I warned Gideon; he instructed his soldiers to ensure none watched us pass and Cerson has cackled the entire way here. At least we're not both naked as you first feared though, right?
Her breathy tones whispered into my mind don't help this situation at all. If anything, they make it worse, and I lose my senses further. When Airlie murmurs something far too knowing to her husband, I snarl at Roan and he drags Tyton and Tauron over to stand with Firna to put some much-needed space between my Fates-blessed mate’s bared skin and the males in this room.
Gideon walks behind the witches the whole way, stopping only when he reaches his brother’s side, but his head never bows, his glare around the temple as fierce as my own. He also doesn’t so much as flinch in Rooke’s direction, which is surprisingly helpful because my entire state of awareness centers on her to the point of madness. If Kharl Balzog attacked right now I’d be too busy planning out Reed’s murder for ever considering himself Rooke’s friend to keep her safe.
Airlie begins the long-winded exaltations to the Fates, respectful as we should be but impossible to appreciate while the warm scent of my mate is so close to me. How the ashes witches endure this is unfathomable to me, and outside where a gust of wind could shift that fabric from her body— cutting my thoughts off with a snarl, Airlie barely skips a beat in her prayers and Cerson lets out a very delicate cough to cover what I’m sure would’ve been raucous laughter at my expense.
When Airlie all but shoves my mother’s ring into my chest, forcing me to take it and do what little I must in this ceremony to satisfy the Fates demands, Rooke turns to face me and my magic bursts free from my chest as the slits of the robe part with her movement. The high fae all make noises of protest as they startle but Rooke and Cerson both stand tall as the power washes over them easily. Even as Rooke’s fingers slide into mine and squeeze gently, I’m stuck glaring at the slit up her thigh and seething at the image of it wrapping firmly around my ears as I taste her.
Cerson waits until I’ve slipped the ring onto Rooke’s finger before she leans carefully into my Fates-blessed mate’s side with a solemn look on her face, the deep ashy colors of her robes setting off the golden hue of her hair perfectly. "I take it you didn’t warn him, Æfanya?"
Rooke's lips tug up in the corners as she lets out a small huff and murmurs back to her in the old language, "I tried; he was stubborn and said there was no need, he trusted me no matter what this involved."
A small fracture of amusement breaks through her serious demeanor, but then Cerson looks to Airlie with an expectant expression. When my cousin nods back to her firmly, she holds her palms out and her eyes glow brightly as her magic washes over us both. I’m expecting an oath or a blessing over our union, instead the Fates temple and Yregar disappear entirely as we’re thrown into the ley lines that run underneath the land in an instant.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Rooke
Though the sun has set, night hasn't settled amongst the ancient grove that will always be my home, no matter how many centuries pass. The fae flowers glow as though the sun's rays still shine upon them, undeterred by the light dusting of snow that falls thanks to the protection of the dense canopy of the trees overhead. The song of the forest grows louder in my mind with every beat of my heart, and my blood sings in answer.
Soren stares around at the shadows lingering among the trees with respect as they grow larger with every breath. It's becoming clear to me that guessing my Fates-blessed mate’s reactions is a fool’s errand, because despite my fears of confrontation, he hasn’t faltered for a second. Not about our binding or our journey here, his ire only ever pointed at the males bearing witness to our marriage.
With a deep breath of the cold night air, Cerson turns back to me with a look of peace that echoes within my blood. There's sorrow there as well, there could never be a moment shared between my family without the grief we all share, but to stand inthis forest together, in the kingdom we all desperately wanted to return to, there's too much joy between us to fall into despair.
"Did you choose a ribbon, Æfanya?"
Smiling at her almost languid tone, the peace of the forest intoxicating after centuries away from its’ embrace, I nod as I turn back to Soren. He watches us both carefully now, the scowl that fixed itself across his brow the moment he saw the ceremonial robes finally easing off, but his eyes are still searing as he steps back to me. He doesn't reach out to clasp my elbow as I'm expecting, or even to take my hand as his own ceremonies demand. Instead, he bows his head reverently as Cerson murmurs the prayers of my coven.
When she reaches the oath to the line of the womb, my grief threatens to overwhelm me. There should be a dozen names listed and yet it's only my own she speaks. I repeat the names of all the witches who should be here today bearing witness to my Fates-blessed union in my mind. Though I acknowledge them all, it's my mother and my sister's names that linger, as heavy on my shoulders now as the robes I wear with pride.
As if compelled, my gaze is drawn over to the clusters of fae flowers surrounding us. Soren follows my action but it's not until I swallow back my tears at Tawnie's flowers that he knows the reason I've turned my attention away from Cerson. His hand slips into mine, his mind pressing close to the wall between our connection as he offers me comfort, and my fingers clasp firmly around his.
