Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

24HARLOW

Weddings in Lunameade are always bright and shining, with huge floral garlands and boisterous music, but in Mountain Haven, the only light in the room comes from a few flickering candles.

This is partially my fault. Wedding ceremonies both in Lunameade and here at the fort mimic tales of the Divine. I chose the love story of Asher and Stellaria, which is a story of darkness.

I thought Henry would be charmed by the callback to the night we met. I also thought it would remind him that our first interaction was me trying to kill him, in case either of us forgets that this marriage is just a means to an end.

I’d hoped the darkness would feel comforting, but it’s done nothing to ease my nerves.

In the stories passed down through generations, the Divine of Malice, Polm, didn’t like that his daughter, Stellaria, was losing focus in her celestial duties as the Divine of Stars, choosing instead to spend her nights with the Divine of Endings. Polm captured Asher and stole him away.

Polm thought Stellaria, ever the dutiful daughter, would take the reminder and go back to work. He thought the love affair was something temporary since an eternity of existence meant most of the Divine weren’t prone to attachments. He didn’t realize that Asher and Stellaria had bound themselves together in the Divine approximation of marriage.

Stellaria didn’t go back to her duties. For three full days, she blotted out the stars and sun and moon. She turned the entire world into the deepest, darkest night and went to reclaim Asher.

Now, a room of important Mountain Haven families waits for me to claim and promise myself to a man I can’t stand, before I’m meant to feast and fuck in front of them. I knew this would be awkward, but I didn’t think about the fact that all of the groom’s guests wear black masks to show their support for him, while the only person here for me is Gaven. He stands stiffly at the back of the room—the only silver mask shimmering in a sea of matte black.

He’s not even staying for the ceremony. Even though I’m pretty sure nothing scandalous will happen during the vows and blessing portion, I’m not taking any chances. Plus, I figured tonight’s festivities would be his best chance to poke around the rest of Havenwood House with minimal disruption.

I hadn’t counted on how unnerving it would be to look out and not see one friendly face. I suppose it will at least make the consummation ritual less awkward if I can’t recognize every single face in the crowd.

The collective weight of every eye in the room slides over the fine silver silk of my dress and its barely wedding-appropriate cut. The thin straps cross on my back where the fabric drapes just above my scar. The silk is so fine and the neckline dips between my breasts enough that I couldn’t wear any undergarments.

It’s a marvel they have access to such delicate fabrics in this remote fort. Generally, they seem focused on necessities only. But the fact that I arrived to a closet full of dresses, furs, and coats—all designed according to Henry’s tastes and preferences—makes me wonder if that’s a front.

I’d always been taught that Mountain Haven was isolated—that the only way out was through the front gates. But, being here, I wonder if they’re not as isolated as they seem.

For all their talk of needing crops, they seem remarkably well-provisioned. Every meal I’ve had includes fresh fruit and vegetables, and while I know there are some plots on the lower levels of the fort, and nothing is ever wasted, it’s still more variety than I’d expect them to be able to provide.

My stomach dips as Henry’s mother, Evangeline, hands me a candlestick. I shouldn’t be nervous. This part is easy enough. I nod to her, and the crowd stands.

She walks down the aisle ahead of me. “The night comes swiftly. The daughter of wrath. She’s here to claim her love.”

I wait for Evangeline to take her seat at the front of the room. All the candles in the room, except the one in my hand, gutter out at once.

The wax dribbles down the side of the candle, and I try to hold it steady to keep it from dripping on my dress. All I smell is melted beeswax mixed with the delicate floral scent of the Stellarium Blossoms that line my path.

It takes a small eternity to walk down the short aisle. This is just the first part of the three-part ceremony. First, the vows and blessing, then the communion, and finally the consummation. Rationally, I should be most nervous about the public sex, but the biggest point of failure is my ability to be in emotional and spiritual communion with Henry. Sex is one thing, but intimacy is unnatural.

I make it to the front of the crowd, where Henry sits in a chair with his father, Philip, standing over him.

Philip meets my eye. “You shouldn’t be here, daughter. This tantrum must end. Go back to the sky and do your job.” He projects his loud, steady voice so that everyone in the room can hear him.

“You have something of mine.” I’m relieved that my voice doesn’t betray my nerves.

Philip crosses his arms. “He’s mine now. He’s agreed to stay.”

I don’t feel particularly connected to Stellaria, but the stories of her always make me think of Aidia. I tilt my chin up and try to summon my sister’s defiance. “You cannot claim him. He is mine as I am his. We are bound by spirit and veil and blood. You cannot hold what doesn’t belong to you. I am the darkness at the end of the world. You have no power over me and mine.”

