Page 14 of Bride of Ash & Dust

The priest leans forward, then unties the silk rope. It feels like it takes a long time; I can smell something on his breath that might be onions. Finally, the rope falls in a coil at our feet. It looks like the entrails of some slaughtered beast. My new husband drops my hands as soon as the rope hits the floor.

“Go now,” the priest continues. “Go forth as man and wife.”

Wife. That’s what I am now.

The crowd comes to their feet, cheering and clapping as I turn to face them. I force myself to smile, just like I’ve done since I was old enough to know the sting of a hand against my backside. Rage burns in my chest as I watch the crowd of strangers beaming at me, a whole crowd of people who are just so happy to watch me bind my life to someone I don’t know, someone who doesn’t want me.

If I had a sword, I could cut them all down.

I shudder at the sheer brutality of my own mind. And then my husband takes my hand, gingerly, almost like an afterthought, and leads me down the aisle.

We have to push through another crowd of strangers waiting outside the temple. The wind is cold, especially after the heat of the crowded temple and its sickening perfume. The crowd here is roughly dressed, soldiers and farmers, I’d guess, and their cheering is decidedly cruder. At least my husband ignores their calls for a kiss.

A carriage waits for us outside the temple’s gardens, behind the much larger carriage for King Malrik, whom I assume watched the ceremony from the private, walled booths in the back. The snake leads me past an empty stone fountain, ignoring the crowd. I have enough time to wonder why they didn’t fill the fountain for a royal wedding, and then the door of the carriage swings open.

My husband holds his hand out for me. I take it, then step into the darkness of the carriage. At least it cuts the wind. I close my eyes.

“You go on,” a low, soft voice says.

I turn and see Anura climbing through the door. She settles on the seat opposite me and dabs at her eyes. She’s been crying all day, although I’m not sure if that’s because I’m marrying someone I’ve never even met or because my brother hasn’t yet arrived.

The carriage door swings shut. My husband says something I can’t quite make out, and a moment later, the carriage lurches forward.

“What—” I begin, but my throat pulls tight before I can say anything else.

“He said he’d meet us at the castle,” Anura replies.

I exhale in a huff. Before I can even begin to sort through my feelings about the fact that my husband apparently doesn’t even want to ride in the same carriage as me, Anura leans forward and throws her arms around my shoulders.

“At least you looked beautiful,” she sniffs.

And I burst into tears.

Chapter 10

Zarek

CELEBRATING MY WEDDING

This has been the longest day of my life.

First, we had to stand in a receiving line for hours at the palace gates, greeting every member of the palace’s extensive staff and anyone else who managed to slip past the guards. Petrys even came through the line, which was a stupid risk to take, but I didn’t dare reprimand him in person. I don’t want anyone around here to remember we came down from the mountains together. Or that Petrys has scars on his back because of me.

And then there was the feast. At least there was wine, although I was careful not to drink too much. The third crown prince, Jak, got so smashed at his wedding feast that he had to be dragged out of the banquet hall. A week later, he was sent to oversee troop movement in the mountains. He hasn’t come back yet.

Lilias hasn’t drank much either. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Sometimes the bride is the one who has to be carried to the wedding bed. King Malrik says that’s a mercy, given what happens to her that night, but watching it always makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.

Bells ring from the far end of the feast hall. I glance at my bride, wondering if she knows what this means, but her expression doesn’t change. She looks exactly like she’s looked for most of the feast: like a woman being led to the gallows.

Great.

The crowd cheers and comes to their feet. King Malrik, who has not been avoiding the wine, is the loudest of all. Gods. I grit my teeth together as the bakers parade their elegant cake into the feast hall, the production complete with ringing bells and scantily clad dancers.

I usually love feasts like this. The revelry, the decadence, the way people let their guard slip and say or do something you can hold against them for the next decade. It’s a rare equalizer, these drunken celebrations, and most of the currency I hold comes from nights like this.

But I’ve never been the one sitting at the high table. From here, it’s an utterly different experience.

The head chef bows before the high table. With much cheering, the bakers place the massive cake on the table in the center of the room. It’s beautiful, I’ll give it that much. It’s frosted to look like the palace, and it’s so loaded with rum I can smell the thing from here.