"By the Fate's command, you will be bound together by oath, sealed with the magic of the forest, with the blessings of the Favored Children."
Cerson watches Soren carefully as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ribbon. My own eyebrows rise at the Celestial blue slip of silk, the intricate embroidery swooping into the script of the old language, and I recognize it straight away.I hadn't noticed it missing from the ribbons above our heads but there’s no mistaking his namesake ribbon. Crafted by his mother at his birth, it’s no longer stored carefully away amongst heirlooms that date back generations of his family. It holds as much significance to the Celestial prince and his bloodlines as the one I crafted.
His own eyes barely graze my ribbon as I pull it out, but I have no concerns. If anything, it's a relief. The horrors of the Fates are such that you can't help but recoil from them. No matter how many decades I spent facing them, the impulse to flee never left me and if he recoiled in horror from their image woven into the silk now Cerson would probably mistake the action for a rejection of our binding and throw a ball of flames with his head.
Her naturally grinning face solemn, Cerson takes the ribbon and motions to us until we lift our clasped hands to her. With murmured prayers over us both, she weaves our ribbons together as she tightly binds us together. The words are older than kingdom, older than the Fates themselves, and her voice trembles with the power of the forest as it feeds its magic into her as though she’s nothing but a vessel for it to use.
There are only three witches left who could perform such a union without the magic of the forest tearing them apart. I haven't had the heart to tell Soren that Hanede Loche stared me down at the port in the Northern Lands and told me he’d rather slit his own throat and bleed out without ever seeing his forest again than bind me to the Savage Prince. Cerson’s marriage to my brother allows her the grace of the forest, as well as the power of her coven to protect her, but I’m glad she’s with me today.
Soren's hand tightens on my own as I begin to sway on my feet, the song deafening in my ears as it beckons me, calling out in exaltation. The power of old that came to sleep here eonsago and brought us forth from the trees to and tend to it, an offer of kindness and warmth in exchange for protection, it’s the source of magic so strong that only the Favored Children could be trusted to hold it.
As Soren's own magic is pulled from him his eyes glow brightly, a gasp wrenching from his lips at the magnitude of what the forest demands of him in sacrifice. He glances down at me but there’s still no hesitation in him as he lets his power bleed freely at the forest demands. Something deep within my chest breaks; a question still gripped tightly within myself at this fate that I was given, and this high fae prince answers. As I’m overwhelmed by the urge to scream at the Fates, he stands unflinching beside me, determined in his trust of me and the path laid out before us. The steadfast and sure Mother who was broken by the horrors of the Fates War, now I have the strength of this prince at my side to complete our fate.
My magic pours alongside Soren’s until I feel every inch of it gone from my body, the singing of the earth building into a violently guttural scream in our ears, so loud and pain filled as the void below opens and demands we fill it but generations have passed and there isn't enough left in all the veins of the fae folk within the kingdom to fill such a need now but it's a start.
When the last of my magic absorbs into the ground, Soren's own magic gone with it, there's a moment of quiet around us. The absence of my magic doesn’t lighten me and instead drags me deeper towards the earth as though my body wishes to follow my magic down, another form of consumption by the land but aberration to our beliefs. The forest watches us reverently as I lean against Soren, the binding of our hands helping me keep my feet. Glancing up, his jaw is tightened but he holds us both up without any other signs of strain.
Cerson’s eyes are a little too wide to say she’s unaffected by the magnitude of the sacrifice she’s witnessed. She wasexpecting the strength of my magic, though seeing it in action is far more humbling than the idea of it, but it’s the way the Celestial prince’s power held true for so long with my own that’s given her pause. There are very few magic wielders who can, she knows as well as I do.
The rushing sound of my blood moving through my veins fills my ears, the song of the forest quieting back down to a soft hum and the night still around us as though allowing us all a moment to breathe it in. There's life here still, the blood of my coven ensuring that magic within the forest has held true. The trees grow strong, the moss covers the ground, and the fae flowers bloom year after year. Crickets may sleep the winter away but come the spring they’ll dance and call amongst the trees as they have from time immemorial. We’re lulled into utter peace, unprepared for the effects of our sacrifice.
The trees in the kingdom wake.
In a rush, the forest floods us both with its’ magic, the give and take of the rites fulfilled, and the gasp that wrenches out of Soren's chest is an echo of my own, a desperate sound as though it was pull from the depths of our souls. The land takes our sacrifices, and with them our promises to return to the cycles our magic has always demanded of us, and the long sleep it fell into with despair is finally over.
