Page 31 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

Cirrien stood so close to me, still bound by the thorns, that I felt her muscles tense. Her breath caught and held, her eyes fixed on the altar’s statue.

There was silence for a long moment, and then, in a silent, almost eerie waterfall, blood flowed from the Mother’s mouth, pouring over her white neck, filling her cupped hands in a dark pool.

Cirrien stared into the pooled blood, her eyes wide as it soaked into the pale marble, staining it red.

Wyn let out an audible sigh of relief. “This union is blessed. May the Lord and Lady of the Rift rule with the strength of iron for all their days.”

My cadre bowed before us, their own relief evident. A smothering hand of unease seemed to vanish, the Bloodgarden itself lightening around us.

“Now let the binding be planted, that their love and power might flourish so long as Ravenscry stands.”

Visca unbound our hands, coiling the bloodied thorn vine into a perfect spiral, and she handed it to Cirrien. “May the Lady plant it.”

We were ushered from the Mother’s altar, to a small, bare patch of ground in the garden at the base of one of the loggia’s columns. Someone had already dug a hole on Wyn’s orders; Cirrien knelt to lower the spiral into the ground.

“May the Lord bury it,” Wyn intoned, her voice much more relaxed now that the vows were made in time, and the union blessed. I hadn’t realized just how deeply worried she was until I heard her usual tones once more.

I knelt at Cirrien’s side, pushing soft, rich earth over the vine and patting it smooth.

Cirrien glanced up at me from under her lashes. Did she regret this?

“If this grows to become bloodroses, our marriage is doubly-blessed,” I said quietly. “If it withers… well. That’s never considered good luck.”

She signed something, then smiled and patted the back of my hand.

She touched me. Willingly.

I stared at my hand, where dirt had mixed with blood, where her fingers had left a smudged print.

A twisted urge rose up inside me, some perverse imp taking the reins—hadn’t I just sworn to myself not to make her life harder? To inflict myself upon her as little as possible?

But I couldn’t stop myself. I offered my hand, for a single moment pretending to be a man, a handsome vampire, instead of a fiend. “There will be a small celebration. Would you… accompany me?”

Cirrien looked down, contemplating her dirty, bloodied hands, clenching those fine-boned fingers.

I began to draw my hand away, already cursing myself for offering.

This was not a happy wedding. It was a necessity. Of course she wouldn’t wish to hang on my arm and pretend to be a blissfully-wedded wife.

But she signed something, her movements abrupt, and drew my hand back. Slid her arm through mine, resting our palms together lightly.

Cirrien smiled up at me, raising her left hand and forming rapid symbols. It took my shocked brain a moment to catch up—the Brother had formed these same signs, though I remembered little of them.

She was spelling words individually, each sign a letter.

Ancestors, why had I not been born with an eidetic memory? It suddenly seemed like a fatal flaw in my basic genetic components.

“I’m sorry, Cirrien, I’ve only just begun learning—” I muttered, but she didn’t appear disappointed.

She shook her head, touched my hand again, and then unleashed another single-handed flurry of letters, still smiling.

As long as my bride was smiling… I was happy. No, more than happy; purelyecstatic, because it was so much more than I could have hoped for.

“Soon I will learn it all, and your words will be no secret from me,” I told her. I helped her to her feet, trying to keep my gaze away from the dress clinging around her hips.

What curse was coming? Nobody ever got everything they didn’t dare wish for. She was lovely, determined, and composed. She wassmiling. Touching me of her own accord.

There was a curse waiting in here somewhere. I just knew it.

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