“Gods, brother,” came Peregrine from the front pew on the opposite side of Zinnia.
Hinnom waved at the prince, dismissively. Then he turned to where Zinnia, Thatcher and Perch sat. “Zinnia, do you not have an entire keep to… keep?”
She nodded. “Sire, yes. I wanted to stay for the lady. She has no attendant.”
“Zinnia, you take on too much, woman. You are her chatelaine not her bridesmaid. Off with you,” he ordered, turning away from her and back to us, eyes flitting between bride and groom.“Be seated,” Hinnom bellowed over his shoulder at those in the pews, taking the seat Zinnia vacated, his guards standing in file still in the temple aisle.
She shot me a look of sympathy and left the temple, passing the royal guards at a brisk walk.
“And you have secured betrothals?” the Shark King asked, eyes on the two sergeants.
“Yes, sire,” Thatcher answered with a nod, contentment on his face. “Both of us.”
Perch looked like he might be ill.
“Well?” Hinnom said, whirling towards Cian. “Carry on! Or have I missed the nuptials?”
I married Captain Alric Angler that warm spring day, staring at his breastplate’s shark tooth, shielding my eyes from the sun, repeating phrases Cian directed us to repeat. Both mine and my groom’s voices were stilted. We exchanged no rings, only words. The ceremony was more pagan than to what I was accustomed. Cian cut a small opening in the soft flesh at the base of each of our left thumbs, mine next to my small quill tattoo, and held a silver bowl under them to drip. He then placed the bowl on the stone altar behind him.
Alric produced, from inside his breastplate, strips of linen. Cian placed my left hand into Alric’s hands and my new husband wrapped one of the strips around my hand and knotted it. Then Cian placed Alric’s left hand in my hands. Alric lifted his right hand, holding out linen to me and I bandaged his left hand, also tying a knot.
How my hands did not shake, I will never know. I stood in a stone temple for a goddess I did not worship, marrying a man I did not love, in a room full of men I did not know, in a country of which I was only just made a citizen.
The ceremony ended in a blur, Cian repeating teachings from past priests of earth, his voice melodic over the distant sounds of city life, his words so unknown to me.
Hinnom left, his guards following him out of the temple, seemingly bored by his own orders being executed. The red-haired man gave a wink in Alric’s direction and followed the royal guards out. The rest of the Procurers and armored men stood and began to file out, except for Thatcher and Perch, clearly waiting for their captain. Jeremanthy and Peregrine both approached us and offered us their congratulations on our wedding day. Alric, as always without emotion, nodded. I did as well, giving the half bow for the prince, finally remembering to show respect to a royal.
“Youarea radiant bride, lady,” the prince said, repeating his brother’s words.
“And you are a kind prince,” I responded, breathlessly meeting his considerate smile with a half one of my own.
“Dismissed,” Alric said to Thatcher and Perch.
After the Procurers, the general and the prince left the temple, Cian turned to Alric. “The king probably did not realize Zinnia was staying with the lady so as to show her your quarters. If you have duties to attend to, I can take her to the second floor of the keep. I believe I know—”
“I can take her,” Alric said brusquely.
Cian turned to me. “I will collect you at breakfast tomorrow, Edie. May I call you Edie? I would ask that you call me Cian.”
Alric shot him a look, but the priest ignored the captain.
“Yes, you can. And I will be ready,” I said, flexing my toes in their slippers under my white skirts. We were going to his quarters, was all I could think. Would he try to undress me? Even if he obviously did not care for me or my presence, would he feel honor-bound to consummate this?
32. Windows
Nodding at the priest in a perfunctory manner, Alric placed his right hand on my left elbow and guided me down the aisle. He held open one of the wooden doors for me and we passed through the temple’s antechamber, the clergy and farmers all watching the bride and groom whose wedding the king himself attended. Out in the corridors, we walked a short distance and then Alric drew me over to a set of stone steps leading upward on the Pikestully side, each landing containing one of the narrow windows that showed a glimpse of the city.
“Do your quarters have a window?” I asked, nearly tripping up the steps, but keeping pace.
“What?” he asked, turning to me on the steps, coming to a stop.
“Do you have windows? In your rooms? I— I need a window.”
He stared at me again, his back to the source of light and so he was in shadow. “Of course, I have windows. I am an officer. My quarters have windows.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
Then, as if resisting his desire to know, he said, “Why do you need a window?”
