Ishotmygrandmothera dark look. I wasn’t going to kiss a woman just coming out of unconsciousness, no matter if she was technically my wife or not.
But Celeste—either simply used to doing as she was told, or one for following rote tradition regardless of context—raised her face to mine, even in her woozy state, and presented herself for a kiss. Tradition could be damned as far as I was concerned, but I wouldn’t embarrass her by denying her a kiss sheappearedto be seeking in front of a crowd.
I gritted my teeth and leaned down to brush my lips against hers in the most chaste kiss one could manage while cradling her against my side with our arms still tied between us. The fae half of the audience erupted into raucous cheers. “Remove the binds, please,” I whispered to my grandmother, but she was already working on sliding the cloth over our hands to preserve the unity of the knot.
“Take her to the private drawing room on the back left,” she instructed quickly as she tucked the cloth around Celeste’s arm to keep it from dripping everywhere.
Celeste was practically zombie-like in her movements, probably in shock, and proceeded to try to step down from the dais. She missed the first step and never got the chance to connect with the ground because I scooped her up as gently as I could and cradled her small form against my chest. She was far too light in my arms, and the tears that leaked down her face and onto my shirt made my heart lodge in my throat. The fae continued to whistle and cheer as I carried her out, but I didn’t even notice, as focused as I was on the woman I held. The vestibule had several doors, but the one my grandmother indicated had a servant waiting next to it with a stack of cloths and a bowl of steaming water. I stopped to open the door—remembering at the last moment that I couldn’t simply pass through it with Celeste in my arms—but my grandmother’s hand was there already, reaching around me to turn the knob.
“Set her on the desk,” she told me as she took the supplies from the waiting servant.
I frowned at the hard surface of the writing desk and found myself reluctant to set her down. What if she tipped over? But my grandmother eyed me expectantly, so I did as I was told, acknowledging that it would probably be easier for her to work on Celeste without my arms in the way. I sat her on the desk as carefully as I could and held my hands out, ready to catch her, long enough to make sure she was stable. She wobbled but stayed upright—at least for the moment. I was ready to catch her at the first sign of trouble.
My grandmother set the bowl of water next to her and dunked a cloth from the stack she set next to it, wringing it out and handing it to me. “Wipe your arm,” she told me as she soaked another one to use on Celeste and took a seat in a hard-backed chair in front of her. “Let your wings out, girl,” she muttered as she focused on wiping the blood from the sides of Celeste’s arm, staying clear of the incision at first. “There’s no one here to judge you, and there’s no sense in wasting the energy on it when you need it to heal.”
Celeste’s body gave a mighty shudder, and suddenly her wings were at her back again. Soft, ivory-colored feathered-things, tipped in pale pink. Even the tiny antlers that appeared at her brow were ivory and pink. She looked like the images humans had always painted of angels. An amusing thought, considering real angels lookednothinglike this. She was panting hard with the effort of shifting, or maybe finally allowing herself to react to the pain, and as her breathing began to even out her weeping began in earnest. Tears poured down her face as my grandmother began to dab at the wound she had created.
“Oh, sweet child.” My grandmother placed the rag back in the bowl of water, turning it red with our mingled blood. She sat back and looked at Celeste, taking both of her hands in each of her own, and frowned. “Dear one, I do believe you’re done being paraded about for the evening.” She squeezed her hands gently, patted her shoulder, and then stood and turned to me. “This one needs to be in bed. Finish cleaning her wound for me and bind it tightly. The magic you gave her and whatever healing draughts are left in her system will help it to heal faster, but binding it will stop the bleeding and help ease the pain. Her draughts appear to be wearing off already, so I’m going to go talk to our hosts and see if they have any more, or if it’s possible for her to be excused from the dinner. This is just too much.” She took my hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze, and then exited swiftly, leaving me alone with Celeste.
My wife.
I fingered the bloodstained cloth in my hand from where I’d started to clean my arm, and sat it next to the bowl, taking up a new one and slowly lowering myself into the seat in front of her. “May I clean your wound?” I asked quietly, watching for her reaction to my closeness.
She blinked at me in confusion and then nodded, and I noticed her wings quivering slightly with her efforts to stem the flow of her tears, her lungs hitching repeatedly. Had I thought my heart had shattered into a thousand pieces before? Now it was in a million.
I took her arm in my hands and, as gently as I could, began to wipe the blood away. Around her wound the scarification of the binding mark was already beginning to form—light pink raised patterns of swirls and bands that would darken with shadowed pigment over time. There was something deep within me that responded to the sight of the marks, even as faint as they were. It was a visible mark that my magic was within her, bone deep, and in a very primal way shebelongedwith me. She quieted as I worked at cleansing and rinsing and wringing and dabbing until finally all the blood was gone from her skin. My grandmother still hadn’t returned. I found soft medical gauze and strips of cloth at the bottom of the stack and pressed the gauze firmly against the wound, directing her to hold it for me as I prepared the over wrap. The cut was barely oozing now, but I wrapped it tightly and tied it off.
“What about yours?” she asked when I finished.
