XXV
For Your Wife
MATILDA I waited for him to laugh, to scorn my idea. To let me go.
But Vincent continued to hold on to me, his grip pleasantly tight on my
arm, his gaze fastened to mine.
“Wife?” he echoed, paling.
It had not occurred to me until then, when I saw how worry lined his face, that he might already be bound by vows. Or perhaps there was another he loved?
“That is,” I was quick to say, “if you are not already married or
promised?”
“No. No, I am not.”
“Then let us take your uncle by surprise. When he sees me at your side, wed to you, he might reconsider his actions given that an attack on you will be one on me, and an attack on me will be one on my ally.”
“Your ally?”
“The god of war,” I said. “Bade. He is sworn to me.”
Vincent fell quiet. His gaze went absent, lost in thoughts and possibilities, but he continued to hold my arm, and our breaths entwined.
When he exhaled, I drew air in, like we were counterparts, dependent on the other.
“What do you think?” I prompted him, feeling the night growing old around us. The clouds were still weeping, drenching the earth with heavy rain. But I would not let them fool me. I knew they could break at a moment’s notice, whether it was Shale who tore them with a gust of wind,
or Luz who grew weary of her mourning and gathered up her veil, exposing the moon.
“It would be a ruse,” I added, in case he thought otherwise. “There would be no true vows spoken between us. But people would believe we had uttered them to each other in private. They would believe I am sworn to you, as you are sworn to me.”
I would never be so foolish as to let words bind me to another, even one like Vincent, whom I had once trusted. But nor could I leave him to evade Death alone and face his uncle. This ruse of a marriage would give me a reason to stay close to him. To soothe my guilt, which was like a thorn in my palm.
Vincent parted his lips to respond, but we were interrupted by none other than Alyse, who had swung the door open with a late knock, as if she were keen to lay eyes on Vincent, ensuring he was still hale after being alone with me.
“Lord,” she said, pausing when she saw how close we stood. A dark blue dress was draped over her forearm, along with a cream-colored chemise, stockings, and a pair of golden slippers. “Garments for the lady, bestowed by one of the weavers. I believe they will fit perfectly.”
“Thank you, Alyse,” Vincent said, relinquishing me. “But there has been a change of plans.”
“Oh? How so?” The woman sounded as if nothing could surprise her.
By the set of her jaw, the tilt of her head, the glimmer in her eyes I could tell she had seen and heard it all in this castle over the years, and while I wanted to watch her reaction, I found that my attention drifted back to Vincent, my breath suspended.
He was already gazing at me, as if he needed to ensure he was not dreaming. That the room around us was not about to melt away, both of us waking in different realms.
“Alyse?” he said. “I need you to find Matilda a wedding gown.”
If I had thought my greatest challenge was to convince Vincent to pretend a marriage with me, I was wrong. It was convincing him that he could not
leave my sight, nor I his, until I ensured Fate’s weaving had come unraveled.
“Go with Alyse,” he said. “She can gather up attendants for you, to help you dress. We can meet again in the courtyard before taking the bridge.”
Alyse was staring at us, her shock tangible as sunlight. The room suddenly felt far too small and hot.
“No,” I replied. “I cannot leave your side.”
Vincent arched his brow. “But I must dress, as must you.”
“I will avert my eyes.”
“Will you?” He was not doubting me. He seemed amused. “And what of me? Am I to stand here, nearby, while you are stripped down to your skin?”
“Yes.”
“Lady Matilda,” said Alyse, finding her voice at last. “That is simply not how it is done here in our realm. I do not know about the gods, but a groom and a bride must prepare themselves separately. It is tradition. Then they are to meet in the hall before witnesses, to say their vows before us.”
“I understand,” I replied, glancing at her. “But if you want your lord to survive this night, you will do exactly as I say.”
Alyse, at last, began to understand my purpose. I had not come here on a flippant whim to bed Vincent, or deceive him, or kill him myself. I had come to protect him, and I would do so by whatever means were necessary.
“Let me find a proper gown,” Alyse murmured, but she continued to stand on the threshold, frowning. “If I may ask, lord … is this real? Did the two of you exchange private vows?”
Vincent hesitated. Half of me went cold with dread, thinking he might insist on us performing some ritual before witnesses in the hall. And as a divine with magic in my blood, I could be bound by vows. I would be held by anything uttered in a formal way, any agreement that would seal us together, and I wondered if Vincent knew this. How easily he could snare me, if he wanted to.
