“Forgive me,” he said thickly. “Forgive me, Kitston Glade.”
22
West
The marriage of Sabran the Ninth and Aubrecht the Second took place as summer turned to autumn. It was customary for the vows to be taken at midnight, during the new moon, for it was in the darkest hours that companionship was needed most.
And a dark hour it was. Never in Berethnet history had a marriage come so soon after a burial.
The Great Sanctuary of Briar House, like most sanctuaries, was round, modeled on the shields used by the early knights of Inys. After the Grief of Ages, when its roof had caved in, Rosarian the Second had ordered red stained-glass windows be set into the arches in memory of those whose blood had been spilled.
Over the centuries, three scoundrel trees had broken through the floor and pleached their branches over the walkway. Their leaves already burned with gold and umber. Six hundred people had gathered beneath them for the ceremony, including the Most Virtuous Order of Sanctarians.
When the Queen of Inys appeared at the south-facing doors, the witnesses fell silent. Her hair was brushed to an ebony gloss, threaded with white flowers. A partlet latticed her neckline. She wore a crown of filigrain gold, inlaid with rubies that caught the light of every candle.
The choir began to sing, their voices fluting high and rich. Sabran took one step, then stopped.
From her position among the candle-bearers, Ead watched the queen as she stayed there, rooted to the spot. Roslain, her giver, pressed her arm.
“Sab,” she whispered.
Sabran drew herself up. In the darkness of the sanctuary, few would be able to see the rigid set of her shoulders, or the shiver that might have been put down to the chill.
A moment later, she was on her way.
Seyton Combe observed her approach from where the Dukes Spiritual and their families stood. The candlelight revealed the pinch of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth.
He had sent Loth to his death for this night. Loth, who should be with Sabran. It was traditional in Inys for the closest friends of the betrothed to lead them into the state of companionship.
Nearby, Igrain Crest was impenetrable. Ead supposed this was both a victory and a defeat for her. She wanted an heir, but not by this father. It was also proof that Sabran was no longer the grief-stricken girl who had needed so much guidance in her minority.
The Red Prince entered on the other side of the sanctuary. His eldest sister was his giver. He wore a cloak to match his betrothed, lined with crimson silk and ermine, and a doublet with gold fastenings. Like Sabran, he wore gloves with ostentive cuffs, the better to draw the eye during the ceremony. A circlet of gilded silver declared his royalty.
Sabran walked with poise toward him. Her wedding gown was something to behold. Deep crimson, like cherry wine, and a black forepart, rich with goldwork and pearls. Her ladies, Ead included, were her inverse, their black gowns set off by red stomachers.
The marriage party met on the boss of the sanctuary, beneath a gilded baldachin that stood on ornate columns. The witnesses formed a circle around it. Now Sabran was lit by the candles on the boss, close enough to Lievelyn for him to see her clearly, he swallowed.
Sabran took Roslain by the hand, while Lievelyn locked fingers with his eldest sister, and the four of them knelt on hassocks. Everyone else fanned away. As she snuffed her candle, Ead spied Chassar in the crowd.
The Arch Sanctarian of Inys was spindle-fingered, so pale that traceries of blue veins could be seen about his temples. The True Sword was figured in silver on the front of his herigaut.
“Friends.” He spoke into the silence. “We meet tonight, in this haven from the world, to bear witness to the union of these two souls in the sacred state of companionship. Like the Damsel and the Saint, they seek to meet in soul and in flesh for the preservation of Virtudom. Companionship is a great service, for Inys itself was built on the love between Galian, a knight of Inysca, and Cleolind, a heretic woman of Lasia.”
Moments in, and someone had already called the Mother a heretic. Ead exchanged a brief look with Chassar across the aisle.
After clearing his throat, the Arch Sanctarian opened a silver-fronted prayer book and read the story of the Knight of Fellowship, who had been first to join the Holy Retinue. Ead only half-listened. Her gaze was fixed to Sabran, who was perfectly still. Lievelyn glanced at her.
When the story was finished, Roslain and Ermuna, their duties as givers complete, stepped away from the royal couple. Roslain went to stand by her companion, Lord Calidor Stillwater, who drew her close. She never pulled her gaze from Sabran, who in turn watched her friend leave her under the baldachin with an all-but stranger.
“Let us begin.” The Arch Sanctarian nodded to Lievelyn. The High Prince removed the glove from his left hand and held it out. “Sabran the Ninth of the House of Berethnet, Queen of Inys, your betrothed extends to you the hand of fellowship. Will you accept, and be his faithful companion, from this day to the end of days?”
Lievelyn gave Sabran a smile that barely creased his eyes. The shadows made it hard to tell if she was smiling back as she took a love-knot ring from the Arch Sanctarian.
“Friend,” she said, “I will.”
She paused, jaw tight, and Ead saw the slight rise of her breast.
“Aubrecht Lievelyn,” she continued, “I take you now as my companion.” She slid the ring onto his forefinger. Gold, reserved for sovereigns. “My friend, my bedfellow, my constant partner in all things.” Pause. “I swear to love you with my soul, defend you with my sword, and give nobody else my favor. This I vow to you.”