I reach for Henry’s hand and draw him to his feet.

“Praise the Divine,” Henry says.

All at once, the candles in the room burst back into flames, bathing the space in golden light.

“The Divine have blessed us,” the crowd says in response. They clap in approval.

I know the candles are just the work of someone in the room with a blessing from Stellaria making this experience more real, but it’s unnerving to feel the hand of a deity in the room with us, even if it’s just an act.

Philip raises his hand, and the room settles. “It’s my pleasure as both the mayor of this fort and a father to welcome all of you who have come to bear witness to the joining of my son, Henry Asher Havenwood, to Harlow Catherine Carrenwell⁠—”

Philip continues to speak, but I’m too focused on Henry’s proximity to pay too much attention. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.

It’s hard to even meet his eye after he saw my scar, after everything he told me last night. But I force myself to hold his gaze because this is just a job. I am just a woman getting married to protect her sister.

Henry’s gaze rakes over me slowly, from the loose braid in my hair strewn with Stellarium Blossoms, down over the dress that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. The silk is so thin, the dress fitted so exactly to my curves that I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to sit down.

“You look stunning,” he whispers.

My mouth falls open in shock for a split second before I can master myself, and his eyes light up.

Divine dammit. I should not let him fluster me so easily. One sob story and one minor favor, and I’m already fawning over him. What would Aidia say?

She’d probably say he’s very handsome and that I should relax and enjoy the fun part of this assignment our parents have given me.

He is annoyingly attractive. His dark hair is a little too long, but it’s combed back into neat waves instead of falling into his dark blue eyes. He’s exchanged his leather armor for a crisp white collared shirt, a black vest with golden embroidery, and a perfectly fitted matching jacket that shows off his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

“Harlow?” Henry’s whisper rips me out of my thoughts. “Are you ready for the blessing? It might be⁠—”

“Intense. I know,” I whisper.

I read about this part of the marriage ritual about ten times because it was the most vague. Henry’s parents will call down blessings from the Divine to guide us in our marriage. The book I read implied that those blessings can sometimes have “an effect” on the recipients.

Philip is joined by Evangeline. She places a hand on each of our shoulders and smiles warmly.

I stare at her. Evangeline’s face is warm and open. She’s beautiful, with dark hair and dark blue eyes like Henry’s. Faint smile lines crinkle around her eyes, but her skin is otherwise smooth and well-preserved. It’s hard to picture this woman sitting by while her son is repeatedly, violently killed so that she can bring him back.

I have the irrational urge to slap her, but it’s not as if my own mother hasn’t done her share of enabling.

“People of the Haven,” Evangeline says, her voice clear and strong. “I ask Divine Asher and Divine Harvain to bless these two children of the Divine, as they have once before. I ask Asher, who has already been so generous to us, to bless them so their lives are long and their fights end swiftly. May Harvain bless them with luck in their endeavors and in their love.”

She holds up a hand, and everyone in the crowd lifts a hand to mimic her.

“May the Divine blessings shine upon them for the good of the Haven.”

“For the good of the Haven,” Evangeline echoes.

She steps aside and Philip takes her place, resting a hand on each of our shoulders.

“People of the Haven.” Philip sounds as commanding as his wife. “I ask Divine Vardek and Divine Kennymyra to bless these two children of the Divine, as they have once before. I ask Vardek, who has already been so generous to us, to guard them from all who would wish them ill and to strengthen their marriage bond to last for many years. I ask Kennymyra to bless them with all the pleasure of partnership and to make their marriage bed fruitful with many blessed children.”

The words are jarring. It’s not as if I’m surprised by the mention of fertility. My magical bloodline is the entirety of my value to these people, who would probably otherwise have tried to kill me by now. I’ve felt their disdain since I arrived. Even if they don’t know that my family had something to do with the attack that brought down the fort, they still blame us.

But I have only made it this far by fully ignoring the fact that this arrangement comes with the expectation of bearing Henry’s heirs. This isn’t permanent, and I’m not going to be hanging around long enough for the threat of children to become an issue. I’m not cut out for mothering.

Henry catches my eye and arches an eyebrow like he’s waiting for me to object to the wording, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He brushes his thumbs over the tops of my hands in a soothing motion that makes me want to shove him away from me. I don’t need his comfort. His contempt is much preferred.

