“THIS WILL EASE the pain and get you through the ceremony,” Madam Ophelia said as she passed a cup of hot medicated tea into Saran’s good hand.
“Thank you. Could you bring me more once the ceremony is over? I may have need of it depending on whether I make it out of the room without punching someone.” She took a deep swig of the near-scalding liquid. Her hand hurt too much to pay mind to the temperature, and she had little patience to wait for it to cool.
“Certainly,” said Madam Ophelia with a pleasant smile. “You look beautiful, I might add.”
Saran glanced to the mirror as her handmaiden, Ora, finished the last buttons and ties on the heavily embroidered burgundy dress. The very old and very traditional gown, belonging to one of her great-grandmothers, had all the trappings of a corset and layered skirts, proving to be one of the most uncomfortable things she’d ever worn. “I hate it,” she admitted with a sour frown.
“It is a little much, isn’t it?” Madam Ophelia agreed, smoothing her hands over the plain dress she wore. Healers liked plain cotton clothes of simple design. They were practical clothes, without the finery of corsets or embroidery or layers of unnecessary dressing.
“I’d rather be in riding clothes—at least they’re comfortable.” Saran took another sip of medicine. “It’s not to say it isn’t a pretty dress. It is a lovely dress. I meant no offense. It just isn’t … me.”
“Your hair looks lovely, at least,” Madam Ophelia offered with a smile.
“It is lovely … Ora does beautiful work. I wouldn’t know what to do with it, as you can tell from my usual unkemptness. I am the single worst princess ever produced for this kingdom.”
Madam Ophelia smiled, coming to stand just behind Saran. She met the princess’s eyes in the mirror. “You were raised by wolves, child. Had your mother survived, she would have taught you the ways of a woman, but instead you were taught the ways of a brute. I mean no insult …”
Saran laughed. “You speak truth. I learned to stab a man in the kidney before I learned to put on a dress.”
Ora gave a bashful smile as she pinned a gold peacock into Saran’s curly hair. “I think you’re ready, Your Highness.”
The princess downed the rest of her tonic and handed the empty cup to the healer. “Yes, it seems I am. I can’t delay any longer, can I?”
“Are you not excited to be engaged to Lord Ahriman?” Madam Ophelia asked.
Saran’s lips parted, but the answer never left her. Instead she pursed them together and shrugged her shoulders. “Someone will be king. He is a far better choice than others.” She could have told the truth. She could admit that she wanted to marry him. Though she’d never thought of marrying him in the fashion her father intended. Saran loved Keleir, but binding herself to him the Mage’s way meant also binding herself to the Oruke, and the Oruke to Adrid. “You could be queen without a king,” Madam Ophelia replied. “It isn’t necessary to have a man to rule.”
Saran smiled. “You are right. I have no need for a king. But I will have need of heirs and, well, Lord Ahriman is attractive and intelligent.”
The healer grinned. “’Tis true, Your Highness. Many admire him, though most are too fearful of him to make advances. The ones brave enough to approach are swiftly rejected.”
“His brother, however,” Ora said with a chuckle, “he’s very popular. The servant girls love him, and if the rumors are true, he loves them right back.”
Saran’s eyebrow arched. “Really now?”
“Oh, yes, m’lady.”
The princess smiled. “What a scoundrel.”
“If you ask me, a man who thrusts himself this way and that is either senseless or in pain.”
Saran froze, turning a careful eye on the servant. “Pain?”
“Yes, Your Highness. If it’s not too crude to repeat, they say his body’s willing but his thoughts lie elsewhere. Some say a woman he loved spurned him. A rumor, though.”
“Rumors always have some basis of truth, no matter how far removed,” Saran replied, eyeing herself, a stranger, in the mirror. She couldn’t imagine Rowe to be the type of man to take on multiple lovers or even lie with a woman for only a night. If the rumors were true, then she didn’t know him as well as she thought … or perhaps he’d changed. Her curiosity turned to the hypothetical woman who had stolen his heart and did not return his feelings.