“No,” he answered. “This is a bluff. A secret that must remain between the three of us. I need the people of Wyndrift to believe it has happened. I need to likewise convince my uncle and his forces that Matilda is mine by vow, as I am hers.”
Alyse gave a sharp nod, understanding.
She departed, and I walked to the wine, taking another long draw. My nerves were singing; my thoughts ran like tangled, crooked streams.
“Are you regretting this ruse already?” Vincent asked.
I turned to gaze at him. “Gods are not familiar with regret.” Yet another lie. We did taste it, just like mortals, but rarely confessed to such. “You?”
Vincent was leaning against his bed, arms crossed, gazing at me with inscrutable eyes. “I’m not certain yet. I think it will depend.”
“On what?”
He did not answer. He only stared at me, and the space between us seemed to warp until another knock sounded.
“I heard a bride has arrived by window,” said a robust, cheerful voice through the door. “Although I will not believe it until I see it, Vince. I thought you had sworn off marriage.”
Vincent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. To me, he uttered, “My brother, Nathaniel,” before saying louder, “Yes, come in, Nate.”
The door swung open and Nathaniel entered the room. He was nothing as I remembered from Vincent’s dreams, when he had been a young boy with pudgy cheeks and short-cropped hair, dragging a blanket behind him everywhere. He had come of age while I was away, and was nearly as tall as Vincent now, although much broader in the shoulders and waist. His skin was tawny from the sun, his hair a chestnut brown that sat in waves to his collarbones. He was handsome in a rugged way, and his smile was generous —his teeth were perfect with a gap between the front two, which only made him all the more charming—and eyes were an amber brown framed by thick, curling lashes.
He was cast from the same mold that Finnian and Marcher had been, favoring their father. The Beckett blood. And where they had been broad and loud and warm as sunlit earth, Vincent was their counterpart. Pale, slender, dark-headed, and quiet, like moonlight on the sea. He had been the only son to take after their estranged mother, drawing attributes from his maternal line. Sometimes, I had seen flashes of her in his dreams, and I knew she had been a singer, a weaver, a lady from the stormy western coast of Cambria.
“Hail, goddess,” Nathaniel said to me, sketching a deep bow. “You must be the famed Matilda.”
“Famed?” I echoed. “I have only just come into my power. I did not realize mortal kind knew of me.”
“Oh, Vince once told me all about you. His dearest friend, Matilda.
Although he called you Red, then. The girl with crimson hair.”
“Did he?” I could not help but glance at Vincent, who had flushed. His brow slanted in a scowl as he glared at his younger brother.
“I used to be jealous, in fact, because you did not visit my dreams and slay my nightmares,” Nathaniel continued. “And yet here you are, as real as flesh and blood can be, after all these years of me thinking my brother’s imagination had created you under duress. What has brought you to us on such a night? I assume you noticed the war camp on the eastern bank?”
“A message,” I said. “For your brother.”
“I am far more devout than Vince.” Nathaniel laid his hand upon his breast, and small golden rings flashed on his knuckles. “Although I am certain he would agree with me when I say that you have come at just the right moment. The mood here is somber, anxious. After ten years of peace, we are now braced for the worst, and this night feels like it will be a very long, uncertain one. And yet … the mere news of your arrival has stirred hope amongst us. As I speak, the hall is being set for a wedding feast, to be enjoyed after the parley.”
“Wedding feast?” Vincent growled. “We do not need one of those.”
“Of course you do!” Nathaniel cried. “Besides, it is not truly for you, but for us. For your wife. We want to see you and Matilda together. This goddess who has come to save us all.” He looked at me with a soft smile.
“As I am certain you want to likewise meet the people of Wyndrift.”
Did I?
This ruse suddenly felt like the river, growing deeper and stronger the more I waded within its current. It was one matter to deceive Grimald with the faux marriage, but another to fool a fortress full of mortals. Vincent’s people, whom he guarded and loved. I did not want to become any more entangled with them than I needed to. I did not want to feel fastened,
tethered, tied down. Movement was my survival. To stay in one place was
dangerous.
I had taken too long to reply.
“Yes,” I said, a crack of a word. “I would like to meet them.”
Nathaniel’s fading smile was revitalized, brightening his eyes.
