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I unlocked the gate to the Tower garden with the master key. I was breaking one of our most sacred laws allowing the male bone soldiers in. Another problem for when the dead themselves did not attack.
Lanterns hung from every tree. The thick walls blockedthe noise.
Helia and I were supposed to come here after the ceremony to spend our first night together. Then I would leave, and she would move into the royal chambers on the highest floor of the Tower. The servants had done an outstanding job creating a magical hideaway. As we hurried through, I imagined entering it with another woman, and felt like the bastard I was. No one deserved her husband thinking such things on their wedding night, even if she did not have any more desire for me than I her.
We entered the Tower proper without pausing. Where there should have been celebrating women and children, silence reigned. The tables were set with food, flowers hung up on the walls, the musician’s instruments stood ready. Only the people were missing.
“Check that the gate is unbroken, then find my grandmother and the others,” I commanded the soldiers, struggling not to follow them, but what would one more fighter be able to do? And if I went with them, they would try to protect me instead of the women and children. “We are going to the crypt and will return in half a bell.”
At least the ceremony was a fast one; a little blood, a ritual oath wearing the crowns, and a handfasting. Then—officially—I would be wed for the rest of my life to Helia von Heskin. Never had I been gladder to lie to the world.
I led the way, setting a punishing pace for me and Helia, knowing that if I gave myself time to think I would turn around. People I cared about were fighting in the night. If Solovyova’s and Morovara’s warnings were true, the ceremony needed to be completed.
We threw ourselves down black steps, Helia’s mage light shining the way.
Despite Vanya’s warnings, the crypt remained as cold and empty as when my father’s bones were prepared.
Helia, her breath coming in bursts, crashed into me before stopping. Without preamble, I grabbed the larger still floating crown and placed it on my head.
The magic shot through my veins.
Lightning burned my heart.
A flash of green crossed my eyes.
It settled faster than during the crowning. I had already claimed it.
“Your turn,” I said to Helia, knowing that even without the vows, she would be bound to me and Tal the moment she wore the royal crown. “Last chance to back out.”
Her fierce smile was all Vanya, transforming them into twins rather than distant cousins, as she placed the ancient glass crown on her head. How far would Tempest have let the ruse go? Would she, like Helia did, have placed the real crown on her head if I had not walked away when she revealed who she was? As the glass settled on Helia’s curls, I wish I had stayed, rewarding her honesty with trust.
The crown would have fitted my Tempest like it could no one else. It had brought us together at the engagement ball. No matter how crazy, it should have bonded us at the wedding—if only it was to the right princess.
There was no visible sign of the magic taking hold of Helia. Perhaps the flash was only perceivable to the one wearing the crown.
For the blood, I drew my ceremonial sword halfway out of the sheath and ran my other palm lightly across the sharp edge, opening a long shallow cut.
Hurry, the wind whispered, and I felt something approaching despite the still air.
“Now your hand.”
“I can do thatmyself.” Helia pressed her palm against the blade until blood ran down her fingers, the stains invisible on her red dress. Too deep. She would need a healer to not scar.
Magic from the crown swirled through me, setting my teeth on edge. It was building to something.
Joining our hands, blood mixed, powers merged. Hers—a sparkling power in pink and purple—spread like an endless ocean. It swallowed my magic, nothing more than a shallow lake, until I vibrated. This was the reason my family insisted we marry, and feeling the difference in power I finally understood the potential she carried. I believed her displays of magic only a cultural difference, but they were needed to let off the pressure she must be feeling daily.
The oath came unbidden to my tongue, as if the magic and crowns demanded it.
“I swear to protect Tal, to ward against the darkness and give the dead peace. I swear that the Gate will remain closed until the day I die. I bind myself to you.”
Helia’s words echoed mine and jointly we placed our bloody hands on the sculpted sigils surrounding the Goddess’s face.
A weight settled inside me; a regret I would carry for life, a hope for the city above.
The sigils glowed, pulling the built-up magic out and out until the crypt danced in colors.
Pain, like it was stealing part of me, lanced through my arm before it finally let go.
