Pool of Two Moons
, Bronwen said.
Do ye no’ like him?

The Celestine stared down at her bare feet, very long and elegant.
It is not for me to like or not to
like.

But I thought that ye must love your beloved, if ye must sacrifice him for the Summer Tree. Does
it work if ye do no’ love him?
Bronwen fumbled to express her thoughts, for no matter how fascinated she was by the Celestine‟s culture, part of her was still horrified by the blood sacrifice that was their most sacred ritual.

In time I am sure I will love him. I must.
Thunderlily‟s mind-voice was miserable indeed.

It is your duty,
Bronwen said with ironic seriousness.

Yes. As today is yours. But you truly do love the winged one, try as you might to deny
it,
Thunderlily said.
Do you think I do not know?

“Celestines do not always see truly, believe it or not,” Bronwen said.

I believe not.

“Arrogant creature,” Bronwen said.

Thunderlily smiled.

“Have ye brought me my dress?‟

Thunderlily hummed in pleasure and rose, crossing the room to where a dress hung from the doorknob. It was made of the silk the Celestines spun from the weaver-worm‟s cocoons, a heavy shimmering fabric of palest silver embroidered with silver flowers at hem and cuff. It was a dress

spun of moon-shine. There was a veil to match, delicate as cobweb, and a long train embroidered with silver roses, with tiny pearls stitched along its length.

“Glory be!” Bronwen whispered. “Well, if Donncan doesna like me in this dress, he isn‟t a man!”

He will like you
, Thunderlily hummed.

“He is a man after all,” Bronwen agreed. She rubbed herself dry and wrapped her long black hair up in the towel before slipping the dress on. Made without seam or button, it flowed along every curve of her body, sensuous as water. Bronwen twirled and pirouetted, unable to help smiling in delight. “Well, naught like a new dress to cheer ye up,” she said ruefully. “Thank ye, Thunderlily.”

The Celestine hummed and bowed her head, hands pressed together.

I will go now and prepare myself,
she said.
I have never been to a human wedding before. I am
honored indeed that you wished me, above all others, to be in attendance upon you. I will not fail
you.

It is an honor and a blessing that a child of the Stargazers has consented to cast their radiance
upon my wedding,
Bronwen replied formally, bowing low.
May it augur well for the future.

May it be so
, Thunderlily answered gravely.

T
he air was filled with a strange green light. Thunder rumbled. A hot wind was rising, pulling at Olwynne‟s hair and shaking the leaves of all the trees in the garden. It caught Bronwen‟s veil and dragged it sideways and almost tore the long rose-embroidered train out of Olwynne‟s hands. A few large drops of rain splattered the stone pathway.

Olwynne looked up at the low, dark clouds with foreboding. It was considered a very bad omen for rain to fall on Midsummer‟s Day, particularly if the fire that had burned all night and all day was doused before sunset.

She wondered if it was also a bad omen to have one‟s maid-of-honor fall ill so unexpectedly just before the wedding. Olwynne had certainly not expected she would have to carry her cousin‟s bridal train today. That honor had been reserved for Thunderlily, Bronwen‟s closest friend. Yet Thunderlily had not come with Olwynne, Heloïse, and all the other bridesmaids to help Bronwen finish dressing, to advise the maids on the styling of her hair and the placement of the wreath, and to exclaim over the magnificent ropes of pearls that had been a gift from her Uncle Nila.

Bronwen had looked for Thunderlily and asked for her often, as the maids had dressed her black hair with pearls and flowers, and attached the long train, and powdered her cheeks and rouged her lips. Olwynne had even sent one of the pages running to find the Celestine. He came panting back with a message from the College of Healers, saying she had been struck down with a sudden bout of sickness and could not possibly come.

Bronwen had been startled and upset. For a moment she had balked, so that Olwynne had

wondered if she meant to refuse to go on with the wedding. She had composed herself, however, and allowed Olwynne and Heloïse to draw the long veil down over her face, which was so pale and impassive it looked as if she had been carved from ice.

Now Olwynne did her best to keep the heavy train from snagging on the thorns of the roses that bent their heavy heads over the aisle. She could hear the musicians striking up a stately refrain, and she raised her head, smiling as naturally as she could when her heart was so heavy in her chest it felt like a stone.

Roden led the bridal procession up the aisle, his chestnut curls combed back neatly. He was dressed in a white satin doublet and breeches tied under the knee with silver cord, and trimmed with seed pearls and knots of silver. It was clear he felt he looked ridiculous, for his lower lip was pushed out mutinously, and every now and again he lifted a hand to tug at his cravat. Since he was carrying a silver bell upon a silken cushion, this caused Olwynne some anxiety as every time he tugged, the cushion tipped, almost sending the bell crashing to the ground. Olwynne was sure that would be yet another inauspicious omen.

Behind Olwynne walked eleven handmaidens, chosen from all of the great families. Among them were two of Bronwen‟s Fairgean cousins, daughters of King Nila and Queen Fand. They were tall and silent, with pale silvery eyes and hair as black as night. Beside them, the four giddy daughters of the NicThanach of Blèssem looked plump and highly colored, though in general they were held to be very pretty girls. The twelve bridesmaids all carried posies of white moonflowers, roses, and vervain, matching the wreath on Bronwen‟s head.

Donncan was standing at the far end of the aisle, looking handsome in a coat of green velvet that must have been uncomfortable on such an oppressively hot day. At the sound of the trumpets, he turned to look for them. Olwynne saw how his expression changed when he saw Bronwen, and her heart constricted. She could only hope with all her might that they would be happy, these cousins who had been betrothed as children, knowing that their union was the only thing binding an uneasy peace treaty together.

She hoped Bronwen would be kind to him. Donncan had loved Bronwen wholeheartedly for

years, and Olwynne knew how he had suffered from not knowing her feelings in return. No one could ever really be sure of what Bronwen felt. She was always so cool and enigmatic, so quick to turn away emotion with a clever, mocking jest. Perhaps she feared betrayal and

disappointment and so tried to pretend she cared for nothing. Or perhaps she truly did not care.