I lifted my arm to inspect the mess of drying blood and dipped the cloth back into the water. Giving my skin a half a dozen rough swipes removed the bulk of the blood. She gaped at the mark that had already solidified on my own arm; dark swirls and bands that mirrored what her own would look like. The shadow magic was already embedded deeply in my skin and the only thing that remained of the wound was a pink stripe that would be gone by tomorrow. I wished she could heal from this as quickly as I could, but it would be a long time before my magic had settled that deeply into her cells.
There was an odd blankness behind her eyes as I finished cleaning myself, perhaps numbness or tiredness. I didn’t know, and the not knowing concerned me. I replaced the cloth in the bowl again and considered her expression. The blankness was even more upsetting than the weeping. “What’s wrong?” I asked her as quietly as I could, as I could hear my grandmother’s footsteps coming nearer.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” she answered in her hoarse whisper, but I didn’t know what that meant. Here in this room? Here with me? Here in the castle? Or Faery? Silent tears began to leak from her eyes again as my grandmother knocked. I stood warily, unsure of what to do or how to respond to her statement, and stepped to the door.
I opened it to find my grandmother a few steps away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, so I joined her in the outer vestibule and pulled the door shut behind me. She heaved a heavy breath and released it slowly, clearly frustrated, and then paused to listen. Satisfied that no one was within hearing distance she finally spoke. “The royal family is adamant that she joins the reception. It is, after all, her wedding reception,” she admitted with a sigh, “and would reflect poorly on them if she didn’t attend.”
I frowned, glancing toward where Celeste sat even though I couldn’t see her, picturing her tear-stained face.
“I know,” Grandmother said, responding to my unspoken concern. “Having her pass out during the reception would also reflect poorly on them,” she grumbled. “I explained very clearly that the ritual was quite painful for her and she’s incredibly tired now. The magic you gave her will take time to heal her. But they wouldn’t hear it, insisting that, now that she has your magic, she should be fine. Even her mother was horrified at the thought of her not attending, regardless of the toll it will take on her, which surprised me given her behavior yesterday. I’ll never understand the other races’ need for such pageantry surrounding the taking of a wife, but I accepted long ago that it isn’t worth fighting what I cannot change and I cannot change ten thousand years of cultural norms. She’s a princess, and since she isn’t useful for securing an alliance or better trade relations through her marriage, the queen’s advisors seem determined to gain prestige by showing off to all and sundry that she’s marrying aholy Veardur.” She pursed her lips disdainfully, but it was her eyes that hid flames of silent wrath. “They said they’re expecting her to receive all the heads of state at this dinner while ‘displaying the dignity befitting her position’,” she finished with an irritated hand flick. “They think suffering through one dinner is the least she can do for her kingdom. I suppose it’s just one dinner, but we should try to keep it as brief as possible for her. Give her some time to compose herself before you bring her down and please try to ensure she’s tidied up. I will hold them off for as long as I can.” She stood up on her toes to kiss my cheek, so I leaned down to make it easier for her. “Support her weight where you can, and I’ll try to run interference. We’ll get through this.”
It was an attestation of my grandmother’s devotion to propriety and social obligations that she assumed we should abide by these demands of our presence we found undesirable. Not only had I no such devotion, but I felt something happen inside of me as my grandmother walked away—a shift in my thinking that I found difficult to explain.
For my entire life I had embodied the essence of the dutiful reaper so as to be better able to do my job. From the time that I was a very young child, much of my time had been spent learning the languages and customs of the other races and their cultures. Once I reached middle grade, I was enrolled in public schooling so that I would have a more complete understanding of the peoples we lived among. Every afternoon and weekend that was not spent learning weaponry and magical combat skills was spent with tutors of various backgrounds, learning about their histories and traditions. It was impressed upon me in countless ways how traditions and culture are bound up in who a person is, how they see themselves, how they interact with the world around them. Respect for people and who they are is of utmost importance in the collection of the dead.
My priorities up until this point in time had been my family and closest friends—which are just another type of family—and my duty as a reaper. Normally, I wouldn’t have hesitated to do as I was told by my family. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind to do anything other than comply graciously, to support Celeste as she bore the duty of attending our wedding reception, and honor my people by getting through the evening respectfully and silently, meeting every curtsey with a dignified bow and a quiet nod. But my very short list of priorities now included a new addition, and everything that had belonged there previously had by necessity shifted down one place to make room for her. The Fae hadgivenme this woman as my wife, and whatshe wantedmattered far more to me than whatthey wanted, or even what my family expected of me. Culture and tradition were very weighty things indeed when I was collecting the dead… But I was not currently tasked with collecting the dead.
I turned the knob behind me and stepped back into the drawing room, noting the way Celeste was slumped sideways across the desk with her head on her uninjured arm. Her eyes were closed but her breathing wasn’t even, so I didn’t think she was asleep. “Celeste?”
Her eyes opened slowly, pinning me with that dull, exhausted look, and I made up my mind.
“Do you want to go to the wedding feast?” I asked her first, not wanting to choose for her.
She shook her head slightly, sadness washing over her features again.
I nodded and weighed our options. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered sadly. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.” The tears welled up in her eyes again and began to leak out the sides.