“Excellent. Now, Vince, I have come to dress you for the parley.”
That was my cue to avert my eyes.
I turned away from them, my attention drawn to the tapestry of the four foxes hanging on the wall. Four foxes to represent the four sons of Beckett, winding through an ivy-laden forest. White flowers bloomed where their paws had trod. An owl was perched in the branches above them like a fair omen. Fireflies were scattered all throughout, bright enough to be stars, and I was tempted to link their points together, as if I were creating my own constellation.
Behind me, the brothers spoke in low tones. Between their words was the steady clink of armor as it was fastened, piece by piece, but I waited until Vincent said my name before I spun on my heel, my eyes finding him instantly.
The armor suited him—the firelight caressed the dark steel like it was a living, breathing thing—but it was the golden circlet on his brow that caught my attention. I had never seen him wear one, and for a moment, he reminded me of a god.
I opened my mouth to speak, but did not know what I truly yearned to say. That he had surprised me? That he was familiar, even enclosed in steel and gold? That he wore the title of lord with grace and poise, despite knowing it was a responsibility that he had never desired?
Alyse interrupted the awkward moment. She arrived with two attendants, willowy young women who looked at me with awe, and Nathaniel departed with the promise to see us later in the hall for the wedding feast.
Now it was Vincent’s turn to avert his eyes, and he sat before the fire to finish the last of the wine, his back angled to us as Alyse and the attendants began to prepare me as a bride. They gently removed my moonstone belt and wet gown, and I stood, naked, as one of the girls washed the dried ichor
from my back, my leg. Another pressed drops of perfume to the pulse of my neck, the inner curve of my wrist, the back of my knees, and the fragrance strangely reminded me of my mother. Moss, amber, and a hint of sweet smoke.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, relieved when Alyse brought the chemise over my head, so that I could hide the flicker of emotion. It took all three sets of hands to get the wedding gown on my tall frame. There was a blue bodice, strung with gilded ribbon, and detached sleeves that were red, embroidered with small white flowers. The skirts were blue and gold, heavy and pleated with scarlet lining. A chain of white flowers was stitched upon the hem, their centers set with pearls. When I moved, the train dragged behind me on the floor.
Next, they had me sit. One of the girls began to comb my hair while the other knelt to remove my river slippers.
“Oh, those must stay,” I said, drawing my feet beneath the drape of the skirts.
She looked confused but nodded, preparing the veil instead.
“My belt,” I said, feeling bare without it. I reached for the moonstones, which Alyse had set aside.
“That belt will not look right with the gown,” Alyse said with a shake of her head. “In fact, it will clash.”
“I go nowhere without it,” I replied firmly, thinking of the sword, the shield, the letters, the stray whimsies I kept stored within those pockets. The eithral scale on an arrow shaft that still glistened gold from my mother’s death.
I carried that weapon, as if in punishment.
I could not forgive myself for my past mistakes.
Alyse stared down at me, the two of us engaged in a strange, silent battle. The attendant’s comb went still in my hair, as if she had frozen, until Vincent’s voice melted the frost between us. From across the room, he said, “My wife will have anything she wants.”
Alyse wordlessly submitted. She handed the belt to me, but her nose wrinkled, as if the moonstones could bite her.
I had to give her an ounce of respect; she was not afraid of me, and she did love Vincent. Protecting him would most likely be the only common ground the two of us would ever find, and I stifled a shiver of relief as I latched the moonstones around the bodice, just above the skirts.
Once my damp hair had been tamed by what the girls explained was a snood—a net studded with pearls that rested at the nape of my neck—Alyse brough the veil over my head. It was sheer and delicate, reminding me of a cloud, and the world turned hazy as I gazed through it. When I breathed, it fluttered over my face, and I could taste the afterthought of wine.
“She is ready, lord,” Alyse said after setting a golden circlet on my brow to hold the veil in place. The companion to Vincent’s. The attendants offered me their hands, and while I did not need their assistance, I accepted, rising.
Vincent also stood, turning to regard me.
I did not know what he thought, what he felt, when he looked at me dressed as his bride. His face was set in a careful expression, one that might have looked bored if I had not known him better.
There was a sad glimmer in his eyes, as if he were beholding something he would never have.
“Are you ready?” he asked after a long moment.
I nodded, my voice lost.
When he walked to me and held out his hand, I only hesitated a moment before I took it.