Page 38 of The Grip of Death
“Th-thank you for the reassurance, Jackson. And I’m sure you’ll smash your first wedding, too.”
And hopefully my last one.
Little glass drones floated about, the ones Niko and Flint had promised, clicking and flickering as they captured our matrimonial memories from every imaginable angle. Click, flicker. Hopefully they didn’t capture how terrified I looked.
I was wearing the simplest and yet most elegant suit I could afford — or that Beatrice would sell me without thrusting me straight into bankruptcy. It was extremely comfy for how snappy I looked. Comfort was very much one of my greatest concerns. To a guy who basically lived without the encumbrance of shirt sleeves, a suit was practically a straitjacket.
But this was worth it, especially seeing how well my party matched. Preston and Reza looked similarly very smart in their own suits, their matching ivory tie-and-pocket square combinations, those shiny shoes. The day had been so busy that I hadn’t even had a chance to talk to Sedgewick and Niko.
They stood across the aisle, the dapper members of Xander’s party, led by an extra dapper Beatrice Rex, who’d elected to wear a disarmingly sexy tuxedo dress in her capacity as Xander’s best man.
Oh, and that was how we’d ended up dividing all of our friends. Niko and Sedgewick did gravitate more toward Xander, being the youngest in our group.
“Everything okay there, Pryde?” Reza’s leonine mane of hair stood perfectly gelled in place even when he leaned in to check on me. “You’re looking especially fidgety at the moment.”
I tugged on my collar to loosen it a bit. “All good here, Reza. Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Jack. No one’s here to make fun of or look down on you. You and Xander handpicked all the guests. They’re here because they love you.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder, then slipped back into position. A rare droplet of sweetness from Reza Arshad, of all people. That actually helped. He was right, and I’d told myself that exact thing already. These people had only come here to celebrate with us.
It was only the waiting that bothered me in the end. I knew that about myself already. But I had to put my mind on something else. Xander was going to walk that aisle any moment now. In the meantime, I could busy myself with quietly greeting our guests. I was a big boy, wasn’t I? Big man in a suit.
Fatima was there, our fae merchant friend, this time with her human disguise — the one she’d worn in the Black Market — completely cast off. Flint Lockstone was there, too, dressed very smartly and not at all like the leather vest-loving action movie hero and adventurer I knew him to be.
Even Old Giuseppe had turned up to support our love, which was awfully big of him considering, well, everything. And Harlock the butler, he wouldn’t miss seeing his young Master Xander getting married for the world.
Eleanor Grouse had taken time off her busy schedule of rejecting applications of all kinds at Guildhall to attend our humble hoedown. Also in attendance was one of her infamous servants, a ghostly inspecter dressed in shadowy robes.
No one seemed to pay the inspecter any mind. These people had experienced far greater horrors in their time. Eleanor Grouse herself, for one thing.
Most of the guild masters had attended as well, Kaoru Minamimoto in a pristine white kimono that signified his stationas the Scribe of the Thousand Hands. Irina Belkova of the Ringing Hollow wore a dress in a suitably sheer fabric that resembled glass, as icy in demeanor as her beloved son Niko.
At a casual glance, one would assume that the seat beside her was empty, but it was in fact occupied by Yekaterina Belkova, her mother, who had ascended to such heights in the glassmaking arts that her body had begun to take upon more crystalline qualities.
Master Gertrude Goodness resembled an elaborate pastry more than ever, her dress and hat like the tiers of a cake. Master Lobelia was shrouded in a lush gown of interwoven flowers, their petals seeming to drift and sway with her every breath.
Master Vikhyat wore an arresting cross between a tuxedo and a suit of armor, with a roughshod iron collar and cuffs in place of a tie and cufflinks. Ingrid, one of his favorite apprentices who’d fought alongside us against Dietrich Sturm, sat beside him.
And of course, there was Madame Catherine Grayhaven herself.
I thought it was very polite of her to consider dressing down for the occasion. The material of her gown gleamed with a faint metallic sheen, the only extravagance a pair of gray wings extending from the back of her neck and draping over her shoulders. Her winged capelet quivered every so often, shedding one or two feathers that vanished before they hit the ground.
And speaking of feathers, the ambient murmur of the crowd fell to a hush as a gryphon appeared at the end of the aisle. Black and ivory ribbons streamed from his feathers as he stepped gracefully down the carpet, some tied neatly in bows, others left loose to drift languidly as he walked.
Zephyr had complained loudly and often about the indignity of being bedecked in all these human adornments, but all ittook was a gentle reminder of the proud, battle-scarred, heavily-decorated imaginary little girl who’d inspired him to agree.
I could hear our guests whispering as Zephyr strutted pompously down the aisle. “Impressed” didn’t quite cut it. Even in the arcane underground, mythological creatures weren’t exactly a common sight at weddings.
Zephyr slammed one paw onto the ground. “You may retrieve the precious jewels from my plumage, friend Preston. I have defended them with my life.”
Keeping a straight face, Preston offered Zephyr a treat from his pocket. We might have agreed on dehydrated chicken meat, with Zephyr graciously accepting that a wedding was not the right place for mechanically separating a rotisserie chicken from its skeleton.
He took Preston’s treat gently in his beak, bowing his head closer. With permission granted, Preston carefully detached our wedding rings, which dangled from a ornate loops of black and ivory ribbon around Zephyr’s chest.
To the gryphon’s credit, and especially to someone who still refused to grasp the concept of clothing and accessories, Zephyr wore the rings well, as proudly as a set of military medals. I made a mental note to have something custom made for him later, a thank you gift from me and Xander. I already knew Zephyr would complain, but he’d secretly love it all the same. Maybe a collar with a pendant in the shape of a whole roasted chicken.
With the rings secured, Zephyr strutted off to the side, head held high, proud as ever. I grinned to myself in quiet disbelief. We had a gryphon at our wedding — at our wedding in the Court of Summer, the Palace of Briars. This was a magical occasion, an actual dream come true, when once before, I’d never even imagined I’d get married in my lifetime.
