Chapter 47 Quinn
QUINN
Iscarcely noticed the officiant until his voice rose. “As the Grand Vizier to His Royal Highness, I, Paschar Anen, am overwhelmed with joy on this…”
His words blended together as my heart pounded.
“…blessed day…divine union…symbol of peace…”
This day was neither divine nor peaceful. It most certainly did not feel blessed. The droning continued until the officiant reached the portion of the ceremony for exchanging vows.
“Do you, His Majesty King Edric Valebryn Renaudin, Eternal Ruler of Avandria, Bearer of the Time Crown, Guardian of the Elderhollow Forest, Saint-Anointed Sovereign of the Ninefold Line…”
It took every remaining bit of restraint not to roll my eyes.
“…First of His Name, Warden of the Golden Throne, Lord of the Lion…”
We would reach midnight before the grand vizier finished listing the king’s plethora of titles.
“…take Lady Quinnève Isadora Elibethrine Liogenoriggia to be your lawfully wedded wife, and through this marriage and subsequent coronation, the reigning queen of Avandria?”
“I do,” Edric said, voice rich with counterfeit tenderness. His smile widened as his words drew approving ‘aw’ sounds from the spectators.
Edric took the smaller ring from a tiny pillow upon the altar with theatrical grace and lifted my left hand. The ring scraped my knuckle as he forced it on. The crowd sighed, drunk on the illusion of nonexistent romance. I stared at the ring, a sparkling shackle, a symbol of my imprisonment.
The officiant turned to me. “Lady Quinnève Isadora Elibethrine Liogenoriggia, do you take His Majesty…”
Is he truly going to recite every title once more?
“King Edric Valebryn Renaudin…”
Ah, it appears he is.
“Eternal Ruler of Avandria…”
Only because his mother used her Time gift.
“Bearer of the Time Crown…”
There is no such thing.
“Guardian of the Elderhollow Forest…”
The only thing he is a guardian over is his own self-interest.
“Saints-Anointed Sovereign of the Ninefold Line…”
Anointed with arrogance, perhaps, but no Saints were involved.
“First of His Name…”
Except, all the kings of Avandria have been named Edric from the beginning. Do they refer to his middle name? Yes, how groundbreakingly unique.
“Warden of the Golden Throne…”
Because he is the only one allowed to sit upon it?
Lord of the Lion
What does that even mean?
“…to be your lawfully wedded husband, and agree to submit to and serve him and the Kingdom of Avandria for the rest of your days?”
Submit.
Serve.
Curious, how those words had not appeared in Edric’s vows.
My hands began to shake. I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Edric’s grip tightened, bruising. “Quinnie…” The nickname left his lips as a threat.
Whispers sounded from the crowd. My heart pounded.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I…would you please repeat the question?”
Muted laughter rippled through the chamber. Edric’s smile faltered, a hairline fracture of fury beneath his polished exterior.
The officiant repeated himself, arriving again at the moment when I would acquiesce to this union. I reached for the ring meant for Edric, my fingers trembling so violently it nearly fell from my grasp.
Edric leaned closer to me, breath hot and vile. “Say the words,” he growled through his teeth. “Place the ring.”
The officiant spoke my name, but the sound was muffled, as if I were underwater. Panic slicked my palms. I lost feeling in my fingers as my vision began to blur at the edges. I could not bring myself to say the words.
BOOM!
The ballroom doors slammed open with a thunderclap, crashing against the walls.
Gasps split the air. The grand vizier fell silent. All heads snapped toward the sound. My soul knew before my eyes confirmed.
Mav.
He stood framed in sunlight, cradling a lute; a silhouette I would recognize anywhere. Hair tousled, clothes rumpled and dirt-streaked, skin sallow with exhaustion and bruises, but gloriously alive. His eyes locked on mine as if I were the only person in existence.
I staggered. A sob tore out of me, raw and loud. I clutched the sides of my gown to keep from falling. Thistle strode at his left, a sheen of moss blooming over her fingers, Vesper perched on her shoulder. Branrir at his right, a broad grin stretching his face, weapons in both hands.
“Guards!” Edric roared. “Seize them!”
Mav did not spare Edric a glance. He strummed the lute and sang.
“You do not want to seize us,
You’d much rather please us,
Turn around and face the wall,
See and hear nothing at all.”
