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The master of ceremonies let out a whimper, staggering to the side and putting his hand to his forehead. “Belisama has chosen to bless this union!” He squealed. “The glass is empty. She has been!”
Belisama? I wondered numbly. Surely not. It was much more likely that my mother was a spirit playing tricks. Even if it was a god, gods chose to wear disguises all of the time. Belisama was a male god. All of the paintings and stories said so.
Shay let out a pained gasp, clasping the skin of his chest. Ilaria rushed out to help him, but he pushed her away as he fell to his knees.
“He has been marked!” The elderly male crooned, about to wet himself in excitement. “A match chosen by the gods!” Everyone turned to Ilaria, and without clothes, there was no way to hide as no mark appeared on her skin.
She stood up, her hands covering her mouth as she began to sob.
On his knees, Shay pulled his hand away from his heart, revealing a circular brand with a slash through the middle.
The same brand I wore, hidden by Rainn’s coat, pulled tightly around my shoulders.
Chapter Eleven
Chaos ensued.
Every young female (and male) within hearing distance began to paw at their clothing. Desperately searching for a mark on their chest.
I learned several things as I stood between Rainn and Tor, watching the turmoil unfold.
Mating bonds between nymphs were rare. So rare, in fact that the only bond in their history belonged to the God that sired them, ensnared by a demon. Their mating eventually created the nymph creed. The bloodline they were so desperate to continue.
The young females clawed at each other, pulling clothing and searching every inch of flesh to try and find a mark amongst any prospective nymph bride.
Tor tucked me under his arm, and I felt a wash of kelpie magic as he steered us away from the crowd, allowing us to slip away. Kelpie magic twisted the mind and muddled emotions, and it seemed that we no longer existed amongst the rioting wedding guests as we rushed from the event hall and toward the guest tents.
As soon as we reached our tent, Rainn began to pack. “Bloody hell!” He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “They descended like a pack of wolves.”
“I can’t tell if they’re in love with Shay or jumping at the chance to bear his children.” I joked, rubbing my chest through the warm fabric of Rainn’s coat. “Should we leave?”
Tor craned his neck as something crashed outside of the tent. “They’ll settle down once they realize that Shay’s Shíorghrá isn’t among them.”
Rainn’s eyes dipped to my chest. “Did something happen with Shay?”
I shook my head. “Something happened during the ceremony. I saw… I saw someone. A woman at the altar. She drank the water.”
Tor’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward. When he spoke, his voice was low and reverent. “Belisama?”
“I don’t know.” I bit my bottom lip. “But she touched Shay’s chest.”
Rainn let out a low whistle. “I didn’t think the gods cared about the Fae all that much.”
“The nymphs claim kinship with the gods.” Tor pointed out.
“Not Belisama,” Rainn argued. “Nuada, I thought. Goddess of wind and war.”
My skin prickled. “We shouldn’t speak of this.”
“Perhaps not.” Rainn agreed. “Choose a dress that might cover your chest, and we’ll speak to Shay in the morning.”
Exhaustion claimed me the moment I curled up between Tor and Rainn on our cot. A blissful, dreamless sleep, interrupted by a sharp waking in the middle of the night.
I listened for a sound. Something that might have woken me, but I found nothing. Still, something tugged at my chest. Pulling at the skin over my heart with a demanding urgency.
I shimmied to the end of the cot, turning back to study my mates, fast asleep and curled up together. I pulled Rainn’s coat over my shoulders, grabbing one of the daggers from Tor’s pack and tucking it into the waistband of my sleeping bloomers.
The guest camp was still. The streamers were unmoving in the night air, and the torches burnt down to a cinder. The bonfire had long gone out.