Years ago, Saran had loved him. Part of her still did. But she’d been torn between that love and the developing feelings for Keleir. Saran had never meant to fall for Keleir. Her interactions with him began innocently at first, a means to an end to keep the Oruke inside him at bay.
For a short while, the three had been able to maintain some sort of strange shared love. Then Rowe pulled away. He told her that he loved another. She hadn’t pressed him further, partly because it hurt and partly because he insisted she devote herself to his brother. She tried to imagine what sort of woman had stolen his heart and why she didn’t love him in turn.
Before she could delve any deeper, the door opened, and an Ekaru priest gave her a careful nod.
There weren’t a lot of witnesses waiting in the throne room. Saran felt silly for being adorned in such heavily embroidered fabric for a handful of people. For the amount of time and care the servants put in, she might as well have been married that day. She hated the thought of her wedding if they put such fuss over attire for a simple betrothal ceremony.
Keleir waited at the foot of the king’s throne. A man who normally sniffed at the idea of fanciful clothing, he wore a regal tunic and a crimson cloak that draped over one shoulder. His brother stood close at his side, dressed as smartly as the soon-to-be king. The two were engaged in deep, whispering conversation until Rowe spotted Saran and lost the words in the back of his throat. He nudged his brother with a hard elbow and nodded toward her. Keleir’s gaze lifted, his head turned, and he met her with tired eyes.
She could not read the emotion on his face. She knew he hadn’t slept again, and not simply because he looked exhausted. He’d spent the night tossing, turning, screaming. Whatever that creature said to him tore him apart from the inside out at night, and she could do little to help him with the Bind. She could only obey her father’s wishes and hope that he favored her with release. Though that did seem unlikely now, given his superstitions. She needed to prove herself no harm to the Oruke’s plans and that she could even support them.
Saran turned her eyes on her father. He’d always been easy to fool. She couldn’t remember when she began her act or when she started working against him in secret. Perhaps at eleven, when she was ignored by him and allowed to sit in on his lengthy meetings. At some point, she found a way to make herself useful, to make him proud. She took interest in the military, and he gave her a position in his army. She won battles for him, and he praised her for it. Who would ever suspect that the daughter of the king whispered his secrets to his greatest enemy?
She’d been good at deceiving him, until she’d finally grown tired of the lie. Until it got harder to fix the damage once the armies left the burning cities. But she’d taken the mask off too soon, and she needed to put it back on now. If she didn’t, the world would get infinitely harder to fix.
The priest led her to them with his head to the stars, having such a pompous air about him that she thought he might float away. He took great pride in delivering her to the king, and once he reached the foot of the throne, he swooped into a deep bow. “Your Majesty,” he said, “I present the Princess of Adrid for her Claiming.”
“Yes, yes, get on with it.” Yarin sighed, falling back into his throne. He waved the priest off.
The priest stood between Saran and Keleir, taking Saran by the arm. She almost drew away from him but instead clenched her teeth and focused on being the perfect daughter. “Places, please. Left hands together!”
Saran placed her left hand in Keleir’s hot palm. The Fire Mage was pale and held deep circles under his eyes, but he smiled for her. His grip tightened protectively around her hand, and he bent toward her ear. “You are lovely.”
She pressed her bandaged hand against the tight corset. “I can barely breathe. I hate this dress.”
He offered a sympathetic frown, resisting the urge to brush his hand over her cheek. “It will be over soon. Painless, and then you can be rid of it and into something more comfortable.”
The priest began his incantation with a cough to clear his throat. He twined gold rope about their arms and wrists, and ended it with a knot over their hands. “You are Bound by Law and by Magic, never to be parted. You swear an oath this day to wed the other. To be faithful. To never waver or turn from one to another. To …”
Saran listened to his words, and even with the Bind, she felt the heat of the priest’s magic tickle the air. Her heart raced up into her throat, and she stepped toward the priest. “Those are wedding vows. This is a betrothal ceremony.”
The Fire Mage cocked his head to Yarin. “Explain.”
The king, slouched upon his throne, gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I have no reason to explain. What you seek is only obtainable through her.”
