Page 7
ARKANA
The ground is frozen, a favorable omen, I’m told. And the trees have become skeletons on this winter morning, shedding their leaves seemingly overnight to make space for our ravens to perch. The town swells with Nocturnus energy. It crackles and simmers between the molecules of my fingertips. In the air I breathe and exhale. All around us. It welcomes the wedding ritual.
“Come away from the window, Arkana. You must let your maids finish dressing you, lest you are late to your own betrothal.” My mother stands a few inches taller than me, a vision in crimson. A mother always wears red at her daughter’s wedding, a symbol of the blood they shed to bring her into the world.
Priscilla Graves’s white strands are a stark contrast to mine. All seers lose pigmentation in their hair at a young age. It’s one of the costs of using their gifts. While her piercing blue eyes match mine, that is the extent of our similarities.
I nod and return to the full-length mirror so that my housemaids may finish tending to me. Delia brushes out my waves before attaching the lacy veil at my crown. And Olga fluffs out the skirts of my gown. Both the gown and veil are black, the color of mourning. When a young woman is given to a man, we must mourn for her innocence, her virginity, and her solitude. It is as beautiful as it is grotesque.
The thick fabrics are layered—tulle, then satin, and finally a lace overlay. She tightens the ribbons of my corset, cinching my waist and forcing my breasts up even more. I am the living, breathing epitome of an ethereal goddess on this melancholic day.
I inherited my black hair from my father. And also his pronounced cheekbones and thick lips. What did not get passed down was the seer ability. My father says that my gift is my beauty.
While some may think that shallow, I have seen the way men look at me. And women, for that matter. It holds great power. I have learned to use it to my advantage, siphoning just about anything I want with a bat of an eyelash or a subtle nibble of the lip.
Yet I long for more. I yearn to know the mysteries of this world the way they do. My mother and father have an unspoken language between them. A love that burns so deep and bright, they fill each other up just by existing together.
And after all these years… after wars and famine, conquests and death… after raising three children and an unkindness of ravens, they still cannot keep their eyes or their hands off each other. That is what I want. A love that is obsession. A man who will claim sweet torment when he’s apart from me…
But alas, a man has been arranged for me. I will never know if he would’ve chosen me of his own volition. All anyone cares about is combining our fortunes, our families becoming even more rich than we already are.
“This is the quietest I’ve ever heard you in your entire life. Are you ill, child?” Olga asks as she gathers the front of the rose-patterned veil and lays it over my face.
My mother snickers. “It’s just nerves. Betrothal jitters are normal. You’ll be fine, Arkana.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Yes, Mother.”
She sighs and retrieves two vials from the pockets of her skirt. “Here. Drink one before the ceremony, and one after. It will help with your… inhibitions later.”
Both Olga and Delia stifle their laughter as their cheeks blush bright pink.
“I’m not a whore, Mother. There’s not going to be any carnal activities on the first night. Surely not.” I snort, appalled that she would even suggest it.
She snatches the vials back only to shove them into the discreet pockets of my gown. “Fornication does not make you a whore if it’s with your own husband, Arkana. Don’t be ridiculous. Your father and I conceived Silas on our wedding night.”
I huff. “Easy for you to say. You already knew Father before your wedding night.”
She jerks me away from the mirror to face her directly. “Times were different then. Evigheden was a small village. We all knew each other quite well. Since your Uncle Atreus sent us here to Raven’s Gate, the marriage matches have become more crucial to the survival of our bloodlines.”
I know there’s no use in arguing with her. My fate is sealed. I am to marry today. “Has he arrived yet? Have you met him?”
At that, she smiles. “He’s been sequestered at your new home, Erebus Manor, with your father and brothers, as is per tradition. I will lay eyes on him for the first time the moment you do.”
Erebus Manor. I’m losing my name as well, it seems… I try to take a deep breath, but my bodice is simply too tight. “I’m ready.”
My mother nods, and we march toward the door with my housemaids in tow. It is silent except for the swish of our skirts as we saunter down the grand staircase. “A word of advice, my dear…” She pauses at the double doors at our estate’s entrance. “I would choose duty over violence tonight if I were you.”
I feign a gasp. “Whatever do you mean?”
She chuckles. “I don’t need to be a seer to know you have daggers stashed inside your skirts. If you want to have a happy life… choose the poison.”
I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
Olga and Delia lift up my gown as I climb inside the enclosed carriage. They help my mother in as well before taking their seats on the outside with the coachman.
Pulled by six black stallions and flocked by an unkindness of ravens, we make haste toward the church. And I down the first vial of nightshade.
My heart beats faster, my knees trembling as I teeter at the top of the steps. I gaze up through my veil and take little comfort in the three ravens who perch on the highest spire. Another good omen that they have appeared to bless this union. Have the stars truly aligned for me today? Or is this just the calm before the storm?
