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“Lord Draven accepts all people from all backgrounds when they ask for sanctuary. Some leave behind their old lives and take new names, but they do not cease to be themselves.” Lemoine spoke with a devout fervor, her head high and her body trembling with barely contained excitement.
“And you? What life did you leave behind?” She swayed on her feet but managed to steal a glance at Lemoine.
“I was born here. I’ve served Lord Draven my entire life. Everything I have is because of him. For him.” A smile flickered across her face, the first hint of an emotion beyond scorn. “People are waiting. Try not to trip over your own feet.”
Draven
Draven flung open the doors to the chapel. The waiting crowd fell silent, and the music ceased abruptly. The simple room, furnished with backless benches and a plain altar, was filled with waiting people. Guests. Draven couldn’t say who exactly, other than they must be among the higher echelon of the Aerie. He recognized a few faces, but he couldn’t be sure he knew their names. He might confuse an adult child for their parents. He had done it before. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Stringer handled the invitations.
Buried within the mountain, natural daylight did not reach the chapel. Candles provided soft illumination, casting shadows on the ceiling. Lighting had once been provided electronically, but those had been salvaged long ago for use in more vital areas. Even if the mountain provided protection from the fluctuating Nexus energies of the planet, time and wear took their toll on equipment. Some items were impossible to replicate. Draven had to use the remaining resources prudently. What would happen when the lights went out and there were no more parts to scavenge? Another worry to add to his pile.
Charlotte and the minister awaited him at the altar. His worries fell away. All he could see was his bride. She was a vision in pale lavender, like an early spring blossom. Curls framed her face, and the rim of her glasses gleamed under the candlelight. So sweet, just a bite-sized morsel ready for him to gobble her up.
He took his place at her side. The minister opened a heavy book and flipped the pages.
“That was a rather dramatic entrance,” Charlotte whispered, turning ever so slightly to face him.
Her breath…she stank of poison. Wormwood, vervain, and wine.
How amusing. Did she think to poison herself in the hopes that he would drink from her? A combination of wormwood and vervain would slow his reflexes and impair his ability to heal if he were to have an unpleasant encounter with a silver dagger. A decent enough plan, but clearly she had no idea that he could detect the deadly herbs.
“Where did you smuggle in the herbs? Sown into the hem of your skirt?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Last night her supply had been confiscated, but obviously she had more.
Charlotte turned to face him, confusion on her face. “Excuse me? I don’t follow.”
She was precious, like a fluffy bunny hopping along, unaware that she attracted the attention of something so much worse. He’d allow her fumbling attempts at assassination, knowing he was in little danger.
“Is there a problem?” the minister asked.
“No. Proceed,” Draven ordered.
One wedding ceremony was much like another. Draven had stood there several times. Five? Seven? He remembered his brides with fondness and clarity, but the weddings blurred together. What was there to spark a memory? The chapel was the same, even though it had faded slowly over the centuries. The crowd was the same. Faces and names changed, but the crowd remained the same selection of his trusted followers and staff. They were there to support him, to witness him, never the bride. The vows were identical. Repeat these words. Hold hands. Place a gold ring on her finger.
The only thing that was different was that he felt a pull when the minister declared them wed and free to kiss.
Charlotte lifted her eyes, anticipation on her face.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek. “Not while you’re poisoned, sweetness,” he murmured.
“What poison?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t be able to tell?”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you accusing me of being drunk? I had one glass.”
“We’ll discuss this later.” He stepped back to face the applauding crowd, a hand raised in gratitude. In a voice soft enough for only her to hear, he said, “Smile. You wanted to be here.”
Chapter Seven
Draven
A celebration followed. Not his idea, but Stringer pointed out that people were restless and needed an outlet. Blow off steam. Winter on the mountain was like that. On a clear day, it was easy to get sunshine and fresh air on the upper levels, especially if one visited the greenhouses. Taking a trip down the mountain, through the pass, and into the valley was an easy journey in good weather. Hunting parties came and went daily.
In foul weather, though, travel became difficult and risky. Only the most skilled and vital went out.
Music and laughter filled the great hall. Food was in abundance. Wine and beer flowed freely. Charlotte made all the appreciative noises one expected of a guest.
Draven watched the festivities from his seat at the high table, bored and glowering. He had work to do. There was a situation in the lower levels that required monitoring. It had been stable when he left, but the equipment was old and fragile. The minions he left to supervise did not have the technical experience to make repairs. That was all he was nowadays. A repair tech.
