Страница 18 из 130
Chapter 7 Cirri
For the first time in my life, I did my best to not move my hands so much as an inch, afraid that the calluses of my work-roughened hands would catch on the spidersilk-thin fabric of my wedding dress and ruin all of Wyn’s hard work.
From the moment she’d ushered me into Ravenscry I hadn’t had so much as a second to admire the finery of the vampire architecture around me. Tension lines had appeared around Wyn’s eyes and mouth, and she’d herded me through long, dark halls lit only with beeswax candles guttering in pools of wax, past half-glimpsed portraits in gilded frames, and through a thick oak door bound with iron.
On the other side of the door were my future chambers. This was the Tower of Spring, domain of the Lady, I’d been informed rather tersely as Wyn knocked a pattern on the door, and when it opened, showing a human maid, she nearly shoved me through.
The bloodwitch exhaled a sigh of relief at the sight of a copper bath full of steaming water, set behind a painted silk screen. “Oh, thank the ancestors. We don’t have time for any delays. Yuli, take this list to the Bloodgarden and ensure Eryan has checked off every single thing on that list. Once that’s done, the servers will need extra hands.”
She handed one of her papers to the maid, and a second appeared from behind the screen, a folded towel over her arm. Both watched me sidelong with interest, and Yuli slipped out the door a little slower than necessary.
Wyn plucked my journal and book from my hands, laid them on a dresser, and spun me around. I heard the soft snick of a knife being unsheathed and straightened, my back prickling, but she simply sliced through the stays of my red bodice.
“Out of that travesty, and into the bath,” she ordered, tucking the knife away. “Lissa, help her wash—oh for the ancestors’ sake, what, Cirrien?”
I’ve been washing myself for two decades. I think I can handle this, I signed sharply. I didn’t care if she said she didn’t give a damn about my past, or if I’d been torn from my own indentured servitude and placed into a fairy tale. I was still myself, and I could handle my own baths and scrub the floors just as well as they could.
Wyn gritted her teeth, which was more than a little u
I stepped out of the remains of the red dress and Lissa swept it up, red lace and satin frothing over her arms.
“Wed in red, indeed,” Wyn muttered to herself.
I eased myself into the copper tub before she could admonish me again or summon Lissa back, but there was no time to enjoy the first hot bath I’d had in months, and in a rather massive tub, too. I scrubbed myself hard, from the top of my head to my toes, using soaps scented strongly of roses and spice.
Wyn waited impatiently, double-checking another list and tapping a pen with undisguised anxiety as I pulled myself out and dried off. Lissa returned in that time, the red dress now a distant memory.
No sooner had I dried my legs than they had me in a chair before a vanity, wrapped in my towel and staring at myself in a huge mirror carved with roses and thorny brambles at the edges. I looked paler than usual, but perhaps that was the flickering candlelight. In the Cathedral, mirrors were few and far between; vanity was discouraged.
But at this very clear glimpse of myself, I could see what the Eldest Sister and Aletha saw. My family was of old blood, the lai Darrans undiluted even after decades of conquest. Red or blonde hair marked Veladari blood, as well as the green eyes I thought I’d inherited from my mother. My memories of my parents were foggy and distant, but I thought I remembered a fine-boned woman with pale hair and deep green eyes.
If not for these damned eyes… but as Lissa began rapidly combing through my hair, my gaze drifted to the background in the mirror, to the journal and book laying discarded and waiting for me.
Everything would be all right. I kept my back straight and tried to relax everything else.
As they worked, I was reminded even more strongly that this was no proper wedding according to the customs of my people. If my husband were not a vampire, I would have been gifted with polished rowan stakes to wear to my wedding, had silver dust smeared over my throat, and silver bells both on my wrists and braided into the crown of rowan.
Instead, Lissa arranged my damp hair in a braided crown, and Wyn tsked, pulling the braids out and brushing my hair out again in a fall down my back. “Keep it simple. Let the color shine,” she said, her filigree claws combing through. “It’s as red as our roses.”
She paused to study me, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “No cosmetics. Really, Bane has no idea how fortunate he is that you were chosen.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I had always placed my value in how hard I had worked to learn what I had, not in beauty, which was normally covered by a wimple and dust, anyways.
