Page 26 of Bound and Beguiled

“Are you and Emyr...siblings?” My mind raced. They hadn’t done anythingtogetherlast night, not specifically. Of course, they wouldn’t have. Efa wasn’t into men. But if they were brother and sister...oh dear.

“Ha! No, thank the gods. Second or third cousins, though. I can never remember which.” Emyr’s shrug as he sauntered towards us said without words that the distinction was unimportant.

“Third,” Efa said with a quirk of her lips.

My breath rushed out and Mared chuckled behind me. With a last squeeze of my shoulders, she slipped off the bed. “My turn,” she called over her shoulder as the bathroom door shut behind her.

Ten minutes later everyone’s bladders were empty and clothes were back on—which was both a pity and a relief. After a quick linen change, we were once again lounging on the bed, munching companionably on the rolls, cheese, and fruit Emyr scrounged from the kitchen—blessedly accompanied by steaming cups of coffee.

Mared cleared her throat.

“Would you tell us about this binding ceremony? It would be good to know what all goes on.”

I fiddled with my roll, breaking a piece off and shredding it into smaller and smaller pieces. When it was only crumbs, I sighed and pushed my plate away. No more playing ostrich. If they were willing to stand at my side, the least I could do was let them know what they were getting into.

“A binding ceremony is a pretty big deal among the Bound. Everyone gathers to witness it.” Thinking of facing all those people—of their eyes burrowing into me as I told the whole sordid tale—made my stomach tighten. I shifted uncomfortably, reminding myself that I was just talking. Giving information, like a tour guide or a teacher in history class. I wasn’t going to be bound to fucking Franklin, no matter what he or my mother thought.

“The morning is set aside for Ymet. The couple spend it meditating and praying for their blessing. Separately, of course. The first and second hours of the afternoon symbolize the individuals to be joined, and they spend them with their family, preparing. The ceremony starts at two.”

“What happens if one of them is late?” Emyr asked, grinning cheekily.

I recognized his attempt to lighten the mood, but couldn’t force my lips to curve. “Usually, it’s postponed. The late party spends the time until the new ceremony making amends to the community as a whole, and the other family specifically. When I was twelve, a man named Elliot was more than a half hour late. His husband-to-be’s family was so offended, they set the date of the new ceremony for a full year later. Poor Elliot was completely exhausted by the time he was finally bound.”

Mared whistled. “Guess that explains why you’ve never been late to clock in, even when you’ve had...challenging mornings.”

“Old lessons are hard to break,” I agreed. The memory of finding Franklin’s notes slithered over me, leaving an oily residue of violation that made me want to scrub myself raw. But I knew from experience that water wouldn’t wash away this kind of stain. Water wouldn’t, but vengeance just might. My foot—which had been bouncing uncontrollably—stilled, and I smiled. Revenge might not be a therapist-approved coping mechanism, but I’d take what I could get.

“For the ceremony itself, the community gathers here, in front of the Temple.” I brushed the crumbs on my plate into a rough semi-circle, then snagged a piece of cheese from Mared and dropped it on the other side. “The Keepers wait on the steps, burning rosemary and chanting.”

“Why rosemary?” Efa asked.

“It symbolizes remembrance. It’s supposed to ensure the couple never forgets their oaths to each other.”

“Frankie boy’s going to wish he could forget a lot of things come Sunday,” Mared said with a predatory edge to her voice that somehow fit her just as well as the cheerful grin that followed.

“Where does the couple come in?” Emyr asked, inspecting my diagram with a calculating crease between his perfect eyebrows.

“Here and here.” I pointed to each point of the semi-circle. “Traditionally, they enter on horseback. It’s supposed to be an omen of prosperity, but it’s become a status symbol. If it wouldn’t reflect poorly on her, my mother would probably send me in on foot.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” Emyr said, shooting me a cocky wink.

“Right,” I agreed, squinting at him suspiciously. He wasn’t telling me everything, but I knew well enough not to ask. He wouldn’t tell me until he was good and ready either way, but if he knew I wanted to know, he’d taunt me with hints until I went crazy first.

“Anyways, each party has an escort. Usually four to six people. Their job is to attest to the worthiness of their person. Basically, they give speeches about the bride or groom’s trustworthiness and moral uprightness.”

“A neat trick, in Franklin’s case,” Mared muttered.

“He puts on a good show.” My lip curled. “He won’t have any trouble finding people to sing his praises.”

“Anything they say won’t matter when you start talking.” Efa’s voice held no doubt. “Is that what happens next?”

I wrapped myself in her confidence, trying to make it mine. “Yes. That’ll be when I request Witness.”

“Where will the two of you be while this is happening?” Efa was frowning now.

“Kneeling in front of the Keepers. The couple is to kneel throughout, even as the community files through giving congratulations on the way to the feast, as a testament to the patience required of a long-lasting relationship.” I grimaced, both at the thought of being so close to Franklin and the horrible idea of being shackled to him long-term.

“I don’t like it.” Efa’s expression had gone from a frown to a grimace as I talked.

---