Ethenn stepped forward and did as he requested. Then Ilain joined him and did the same. The uncanny resemblance to his marriage mere months ago played tricks on Deckard’s mind. He felt as though he were experiencing what must have been their witnesses’ perspectives.
Vayden and Deckard were each called upon as the principal advocates to sign as witnesses next. Then Fishere signed at the bottom. He read off the details of Ethenn and Ilain’s betrothalcontract, citing their personal details, the exchange of goods (in this case, the only amendment was that their individual finances would be joined), and a few menial legal particulars.
The archminister rose and stood before the couple at the front of the desk. “Join right hands, please,” he requested, and they obeyed. With a rope braided of many-colored cloth, he bound their wrists and said a prayer of blessing, the uncanny similarities to Deckard and Evylin’s wedding beginning to compound.
Fishere led Ethenn and Ilain in a short pledge to one another, murmuring the words “To my last breath, I shall serve, honor, and love thee,” and then unbound their hands. He lifted a goblet and a small blade from the table, offering the first to Ilain and the second to Ethenn. Once they had them in hand, Fishere instructed Ethenn, “Prick your left ring finger, please.”
Ethenn and Deckard furrowed their brows simultaneously, but the young man did as ordered, squeezing a bit of his blood into the goblet. When the archminister further requested that Ethenn prick Ilain’s finger as well, he balked. But Ilain’s hand was already out, waiting.
Hesitantly, Ethenn pressed the blade into the pad of her finger, and she accepted the cut without flinching before dripping her blood in the cup as well.
Then Fishere lifted a decanter of red wine from the desk, filled the goblet, and, just as Deckard was putting the shocking scene together, the older man ordered Ethenn and Ilain to drink the blood and wine infusion.
“What?” Deckard and Ethenn said at the same time.
None of the Calders showed the same alarm.
“It’s a blood oath,” Ilain explained. “We share our blood as the start of our own bloodline.”
Ethenn stared at the goblet warily but drank his half before offering the rest to Ilain.
Deckard felt the ritual was rather pagan, no matter their country’s traditions. However, he concluded that two small drops of blood in a glass full of wine weren’t so unsavory that they couldn’t be tolerated.
Taking back the empty goblet, Fishere smiled. “In the mighty name of Allore, I declare thee betrothed,” he said, then turned to Ethenn, adding, “You may seal your oath with a kiss.”
“Oh.” Ethenn blanched and turned to Ilain, blinking like she was a mirage on the horizon. When she tipped her head forward encouragingly, the young man swallowed, leaned forward, and, with ears as red as the ruby on the Fire Relic, kissed her.
Generally, Deckard looked away from other people’s public affections out of respect. In this case, he was captivated, realizing this was how he must have looked, kissing Evylin for the first time. Cautious, anxious, and awed.
However, Ethenn lingered far longer than Deckard had had the guts for on his wedding day.
Deckard thought to turn away just as the kiss ended. Ethenn turned back to the archminister even as Ilain swayed slightly. She let out a small hum before blinking away her apparent daze. The Calder brothers watched her reaction with dry humor. Vayden even muttered something to Auden under his breath, at which the younger Calder chuckled.
“Excellent,” Archminister Fishere said. “With these our witnesses, I pronounce you man and wife. May Allore bless you both.”
The words took a moment to settle. Then Deckard frowned, and Ethenn gaped.
“Wait,” Ethenn said. “I thought this was a betrothal.”
“It is,” Fishere said.
“But you just called us man and—and wife.”
“Because you are.”
Ethenn shook his head, fumbling for words. “You said the wedding wouldn’t be for a year.”
“Or until Allund is established, yes,” Fishere confirmed patiently.
“Then what was this?” Ethenn exclaimed, gesturing between him and Ilain.
Fishere and the Calders looked as baffled as Deckard felt, though he suspected it was for very different reasons.
Ilain set a hand on Ethenn’s arm. “We’re betrothed,” she said. “In Wauld, that makes us probationary husband and wife until such a time as we can be properly married by the clergy.”
Ethenn’s face had turned more red than tan now. “I didn’t know that!”
“You can nullify the betrothal at any point before the ceremony,” Archminister Fishere offered. “As there is no loss on either side, there will be no ill will from a contract broken. That is so long as you don’t consummate the marriage in the meantime.”
