Page 123 of The Oracle of Dusk

As for Aurora, she was heartbroken now, but he had a feeling he could sway her to his side. There was an undeniable spark of lust between them, one she was weak to. Once she realised the marriage was political, with nothing between the bride and groom but a power-sharing agreement he planned to undermine at the first opportunity, she would understand it had just been a ploy to return home sooner.

But what to do about Orithyia? If this was part of Flora’s scheming, he needed insurance. The kind the high priestess couldn’t deny giving him without tipping her hand or Flora’s. Perhaps agreeing to Orithyia’s scheme was the best option to save himself from the mad dog’s magic. Who better to force conditions on than the mad dog’s owner?

“If I agree to this, you will make your own sacred vows. I know Queen Flora is a soul swapper, and I know she used her magic on Epicasta’s victims. You will vow to prevent her from ever using her magic on me, and you will swear it on your goddess so that if you fail, you will lose your place as high priestess. Second, you will vow to force Flora to accept my terms for restitution. I’m not shackling myself in marriage just to see that greedy bitch take my territory. Third, you will make a vow to purify me the moment I speak my vow. You will not trick me into this vile state of affairs and then renege on your promise.”

If she were surprised by his knowledge of Flora’s magic, she made not a single twitch to indicate it. Her wizened face was a mask of bemused tolerance.

“You would force three vows from me for one of yours, two of which depend on the actions of another?”

“I would demand protection from the mad dog whose leash you hold the same as I demand your integrity. I would ask that you swear on your honour, but I don’t believe you have any. Be glad I did not demand restitution for your part in Aureum’s blight.”

Orithyia laughed until she had to dab tears from her eyes.

“Perhaps I should. Pay restitution, that is. Admit to these fanciful crimes you’ve accused me of. Though it would relieve me of the office of high priestess, unable to purify you. Then again, I could finally catch up on some sleep and leave the care of unruly royal houses to my successor, Triad spare her.” Orithyia shook her head, the joviality wiped from her mien. “I agree to make those vows before the goddess’ statue, if you agree to make yours.”

He hadn’t expected her to be so reasonable. Then again, he hadn’t expected to agree to the damned wedding either. His gut churned. Wed to a viper, daughter to a reviled enemy. But so long as he didn’t vow to love, respect, cherish, or even keep his intended alive, all he needed was to complete the ceremony and wash his hands of her. In light of that…

“I will not agree to be wed in the temple of Passion,” he added.

As a king, he could be wed in any temple he pleased. For political marriages, Justice was common. For most other kinds, Knowledge and Justice were the normal choices. Passion’s temple was only sought out by lovers, often by those whose love was forbidden, and usually chosen by the short-sighted. A wedding conducted at Passion’s feet could only be performed if there was true passion between the couple, had to be consummated in her temple, and could only be ended by death. A true nightmare for most with a modicum of sensibility. People changed, betrayed each other, and realised that passions always cooled. Marriages ended for a myriad of reasons, political ones all the more so, and the freedom to leave saved lives. A lifetime commitment was as good as a lifelong prison sentence, willingly chosen.

“Myrina will be crushed, of course,” Orithyia replied dryly. “But I agree. It would be an insult to Passion, and you’ve angered one of the Triad already. Best not to court the wrath of She of the fiery gaze.”

He swallowed, his throat parched, his mind spinning. Theron could not renege on this vow. Sacred vows could so easily be broken if the wording was too vague or too specific. If he vowed to wed Epicasta specifically, Flora might decide one daughter’s life was worth sacrificing in order to kill him. Flora was unfeeling enough to wed her daughter to three men just to kill them. He couldn’t take any chances.

“And I refuse to make my vow using Epicasta’s name.”

Orithyia raised her brow at him.

“If anything untoward happens to Epicasta in the coming days, the goddess would strike me down for being unable to fulfil my vow. This, at least, prevents Flora from killing her daughter in order to kill me. The queen will get her wedding, but I won’t let her take my life.”

Orithyia nodded her head, though her scowl was impressive. Angry that he’d slipped her trap, or that he insulted Flora’s character?

“Then we are agreed? Your vows first, then mine, then the purification.”

“We are agreed,” Orithyia said.

Orithyia stood and led the way out of her office and down the staircases, the paladins following close behind. They descended into the temple proper where the statue of Knowledge, carved in black, glittering rock and clothed in shimmering midnight robes stood, her obsidian eyes winking in the low light. They arrived at the foot of her statue, amongst the offerings and statues of notable, wealthy people bent in supplication so that a part of them would always be praying.

Sweat beaded along his spine. Was this really the wisest course of action? Had he accounted for all her tricks?

“I, High Priestess Orithyia XI, make a sacred vow to Knowledge that I will prevent Queen Flora of Viridis from using her magic on King Theron of Aureum. I make a sacred vow to convince Queen Flora of Viridis to accept his terms for reparations. And I make a sacred vow to purify King Theron of Aureum once he has made his sacred vow to wed,” Orithyia finished, raising her brow at Theron.

“I, King Theron of Aureum, make a sacred vow to Knowledge to be wed before I leave the city of Boreas.”

Orithyia raised her brow at him, mocking his caution no doubt.

“That’s as specific as I’m willing to get, given Flora’s nature.”

Orithyia laughed, grinning wickedly. Ice crept down his spine.

“To fulfil my sacred vow, I hereby purify you of the blasphemer’s mark,” she said, holding her hand high as divine magic gathered at her fingers.

He’d not expected the pain.

Fire shot through his veins, the source of the blaze the diamond-like mark on the back of his hand. Theron crumpled to the floor in agony as the process stole his breath. When it was done, he felt light-headed and weak, his heart racing as the last of the pain ebbed away. He staggered to his feet.

“You did that on purpose,” he ground out.

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