Philip holds up a hand, and everyone in the crowd lifts a hand to mimic him.

“May the Divine blessings shine upon them for the good of the Haven,” the crowd says in unison.

“For the good of the Haven,” Philip echoes.

The room is so still, like we’re all collectively holding our breath. Nothing happens.

Then, the candles blaze into torches and a warm tingling surges in my body. Henry squeezes my hands a little harder, and I dig my nails into his palms, trying to stay standing as the intense, swelling sensation rushes through my body.

My breathing is shallow and quick. I can’t tell if it’s the blessing itself or the sheer shock that I feel anything at all.

It only lasts a moment, but when the buzz finally abates, I feel like my insides are full of bubbles.

Philip releases his hold on us and steps back. “The blessing has been offered. Now the couple will exchange their vows.”

I’m relieved to be back in the scripted portion of the ceremony.

There were several sets of vows that we were allowed to choose from. Henry specifically chose the most generic ones. I have my theories as to why. The basic vows don’t say anything about protecting your partner. If he’s planning to kill me at some point, or even just harm me, it wouldn’t do for him to violate vows made in the eyes of the Divine. Some people believe the Divine do their part to help a promised couple hold their vows, that they compel a devotee not to violate their word.

But there were plenty of people in the city who promised fidelity and cheated on their wives anyway. I’ve never seen the hand of the Divine reaching in to right the scourge in Lunameade. I doubt I will see it here. I’m on my own.

Still, it’s a relief to not have to lie, because once I have what I need from him, I would kill him without a second thought if I could think of a creative enough way that would actually stick. It’s very likely that’s exactly what my parents will ask of me.

Philip nods to me to go first.

“I, Harlow Catherine Carrenwell, take you, Henry Asher Havenwood, to be my husband. I promise to be your partner in this life, to stand beside you in joys and sorrows, in your weaknesses and strengths. I vow to hold you in high esteem and bear your burdens along with you.”

Evangeline holds out a jeweled ceremonial blade, and I take it in one hand.

I slide the tip across the inside of my left ring finger. “Let this mark serve as a reminder of my vows. Let my blood serve as a pledge of my faith. When you bleed, I bleed, too.”

I hand the blade back to Evangeline. She dribbles well water over it and wipes it clean.

When I meet Henry’s gaze, something flashes in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak. “I, Henry Asher Havenwood, take you, Harlow Catherine Carrenwell, to be my wife. I promise to be your partner in this life, to stand beside you in joys and sorrows, in your weaknesses and strengths. I vow to hold you in high esteem and bear your burdens along with you—” He hesitates for a moment, licks his lips, and continues. “I swear to protect you from all who would do you harm, and bring justice to those who have wronged you.”

I try not to react to the change in vows. Protection and vengeance were not originally on the table. He wouldn’t offer those things without a good reason. I stare at him, trying to assess what his angle is and what he thinks this offer will gain him.

What changed between when we chose the vows and now?

It hits me all at once. My scar. He saw my scar and assumes he knows where it came from—that our vengeance is aligned in this one way. I’m suddenly so angry at him for thinking he knows me enough to manipulate me.

Henry draws the blade across the inside of his left ring finger. “Let this mark serve as a reminder of my vows. Let my blood serve as a pledge of my faith. When you bleed, I bleed, too.”

He holds up his palm and I press my bloody hand to his.

“I swear these things under the watchful eye of the Divine and I speak these words freely and of my own volition,” we say in unison.

It’s not true for either of us, but hopefully the Divine don’t notice.

Henry lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the cut on my finger. The wound tingles and itches. He’s healing it.

His mouth comes away bloody, but he seems wholly unbothered, simply licking the stain from his lips. I stare at him, trying to puzzle out this twist.

If he were smart, he would have chosen those vows to begin with instead of leaving us with this particular inequity. Maybe he feels confident that he’s indestructible. But he hasn’t met my determination. I can be very creative.

I can hear Aidia’s question in my head. What’s the only thing stronger than the foundation of this house?

My will.

I grin at my husband and make a silent vow to myself. If I can’t kill him, I will make him wish he could die.

Philip holds up his hands. “The vows have been accepted and the blessing has been offered. Now seal the ceremony with a kiss.”

Henry dips his head, smiling wickedly.

“You’d let me hurt you?” I whisper.

He leans in so that our lips are just a breath apart. “I’d let you try.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before kissing me.