Saints, his voice. Low and warm, threaded with a quiet, irresistible pull. The Hum magic stirred, weaving through the air in silken strands.
Every guard froze mid-step. Weapons clattered to the marble floor. They moved, docile as sleepwalkers, to the walls and set their foreheads against the stone like chastened children.
Edric blanched. “I said seize them!”
“The guards can’t hear you Wee-Dick,” Mav called, his grin sharp with defiance. “And soon, your guests won’t either.” Mav looked straight at me and winked.
I breathed a laugh as my tears spilled, hot and unstoppable. Mav sang again, turning to face the crowd.
“Gathered guests do not grieve,
I must insist you take your leave.
This wedding is nothing but a farce,
now it's time to move your arse!”
Chairs screeched in a discordant symphony. The glittering ballroom dissolved into pandemonium as the guests fled.
“I order you to sit down!” Edric yelled. “I will try you all for treason!” Red blotches bled beneath his face powder. “How—how did you—” Edric stammered, pointing at Mav. “You’re supposed to be dead.” His eyes widened in confusion. “Seize him!”
The guards remained unmoving.
Mav cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Hm. Doesn’t seem like they want to.”
“I have other resources at my disposal.” Edric waved in summons.
The marble beneath our feet rumbled. Chandeliers rattled overhead, scattering prisms of fractured light.
“Tremors,” Branrir said, raising his sword aloft.
The deep velvet curtains along the windows snapped outward as a rush of wind blew through the space.
“Tempests,” Thistle hissed, vines blooming along her forearms.
The Tempests moved as storms given skin. Their fingers glowed blue as they summoned lashing currents of air and water. Behind them, the Tremors advanced, the floor spiderwebbed outward in their wake.
“Saints preserve us,” Branrir muttered. “There are two dozen of them.”
The center of the ballroom split open with a groan. A large Tremor—easily triple Mav’s width—rose from the pit.
“Correction,” Vesper said, tail puffed into a bottlebrush. “Two dozen and one, counting the marble mole.”
“Move!” Mav shouted over the rising wind.
He slung his lute forward, strumming a sharp, discordant chord.
The sound shimmered gold, a net of magic flinging outward.
The nearest Tremor froze mid-strike, his fists suspended inches above the floor.
But the others adapted quickly. Two Tempests whirled toward Mav, their combined gale-force sending him staggering.
He gritted his teeth, strummed harder, and sang a piercing command:
“Winds that howl and walls that shake,
Turn aside for your own sake!”
The magic wrapped the air like a leash. The Tempests’ power faltered, the whirling gusts sputtering to nothing.
Thistle used the opening to strike, sending vines surging across the floor.
It snared the Tremors’ ankles, climbing higher, binding their stone-crusted legs.
Branrir barreled into the fray, sword flashing.
The Tremors broke free of the vines. One slammed a fist into the ground; jagged spires of stone erupted upward, knocking Branrir off balance and nearly impaling Vesper, who hissed and leaped to the safety of a toppled banquet table.
“Watch your paws, cat!” Thistle cried, twisting to defend him.
“Do not call me ‘cat’ in the middle of battle!” Vesper snapped, then launched himself onto a Tempest’s shoulder. The man howled as the feline shredded his ear.
A sudden gale-force wind slammed into Mav.
A Tempest wrenched his lute away, smashing it to splinters.
A Tremor charged straight for him. With a snarl, Mav drew a sword, catching a descending fist mid-arc.
Steel met stone with a teeth-jarring crack.
His blade danced between Tremor strikes, slicing exposed joints, forcing them back step by grudging step.
A Tempest tried to blindside him, but Mav spun, catching the incoming gust on his shoulder and driving his pommel into the attacker’s jaw.
The largest Tremor bellowed and slammed both fists down.
The crack in the center of the ballroom widened to a canyon.
Thistle screamed as she staggered near the edge.
Thistle’s hands shot forward, sending thick roots wrapping around the Tremor’s throat.
Sweat lined her brow, and her hands were trembling as her Hedge magic strangled him until the Tremor collapsed in a heap of stone.
The ballroom descended into a melee of fists, steel, and magic.
Mav’s voice rang hoarse as he sang and fought.
Branrir bellowed, swinging his sword in great, furious arcs.
Thistle sprouted every plant imaginable as Vesper clawed and bit.