“Come over here, Cirrien. Leave the towel. The dress looks to be of a similar size, but we might need a few quick alterations…”
When they pulled out the simple, shimmering gown of white spidersilk, as thin as air, I forced myself to take a breath.
In my mind, I had been married this entire time, in the tradition of any proper Veladari bride. It took the sight of the moon-pale, unmarked silk to remind me that I was no such thing as Bane’s wife, not according to the vampires.
The gown wrapped around me, sleeveless and exposing my throat, shoulders, and arms. It hugged me like a web, so close to the skin that I felt almost naked.
Wyn sucked a breath between her teeth. “Perfection. What a joyous day, when nothing goes horrendously wrong.” And then she rapped on the wooden dresser, two sharp knocks with her knuckles. “Oh ancestors, I actually said that out loud.”
She turned me back towards the mirror and for the first time, I actually felt pretty. The vampiric wedding gown was simple, but the long spill of crimson hair made it feel deliberate.
“No jewelry, either. That would just be gilding the lily.” Wyn snapped her fingers, and Lissa placed a pair of matching silk slippers before me. I stepped into them; they were slightly too large, but not enough to make my walk clumsy. “It’s strange, but I could have sworn that the name given to me for earlier pla
A chill ran down my spine as I was reminded of Antonetta and her sad, ignoble end. It was sheer good luck that we were similar in size; these clothes had been made with her in mind.
I was wearing a dead woman’s dress.
Banishing the chill, I cut my hand sideways in a sharp motion, a sign that not even Wyn needed a translator for: do not ask.
I was determined to go into this marriage with—if not good cheer, then at least determination to find some silver lining, so to speak. I wanted no reminders of death on this night, or on the series of events and unfortunate lineage that had led me here.
The bloodwitch took my sign as it was intended, tilting her chin down. “Now for the last thing we need. As admirable as your constitution has proved up until now, we don’t need you fainting at the altar. This is the one wedding the Rift has been waiting for and it will be the talk of the valley for the next year. Believe me, you don’t want that talk to be about how you collapsed like a sack of flour in front of the Lord. Hold out your wrist, if you please.”
From within her voluminous sleeves, she produced a delicate, leaf-shaped blade, the edges gleaming sharp, and a small glass bottle.
How many knives did this woman carry around? I was starting to think she held an entire cabinet of curiosities within those robes.
Feeling no small amount of trepidation, I held out my left arm, wrist up, and Wyn took it. She delicately ran a fingertip over the blue tracery of veins, then angled the leaf-shaped knife and chose a precise point to insert it.
I sucked in a sharp breath, fingers clenching, fighting the urge to rip my arm away from her. I’d known this was coming. One way or another, as long as I was in Ravenscry, I would spill my blood.
She held the jar to the small wound she’d made, capturing much more than a pinprick of blood this time, but not enough to make me feel weak. And once it was full, she capped it and held it up to the light, giving it a little shake with a smile. Lissa silently handed me a silk bandage, and I held it to the tiny wound.
“I realize we haven’t discussed our customs in-depth with you, but I assure you, you will want Lord Bane to have your blood. His aegis does not extend to you in the ma
Politically expedient? I asked, arching a brow.
“I do hope that wasn’t an insult, dear. You will drink the wine as you make your vows, but there will be no blood in it for you. Before Bane drinks, I will add this to the cup. There will be more bleeding, but I assure you it will not be enough to cause an issue.”
More bleeding? I stared at her.
“The thorns, you see,” she said, rolling one shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing that will cause permanent harm, I promise.”
The thorns?
Wyn finally met my gaze and exhaled slowly, her mouth thi
Why? I asked, tipping my head with curiosity, though I was completely unsurprised and could guess at why she might have chosen this.
“The other brides did not go willingly to the altar, knowing what their lives would become, so I chose the easiest path—keeping you blind to what was to come. Is it not better to bring a lamb to slaughter happy and blindfolded?”
My lips twisted as I took a step back from her. I hope that’s simply a poorly-chosen metaphor.