Keleir met Saran’s wild eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty. He couldn’t deny that he, too, felt afraid for what the king wanted. “What I seek?” he asked, shaking his head. His attention turned to Yarin, his face growing red with rage. He tugged against the rope that bound his hand to his lover. “No more riddles, you decrepit sack of horseshit!”
The Ekaru priest, along with the very few witnesses in the room, gave a horrified gasp.
“Say a word,” growled the Fire Mage to the Priest. “One word and I’ll burn you alive.” He tugged his hand from Saran, but the ropes held them tight together.
“Keleir!” she called, jerking forward against the rope as the Fire Mage stepped toward the King. “Wedding now or later, what does it matter?”
“It matters! I will not give this thing inside me what it wants, what your father wants!” He pulled at the rope that bound them together, shaking with rage. Like a rabid dog tugging against his owner’s leash, he thrashed his hand to free himself from her. “My entire life I’ve followed the path this thing set me on. No more.”
Behind them, the priest scolded, “You are not finished with the spell, Lifesbane! Do not remove the Binding.”
The torches and candles lining the walls of the throne room roared fierce and hot. “THAT IS NOT MY NAME!” Embers crackled in Keleir’s eyes, and he set the cord about his hand aflame, snuffing it out before it touched Saran’s flesh. Once free, he stomped up the stairs and snatched the king by his robes, drawing him out of the throne as easily as a man could lift a child.
“Careful,” Yarin warned. “Saran bruises easily.”
The Fire Mage shook, rage coursing through him hotter than molten lava. It took all of himself not to throw the old man into the wall. If not for the threat to Saran, he would have. Black seeped into the corner of his eyes, and he sneered. “Talk.”
“Keleir!” Rowe bounded up the podium and grabbed hold of his brother’s shoulder. “Keleir, stop it!”
“I will not,” the Fire Mage seethed.
“Stop,” Rowe whispered. “Marry her. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” His electric gaze fell on the princess, where she stood hopeful and afraid, her hands clasped pleadingly together. He offered his brother a rueful smile. “You love her. Marry her. Marry her, or I will.”
The Fire Mage stiffened, glowering at his brother. Of course he’d try to trick him in such a way, always playing the scoundrel willing to whisk her away when it suited him. Keleir shook his head, growling out a sound more demon than man. “I can’t … If I do this, if it takes me over, she will not have the chance to be with another. It will Bind her to me, but worse, it will Bind her to the Oruke.”
Saran edged closer to the foot of the king’s podium. She eyed her father and then Keleir. “I know what this means. Shouldn’t it be my choice, if the cost is so great? I choose you.” She swallowed. “And I choose the Oruke.”
“Lovely.” Yarin sighed.
The princess glared at the king. “I am not doing this to please you.” She immediately regretted her words. Of course she needed to do this to please him.
“Why are you doing it?” Keleir asked, dropping Yarin back into his throne. He shook his brother’s hand from his shoulder and turned to her. “Haven’t we been happy with what we have? We don’t need this, to be Bound in this law. I’d happily marry you, Saran, but not the way of Mages. We don’t need that chain, especially with the risk of losing my battle. You will never be able to love another, be with another, as long as this form lives.”
“I am Bound to you, regardless of law. Without this Bind,” she said, glancing to the manacle around her wrist, “I feel you in the very air around me, Keleir.” Her eyes watered. How she missed that feeling. How she missed the kinetic energy of his power in the same room as her, as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold night. “But you’re right. If you don’t want this, then I will not agree to it.”
Yarin tsked them with a wave of his finger. A slow, cruel smile curled the corners of his mouth. “This isn’t a negotiation. Finish the ritual. Finish it or face the consequences.”
Keleir gave a devilish smirk. “And what are those consequences, my king?”
Yarin stretched his old legs out and reached into his robes. He pulled a dagger from the folds and plunged it into his leg. His face stiffened with pain, but the old man never uttered a sound of distress. He was, after all, used to misery.
Saran buckled with a cry, falling into a pool of burgundy skirts. Rowe rushed from the podium and fell to the floor near her, hurriedly pushing folds of fabric and underskirt away to wrap his hands tight around her bleeding thigh.