This is more than just a perfunctory kiss to seal our vows. He tugs my hair to tilt my head back, and his other arm wraps around my waist, pressing me against his body. He kisses me hard, the way he did the night we met. It’s fast and passionate and claiming. It’s a rhythm I know intuitively—like kissing Henry once burned him into my muscle memory forever.

The thought is jarringly incongruent to the way I feel about the feral man I’m supposed to be spying on. It’s inconvenient how much I like kissing him—that it manages to be both novel and familiar.

When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless, my whole body thrumming with pleasure.

The impulse to run is so strong that I take a step away from him. The nearest exit is at the back of the room. Too far away to get to quickly and impossible to get to discreetly since every eye in the room is locked on me.

It’s just a kiss, Harlow. Get a grip.

He takes my hand, turns to the crowd, and holds up our intertwined fingers. The crowd cheers. Actually, they’ve been cheering the whole time, and I just went momentarily senseless during that kiss.

I’m still half-dazed as Henry threads an arm around my waist and ushers me back down the center aisle as the crowd claps.

People offer congratulations as we pass, but my head is still spinning and I can’t offer more than a dumb smile to each of them.

When we reach the back of the ceremony room, Henry holds up our joined hands and the room erupts in cheers before he leads the way down a long hallway to a ballroom.

The tables are covered in tall candelabras and wildflower arrangements. Wax dribbles down the sides of the tapers and every single bouquet is different. I’m so used to the tidy tablescapes of Lunameade that I like the disorder for the sheer fact that it looks like the outside has come into the ballroom. Ivy vines have been woven into the chandeliers, adding a romantic wilderness feel to the space. It’s so beautiful. No one would ever look at a room like this and think this is the sham wedding of two people who hate each other.

“This is part two, lovely. Communion,” Henry whispers. “We’ll share food and wine and you’ll sit on my lap and bare your soul to me.”

“Oh, is that all?”

He ignores my snark. “Usually, just one secret is enough to complete that part of the ritual. Then we can get on to the part you’ve been waiting for.”

My stomach tumbles so suddenly, I don’t even have the focus for a comeback. This morning, I felt confident about all of this, but as Henry leads me to our place of honor at the front of the ballroom and the masked guests start pouring in, I feel completely unprepared.

There is a very real and present danger that I will ruin a sacred ritual to Kennymyra. I’m hardly a believer, but it still feels in poor form to start a marriage—however fake—with an equally fake orgasm. On the off chance the Divine really is watching this offering, I don’t want to risk her ire.

Henry sits in his chair and tugs me into the chair next to him. Servants pour us both wine, and I knock back half my glass immediately.

He piles food onto my plate. A bunch of tiny bites. Cheese wrapped in some kind of cured meat, melon slices, biscuits with berry jam and bacon. He adds food until the plate is heaping and looks at me expectantly—as if I’m going to go into the rest of this ritual with a full stomach.

I note that he chose only foods I like. I don’t like that he’s paid such close attention in our limited interactions when I have no idea of his preferences. I feel suddenly at a disadvantage and oddly uncomfortable at such public intimacy with a man I barely know.

Considering the way my stomach already feels like it’s full of a flock of messenger doves, I don’t think filling up right now is a wise idea.

I take a bite of melon to appease him. It’s delicious; somehow so ripe that the juice drips down my chin. I take a few more bites of melon and eat half of a biscuit, but that’s all my stomach can take.

“It’s time,” Henry whispers as his mother walks up to the table and places a small hourglass in front of us.

A hush comes over the crowd as Evangeline raises her hands. “We ask the Divine to witness this communion of the newlyweds.”

I take another gulp of wine, trying to steady my racing heart. I didn’t know it was timed. I thought it would just be a minute or two. The thought of everyone looking at me while I look at him and tell him my secrets makes me want to run.

I can do this. What’s a minute or two of lovingly gazing into his eyes?

Two servants step behind Henry’s chair, a scarlet veil in their hands. They look at me expectantly, but I can’t bear the thought of being trapped under that ceremonial veil with Henry. It’s just a piece of fabric, but it feels like a cage.

Evangeline waves her hands in the air. “Please eat and drink in their honor as we give the happy couple their ten minutes of communion.”

Ten minutes! My heartbeat whooshes in my ears.

I force myself to stand and place my hand in Henry’s.

Running is the first and most important survival skill I ever learned. The impulse is innate, the muscles in my legs already twitching, ready to spring into action. But just this once, I shove the impulse down and let this predator draw me into his lap and hold me in the snare of his gaze.

Then, the servants drape the veil over us and I’m alone with the man of my nightmares.

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