Page 20 of WarBride

“That will not be a concern.” I have no intention of dragging this unwanted bride along with me for a month. I need only buy us a little time while I decide what’s best to be done. Nothing more.

“In that case, my king, I am ready to perform the service,” Vamir says and, with assistance from Ashika, scrambles back to his feet. “For the initial binding, you must take her hand and hold it up between you.”

I turn to the girl and extend my right hand, palm upturned. She looks at it then at me. “What?” she demands, in her ownlanguage. It’s the first time she’s spoken since our arrival in camp. My people hastily draw back several paces, like she’s a snake and might strike at any moment.

“Just take it,” I say in her own language. “This must happen.”

“What must happen, exactly?”

I hesitate. Ruvaen’s caution and Lurodos’s threats ring in my ears. But now is not the time to explain. “We must seal the bond of protection between us,” I say instead. It is the truth at least, if not the whole truth.

She studies me, the line of her brow drawn tight. Slowly, cautiously, as though extending her hand to stroke the head of a rabid dog, she places her fingers in mine. I grasp them tight and lift our hands up as the priest bade.

“Not like that.” Young Vamir frowns and reaches out to adjust our grip. The girl’s eyes flash. For a moment I fear she will yank away or even lunge at the priest.

“Look at me,” I growl. Her gaze darts to mine. “Look only at me.”

She grimaces. But she obeys, much to my relief, and allows the priest to interlace our fingers, arms upraised, forearms pressed together. He begins the prayer:

“The night of silence has ended.

Now is the morning of song.

The days of rain are over.

Now is the time of shelter.

Cold shall not enter your bones,

For, to each other, you shall be warmth.

Let the fires join and be one flame.

Let the bodies join and be one flesh.”

As he speaks, the ancient Licornyn prayer flowing in melodic stream from his tongue, the licorneir surrounding us bow theirheads. A wordless hum, a swelling song, emanates from their centers, burning through the long, multi-hued coils of their horns. The voice of the priest and the soul-song of the licorneir blend into a perfect harmony as the blessing of the Goddess of Unity is called down from heaven.

The girl’s arm tenses, her fingers tightening in my grasp. Her gaze shifts to the licorneir around us. Because she can see them. Or sense them at least, though her mortal perceptions should be entirely blind to their presence. This is a mystery I cannot fathom. Is she not human as I have assumed? But what else could she be?

“Look at me,” I murmur again softly. Her eyes snap back to mine. She does not understand the young priest’s words, but she must sense something of the importance of this moment. As for me? Guilt twists my gut. This ceremony, this prayer, this song, is sacred to my people. I have borne witness to it many times over the years, and believed I should stand in the center of this song myself one day. There was a time when I thought it would be Shanaera’s hand I clasped, her forearm pressed against mine. Not a stranger. Not a captive who cannot meet my gaze without trembling.

Onor Vamir slips a silken skein ofvelrafrom his belt. As the words of the binding song continue to flow from his throat, he begins to wrap the golden cord around our arms. The girl catches her breath. She tries to pull away, and only my grip on her hand keeps her in place. “Stop!” she says, shaking her head. “Stop. Whatever is happening here, I don’t want it.”

“It is the only way,zylnala.”I try to soften the roughness of my voice. “You must stand still. It will be over soon.”

Ragged breaths blow through her parted lips. “I know what this is,” she growls. “It’s a handfasting. My people have a similar custom.”

I neither acknowledge nor deny it. I merely look at her, watch the understanding war with resistance in her eyes. She does not trust me. Perhaps she never will. But she is without options, without allies. Even my own people, the tall warriors surrounding us, would rather see her dead. Kildorath’s face, hovering on the periphery, looks positively murderous. I will have to deal with him later. For now I keep my gaze focused on the girl.

“Gods-damn,” she hisses at last. “I thought I’d seen the last of this nonsense.”

Then, grinding her teeth, she clasps my hand firmly and presses her forearm against mine once more. She meets my eye and does not waver when Vamir binds our arms with thevelracord, nor when he inscribes the sacred rune of the Goddess on my breast and hers. Theruehnarink burns the skin, and she flinches, but does not pull away.

“Now,” Vamir says, stepping back from us, the bottle ofruehnarstill in his hand. “Now it is time, Taarthalor Ragnataarthane. You must speak your troth to your bride. If your vows prove true, comesilmael,she will speak them back to you. Thus is the will of the Goddess.”

“The will of the Goddess,”my watching riders murmur in response. All except Kildorath, who stands with his arms folded, his expression stone. Ignoring him, ignoring all of them, I focus on this young woman before me. It seems strange to speak these sacred words, knowing even as I say them that I have no intention of living them out beyond a few hours at most. I can only hope the Goddess will see the intention of my heart and forgive me this sacrilege performed in her name. At least the girl does not understand what I say:

“With my faith will I honor you.

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