Page 72 of Iron Blade

It was uncanny how my cousin had memorized all of this so fast. It was even more irritating how his contacts were able to legally ordain him as a minister in two seconds flat. But beggars could not be choosers, and I should be grateful we were able to pull this off in time.

For the rings, I pulled out two matching platinum bands, engraved to be a celtic braid. Hers was smaller and delicate, sealed by a small emerald that could be worn with her enormous engagement ring. Mine was just metal all the way around, and I fancied that I’d get the birthstones of our children whenever we had them. Hopefully there’d be enough jewels to cover the whole thing by the time we were through.

I couldn’t look at her face during the vows because I was afraid that it would knock me over.

I was so full of joy and anticipation that it threatened to burst out of my skin and made me want to weep at the same time.

Was that a peculiar thing to think?

I was already mourning the loss of joy. That after the rings were on, and we were married, I would never, ever have a moment of pure happiness like the one I was experiencing now. No kiss would be sweeter, no lovemaking more complete, than what we have now, and on our honeymoon. This would be the height of my joy, and I was already aching for its loss.

There was something else there… fear. It was like the crackle of electricity in the air before a natural disaster. It was a warning that by my selfish act of seeking joy, I put her in danger.

Visions of my mum, her body and tears on the day of her death flashed through my mind. I flinched, holding Kira’s hand in mine even tighter. Tight enough, that she winced. But I didn’t let go.

She would not suffer my mother’s fate.

I brought her unscarred palm to my lips, kissing that sacred place before I took the ring, and hovered it over the tip of her index finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” I said, moving the ring from that position, to the middle. “With my body, I thee worship.” Finally, I lifted the ring, hovering it over the nail of the finger that would bind us, at least, within the Christian faith. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

I had wanted those specific words because they had been written since the 1552 Book of Common Prayer in a section called “The Fourme of Solemnizacyon of Matrymonye”.

Did we read the bannes over three Sundays and holy days? No.

Was she Catholic? No.

Did we read the rest of that long-winded drivel? No.

But those three lines were what I wanted to say. A trinity of vows that gave her my name, my body, and everything I held dear. And that was what she deserved.

I placed the ring on her finger, and kissed her hand. Now, it was her turn.

I thought she’d hesitate. Hell, Kira might even toy with me, and make me sweat. But she didn’t. She said them outright, in a clear voice, and sound mind.

“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

She wasn't looking at me either. Not in the eyes. She stared at my hand with such an intense concentration that I almost worried that she wouldn't go through with it. But she slid the ring on my finger, settling it below the last knuckle before her lashes fluttered and she looked at me.

“With the power vested in me by Caledonia’s hackers, and the State of New York,” Dairo said with a slight chuckle. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

I stared at our hands, and our rings. An image of her covered in emeralds, and nothing else, flashed into my mind.

The image grew, stroke by stroke - a painting of her, nude, in transparent silks of white, staring right at the beholder with an unashamed sense of her own beauty. The more time I stayed still, the clearer the image was until I finally glared at my cousin, and demanded, “Well?”

“What?” he said, tilting his head like a confused dog.

I wanted to punch him in the throat.

“Can I kiss my bride or what, you twat?” Jesus, my family was annoying.

Dairo placed his hand over his chest, as if he was clutching at pearls, before he theatrically gasped, “You’re in the house of God!”

He pointed to the stained glass over his head, depicting the Madonna with the baby Jesus.

“And you’re about to get punched, you gobshite!”

Dairo just continued to smile, giving my wife a wink, which made me want to lunge for his throat.

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