honest reactions, particularly those that
revealed a failure of hwil . Something, she now understood,
to prevent the inevitable gaming of the system. Whatever the
magical binding of the marriage ceremony, it would likely be
uncomfortable, perhaps even painful for her. With any luck, Lonen’s
insensitivity to magic should prevent him from suffering from
it.
High Priestess Febe entered the small chapel,
bringing such a powerful charge of sgath with her that Oria’s
illicit grien leaped to devour it, forcing her to choke it back.
The High Priestess had been drawing heavily on Bára’s magic, using
her female sgath to store it up. Priest Vico followed her, taking
his place beside her at the altar, his male grien soaking up the
sgath and activating the magic. They did not have an ideal
partnership, but long practice and Febe’s powerful sgath allowed
him to perform feats usually reserved for priests of much higher
rank. Fortunate, as all of those highly ranked priests had died
when the Destrye attacked.
“Princess Oria, you come to the temple to
beseech the moons to give you a husband. Is this so?”
“I do.” Oria spoke the words firmly. Magic
responded to intention and she would start this marriage with a
firm one.
“King Lonen has proposed himself to be your
husband, to channel your sgath to grien, to be both your walls and
your guide to the world. Is he an acceptable choice?”
Ironic, all the truths and untruths in the
ritual words. “He is.”
“You come as a priestess to the temple and
will leave as wife to King Lonen. Remove your mask so you come
before him barefaced, and so that he may gaze on the face of his
beloved, forevermore known only to him.”
She should have expected that, but hadn’t.
Priest Vico came around behind her with a bowl, a platter for her
mask, and bearing the small silver knives the masked used at meal
times to cut the ribbons. He set the platter to her left and Oria
covered her mask with her palms to hold it in place. Priest Vico
cut the ribbons at her temples, sliding them from the knots in her
braids. She lowered the mask to the platter, not looking at Lonen,
feeling terribly shy though he’d seen her face before she gained
her mask. Even so. Quickly she took the cool, scented cloth from
the bowl and wiped her face with it, deeply understanding the need
for this part of the ritual. It gave her time to compose her
expression—and hopefully not look too sweaty or red-faced.
Lonen’s comments about her having a pretty
gown or time to make herself beautiful as Natly would have done
niggled at her. But he wasn’t marrying her for her appearance, or
out of affection. Better for him to see her truly, without anything
prettified between them. Come before him barefaced. It took
more courage than she’d have thought, but she lowered the cloth to
the bowl, and raised her eyes to meet his.
He smiled at her—not that cheeky grin full of
mischief, but a more solemn one, gaze roving over her face. A vivid
image of him caressing her cheek, then kissing her lips, came from
him, and she blushed.
She waited. Knowing the temple, the next
phase would likely test her sorely.
“King Lonen,” High Priestess Febe intoned,
her voice echoing with ripples of sgath, even as Priest Vico’s
grien seized Oria in a fierce mental grip, “take your bride’s
hand.”
Oria braced herself. Oh, this would be bad
indeed.
~ 8 ~
L onen hesitated, startled
out of his joy at seeing Oria’s face again—so much more exotically
beautiful even than he’d remembered, her eyes an even brighter
coppery brown than in his dreams—taken aback by the strange
request.
Much as he’d been hoping to find a way around
the restriction against touching Oria’s skin, he believed her that
it would be painful for her, even damaging. And surely her temple
brethren knew this. The twin masks of the priest and priestess
behind the ornate altar both seemed to frown at him. These Bárans
couldn’t do anything simply.
revealed a failure of hwil . Something, she now understood,
to prevent the inevitable gaming of the system. Whatever the
magical binding of the marriage ceremony, it would likely be
uncomfortable, perhaps even painful for her. With any luck, Lonen’s
insensitivity to magic should prevent him from suffering from
it.
High Priestess Febe entered the small chapel,
bringing such a powerful charge of sgath with her that Oria’s
illicit grien leaped to devour it, forcing her to choke it back.
The High Priestess had been drawing heavily on Bára’s magic, using
her female sgath to store it up. Priest Vico followed her, taking
his place beside her at the altar, his male grien soaking up the
sgath and activating the magic. They did not have an ideal
partnership, but long practice and Febe’s powerful sgath allowed
him to perform feats usually reserved for priests of much higher
rank. Fortunate, as all of those highly ranked priests had died
when the Destrye attacked.
“Princess Oria, you come to the temple to
beseech the moons to give you a husband. Is this so?”
“I do.” Oria spoke the words firmly. Magic
responded to intention and she would start this marriage with a
firm one.
“King Lonen has proposed himself to be your
husband, to channel your sgath to grien, to be both your walls and
your guide to the world. Is he an acceptable choice?”
Ironic, all the truths and untruths in the
ritual words. “He is.”
“You come as a priestess to the temple and
will leave as wife to King Lonen. Remove your mask so you come
before him barefaced, and so that he may gaze on the face of his
beloved, forevermore known only to him.”
She should have expected that, but hadn’t.
Priest Vico came around behind her with a bowl, a platter for her
mask, and bearing the small silver knives the masked used at meal
times to cut the ribbons. He set the platter to her left and Oria
covered her mask with her palms to hold it in place. Priest Vico
cut the ribbons at her temples, sliding them from the knots in her
braids. She lowered the mask to the platter, not looking at Lonen,
feeling terribly shy though he’d seen her face before she gained
her mask. Even so. Quickly she took the cool, scented cloth from
the bowl and wiped her face with it, deeply understanding the need
for this part of the ritual. It gave her time to compose her
expression—and hopefully not look too sweaty or red-faced.
Lonen’s comments about her having a pretty
gown or time to make herself beautiful as Natly would have done
niggled at her. But he wasn’t marrying her for her appearance, or
out of affection. Better for him to see her truly, without anything
prettified between them. Come before him barefaced. It took
more courage than she’d have thought, but she lowered the cloth to
the bowl, and raised her eyes to meet his.
He smiled at her—not that cheeky grin full of
mischief, but a more solemn one, gaze roving over her face. A vivid
image of him caressing her cheek, then kissing her lips, came from
him, and she blushed.
She waited. Knowing the temple, the next
phase would likely test her sorely.
“King Lonen,” High Priestess Febe intoned,
her voice echoing with ripples of sgath, even as Priest Vico’s
grien seized Oria in a fierce mental grip, “take your bride’s
hand.”
Oria braced herself. Oh, this would be bad
indeed.
~ 8 ~
L onen hesitated, startled
out of his joy at seeing Oria’s face again—so much more exotically
beautiful even than he’d remembered, her eyes an even brighter
coppery brown than in his dreams—taken aback by the strange
request.
Much as he’d been hoping to find a way around
the restriction against touching Oria’s skin, he believed her that
it would be painful for her, even damaging. And surely her temple
brethren knew this. The twin masks of the priest and priestess
behind the ornate altar both seemed to frown at him. These Bárans
couldn’t do anything simply.
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