The Fire Mage snatched Yarin up. The king chuckled through clenched teeth, and he twisted the dagger in his leg. Saran screamed, writhing beneath the hard press of Rowe’s hands. She grasped to pull the offending weapon free but only caught air.
Keleir ripped the dagger from Yarin’s wound, messy and quick, and threw it across the great hall where the king could not reach it. Saran withered on the floor, heaving as pain splintered through her.
Rowe cradled her and pressed his wide hand against the hole to try to stop the bleeding. It poured over his fingers and dripped to the stone under them. “It’s all right,” the Lightning Mage soothed, staring down into Saran’s alarmed eyes.
Sweat beaded on the king’s forehead. “Finish the ceremony.”
Keleir loomed angrily over the crazed old man. “Why is this so important to you?”
“When the Three are devoured by their darkness …” the king began before Keleir’s hands wrapped around his throat, silencing him. Behind the Fire Mage, the princess choked.
“Keleir!” Rowe roared. “She can’t breathe. Stop it!”
Keleir’s eyes grew black as pitch. “What does it matter to you if I am king? Why is this so important to you? Answer the question, and I’ll release you.”
Rowe watched with horror as color left Saran’s face and her eyes pleaded with him for air, as if he were the one choking her. Her hands wrapped around her throat and clawed at an invisible grasp she could not reach. Rowe roared. “You’re killing her!”
Yarin grinned. He struggled to lift his chin, and with a single breath he hissed, “You are long awaited, Vel d’Ekaru.”
Keleir released his grip on the king and let the old man fall back, coughing, into his throne. He backed down the steps and across the floor until he stood near Saran and Rowe, letting his gaze slip to the woman he loved, gasping on the floor in his brother’s arms. The Lightning Mage’s face turned a ghostly sheet of white, and the black in Keleir’s eyes seeped away like a passing storm.
“Finish it,” Yarin said. “And no harm will come to her or your brother.”
“She needs a healer,” Rowe whispered, brushing the curls from her face. Saran pressed her cheek into his chest and closed her eyes wearily. The Lightning Mage turned his angry gaze to his brother. “I told you to stop.”
Keleir nodded. “I’m sorry … I …”
The king straightened in his chair. Blood stained his robes and dripped down his leg to pool beneath his boot. He required a healer as badly as his daughter, and Keleir wondered if the man would sooner sit there and bleed to death than relinquish control of the moment.
“Finish,” said the king with the sort of finality that proved the Fire Mage’s thoughts correct. He would not escape this without someone he loved being hurt or worse.
Keleir nodded and knelt next to Saran. “Quickly,” he said to the priest as he took the princess’s left hand in his. The priest pulled from his pocket a second gold rope and tied it around their hands. The Fire Mage tried to ignore the weary look on Saran’s face or how the color of her lips slowly returned to their normal shade of rose.
“You swear an oath this day to wed the other. To be faithful. To never waver or turn from one another. To be tied as one for the rest of your living days, and endure pain if you ever knowingly break the oath that Binds you.” The Priest turned four shades of green as his eyes fell on the blood collecting around Saran’s legs. “As a priest of the Vel d’Ekaru, by my authority as a representative of His will, I wed you. Man to woman. Mage to Mage. Eternal and everlasting.” The priest took a small knife from his belt and turned Keleir’s hand over, cutting across the palm. He then pressed the hand to Saran’s already bleeding leg. “Blood to blood.”
After a minute the priest released his grip on the Fire Mage with a disappointed frown. “Usually there is more fanfare, but the Bind is probably keeping the spell from completing. It will need to be removed in order to finish. You will also have to consummate.”
“The Bind will remain,” Yarin snapped. “The spell will complete when it is removed, and it will only be removed when I die naturally or when I have decided to remove it. Either way, at that moment, it will be time for you to be king and inherit all that is required to ascend to your proper place.”
Keleir nodded, as passive as a beaten dog, and did not lift his gaze to the old man. “Let us go, then, if all that is required of us is finished. Your daughter needs stitching.”