But for every higher order they felled, two more surged in their place.
We were losing.
A final violent gust slammed them all to the floor. Tremors gripped their arms, dragging them across the fractured floor to the altar. Two tremors threw Mav at Edric’s feet. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.
“No!” My voice tore through the air. I lunged forward, but Edric held fast.
“Well,” Edric drawled, his voice silk stitched over rot. “Merits for style. Truly. I would even call it impressive, if it weren’t so…pointless.” His gaze landed on me, lips curling in a derisive grin. “Now you’ll see what happens to people who touch what’s mine.”
Edric’s hand flicked. A Tremor stepped forward, his forearm transforming into a massive boulder. He pinned Mav to the floor by his chest, preparing to crush him.
“Mav!” I screamed, thrashing against the king’s grip. “Edric, I beg of you—”
A silver shimmer skittered over my skin, my Twilight responding as panic jolted through me.
Mav coughed, spitting blood, but when his eyes saw the telltale sign of me summoning my magic, they filled with distress. “Quinn, don’t!” he rasped. “They’ll kill you!”
“I care not!” I screamed, my throat shredding. “I will not watch you die!”
“It’s all right, princess.” A sad, breathtaking smile curved his mouth. “Let me do this for you.”
“No,” I sobbed. “No!”
I ripped my gloves off, flinging the engagement ring and wedding band to the floor along with them. I reached for my magic, envisioning the night sky pouring down through me. My skin began to glow, polished starlight spreading over every inch of me.
Fear claimed Mav’s features, not for himself but for me. “Quinn, no!” he shouted, pressing futilely against the Tremor’s bouldered fist.
It was too late.
I drew from every reachable star in the heavens, the sensation akin to filling your lungs to the brim and holding your breath.
Magic sluiced through me until my bones sang with it.
My hands lifted of their own accord. From my palms, veils of light stretched skyward—green and violet and rose-gold in a flowing aurora.
Edric’s eyes went wide, his composure fracturing. “Quinnie…”
The grand vizier’s voice cracked. “She’s a Twilight!”
The Tremors and Tempests surged back with gasps and screams.
I let go.
Magic erupted from me in a shockwave of color and light.
The aurora slammed outward, filling the ballroom with unbridled power.
I wove my intentions through every ray of light.
For an instant, I turned the Tremors and Tempests against one another.
With a shuddering breath, I pulled back.
I would show them mercy where their king had shown none.
The Tremor pinning Mav collapsed, releasing him.
He pushed himself upright, staring at me—his expression caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
My chest heaved as the magic drained from me.
The world tilted, my knees threatening to give way.
Edric’s shout was ragged and desperate. “You dare defy me in front of my court?” He grabbed my upper arms with bruising force, shaking me as though he could rattle obedience into my bones. “You will walk back to that altar. You will speak the vows, Quinnève.”
Terror spiked white-hot beneath my skin. My body revolted, jerking against his hold. My slippers slid on the marble, skirts tangling, my efforts foiled.
“I. will. not.” I called forth the last drops of Twilight and placed my glowing silver hands on his torso. “You will release me and not move from this spot,” I commanded.
Edric’s arms wrenched backward. His fingers sprang open. I staggered back as Edric froze. His legs locked straight. Panic flared in his eyes as he strained.
“What—what have you done to me?” he shrieked.
I cared not what he had to say.
There was only one man I wanted to see.
My eyes found Mav. Stumbling, I ran. I crashed into him, sobbing, arms locked around his neck. He held me as if he intended to never let go, one arm at my waist, the other cradling my head.
I pulled back and cupped his face with trembling hands. “You are alive,” I choked. “Mav, I thought—I thought—”
“I know,” he said softly. His hands came up to cover mine, steadying them against his face. “I’m sorry.”
A sob caught in my throat as tears blurred the edges of his beloved features. “You came for me,” I whispered, the confession breaking apart on my tongue.
His smile broadened. “Of course I did. I’ll always come back for you.”
And then his mouth was on mine. My tears mingled with the taste of him. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me against him as I clutched his shoulders.
Edric howled, shattering the moment. “How dare you! I will see you hanged for what you’ve done here today!”
“Hold that thought,” Mav murmured, reluctant, his thumb stroking once along my jaw before he turned. His voice hardened to iron as he pivoted toward Edric. “We need to deal with this asshole first.”