Wolves.
A rising tide against magic.
Bryn smiled, refusing to let anything dampen her spirits. Pushing to her feet, she said, “Right. Well, though I’m sure Rangar can simply stride up to our wedding ten minutes before, women don’t have that luxury. I have a full day of bathing and preparations before the ceremony.”
“Wait, Bryn.” The smirk fell off Valenden’s face. He stood, pulling her to the side of the hearth where they had more privacy. Dropping his voice, he said, “I know today is a joyous day, but I thought you should know there was a wolf attack in Freville last night.”
Her eyes flashed. “Freville? That’s a Mir village.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t think the wolves had moved south . . .”
Valenden held out his hands as though to suggest reality was reality regardless of what she thought. “You can imagine the anti-magic sentiment there. Freville was already staunchly against its use.”
“What does this mean?” she said urgently.
“It means,” he said, “that you should get married, get drunk, and fuck your husband tonight. Because tomorrow, we’ll have fresh concerns to deal with.”
Chapter 24
WEDDING PART ONE . . . toasts with friends . . . sunset on snow . . . a surprise arrival . . . now and forever
The rest of the morning and into the afternoon, servants bathed, scrubbed, plucked, and scoured Bryn until she felt like a roasting chicken ready for the spit. She was trussed up in Helna’s beautiful wedding gown, and Lada wove her hair into braids that hugged her scalp in the shape of maiden rose petals to match the imprint on her engagement ring.
“King Rangar is going to think he has died and gone to the great afterlife when he sees you,” Lada giggled.
“And where is Rangar?” Bryn asked.
“Oh, you won’t see him until the wedding,” Lada answered. “His brother took him to The Whale Tavern.”
“What?” Great. All she needed was Valenden getting Rangar drunk before the ceremony—but Rangar was smarter than that. He might let Valenden drag him to The Whale Tavern, but he wouldn’t get too deep into his cups.
Her attendants chattered in excitement as they preened her, and as bolstered as Bryn was by their enthusiasm, her mind kept turning back to the wolves.
A wolf attack in the Mirien will be taken very seriously. She could only imagine the chaos Mars and Illiana must be dealing with as their people questioned the attack. The Mir people would want assurances. They would want answers.
Had Mars gotten her letter? Had he sent a spy into Ruma? How long before they got a report?
A knock came at the door shortly after the attendants had finally taken their leave and given Bryn a moment of peace. Distracted, Bryn glanced at the window and realized it was already late afternoon.
Sunset will be here soon!
Roxin and Saraj opened the door, grinning. “Bryn, you look like a vision!” Saraj exclaimed. “That dress is utter perfection.”
Roxin uncorked a bottle of fig brandy, whose sweet smell permeated the room. She waved it tantalizingly. “We came to toast the bride.”
Bryn rested her hands on her hips in mock seriousness. “Is there some Baer tradition I don’t know about to get a couple completely inebriated before the most important ceremony of their lives? Lada told me Valenden took Rangar to the tavern.”
Roxin perched on the foot of the bed. “If it’s not already a tradition, it should be.”
Saraj dragged over a chair and accepted the glass of brandy Roxin poured for her. Roxin handed Bryn a glass, too, and raised a toast. “To our fair queen, may the gods smile upon you!”
“Here, here,” Saraj said, drumming her knuckles on the table.
They downed their drinks, and Roxin immediately refilled the glasses. Bryn’s throat burned from the brandy but not in an unpleasant way. With a small smile, she laughed, “I don’t altogether mind this new tradition, you know. Roxin, the brandy is divine. We should have done this at my first wedding.”
The smile on Saraj’s face slipped for a moment. She peered down into her glass. “That was a different time. It didn’t feel quite so . . . celebratory. Behind the scenes, at least.”