Yarin threw his hand toward the door. “Go then.”
Keleir moved to gather Saran in his arms, but Rowe took her swiftly and stood. “I’ll carry her. I think you’ve done enough for now.”
They took Saran to the medical ward on the south side of the palace and let the healers tend to the wound, stitching and bandaging it. They tucked her safely into the medical cot, drugged with herbs and tea, and then Rowe motioned for Keleir to follow him out to the hall. Once the door closed, the Lightning Mage struck his brother soundly across the jaw.
Keleir skidded sideways into the wall, and his head cracked against the stone. He cupped his jaw with one hand and wiped blood from his lip with the other. He did not feel anger at his brother for the hit. In fact, he wanted it to hurt more. He needed it to hurt more. “You told me to hit you if you ever willingly hurt her,” Rowe seethed. “I kept my promise.”
The Fire Mage leaned into the wall, wanting more than ever to be sucked into it. He stared across at his jealous and angry brother. “Are you sure you aren’t hitting me for other reasons?”
“Those reasons don’t matter. She couldn’t breathe, and you ignored me. Vengeance meant more to you than her. You’re slipping. Anger is getting the better of you.”
Keleir cast his eyes to the floor. “I know.”
“What do you plan to do about it?”
“I don’t know, Rowe.”
“You look awful.”
The Fire Mage curled his fingers in his white hair and closed his eyes. “The inside of my mind is like a shattered wall, crumbling ever so slightly with each pull and tug the Oruke makes. I can feel the pieces falling right now. It’s a constant scratching pain. A … headache that isn’t quite there. I don’t only see him in my dreams, but now sometimes while I’m awake. It’s as if the moment Saran was Bound, the wall she built to protect me formed a huge crack, and it’s been growing ever since.”
“If she were free, do you think it would save you?”
“I don’t know. I could be too far gone. She said she couldn’t do it again, and I believe her. It nearly killed her once. She might die the next time she tries.” Keleir sunk to the floor, stretching his long legs out before him. “I don’t want to tell her. Gods, I shouldn’t have done this! She’s trapped to me.”
“And you to her,” Rowe reminded. “Though, not yet. You’ve got to finish the ritual. Remove the Bind and consummate the marriage.”
Keleir gave a low, dark chuckle. “I’m pretty sure we’ve consummated.”
“Does that even count?”
Keleir shook his head, tears in his eyes. “No idea.”
“Saran has had the shit kicked out of her the last few days. She’s not fit to fight if Darshan leads his assault on the capital, and we don’t know how long it will be before she is. There’s also the risk she’ll die if one of his bloodthirsty men puts a sword through Yarin. One of us needs to go to him and let him know what’s happened.”
Keleir lifted his red gaze to his brother. “What if we leave them to bloody each other and we use the Gate Maker in the cellar to go somewhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Saran and I discussed it, though we agreed to wait until after Salara. We want to go to the Third. There isn’t any magic there. It may stop the progression of the Oruke. What if we don’t wait until after Salara? We could go tonight. Let those that revel in war fight their battles. I’m tired. I’m so tired, Rowe. I want peace, both of mind and body. I need sanctuary.”
Rowe hesitated. “I’ll speak to Darshan. You stay with Saran. When I get back, we can talk more about going to the Third. But I’m in agreement for waiting until after Salara.”
Keleir’s lips parted, but he clamped his mouth shut and stood. “The two of you are very loyal to a man who would happily have me beheaded.”
“We are loyal to freedom for thousands of people, Keleir, not to Darshan. You are my brother, and if going to the Third saves you, then I will go. But I need to finish what I started with Saran. Please respect that.”
Keleir frowned. Even though he felt part of their little group, he had never truly been part of their alliance with Darshan. It had begun before his merger with them as a man, not as the Oruke. Rowe had always possessed a blind devotion, a desperate need for atonement that led him to do irresponsible and selfish things.
The Fire Mage shook his head and went to the door to Saran’s room. “I’m turning into a monster who may very well slaughter all of you for the sheer joy of it. Perhaps you should respect that more.”