7. Cirri
Chapter 7
Cirri
F or the first time in my life, I did my best to not move my hands so much as an inch, afraid that the calluses of my work-roughened hands would catch on the spidersilk-thin fabric of my wedding dress and ruin all of Wyn’s hard work.
From the moment she’d ushered me into Ravenscry I hadn’t had so much as a second to admire the finery of the vampire architecture around me. Tension lines had appeared around Wyn’s eyes and mouth, and she’d herded me through long, dark halls lit only with beeswax candles guttering in pools of wax, past half-glimpsed portraits in gilded frames, and through a thick oak door bound with iron.
On the other side of the door were my future chambers. This was the Tower of Spring, domain of the Lady, I’d been informed rather tersely as Wyn knocked a pattern on the door, and when it opened, showing a human maid, she nearly shoved me through.
The bloodwitch exhaled a sigh of relief at the sight of a copper bath full of steaming water, set behind a painted silk screen. “Oh, thank the ancestors. We don’t have time for any delays. Yuli, take this list to the Bloodgarden and ensure Eryan has checked off every single thing on that list. Once that’s done, the servers will need extra hands.”
She handed one of her papers to the maid, and a second appeared from behind the screen, a folded towel over her arm. Both watched me sidelong with interest, and Yuli slipped out the door a little slower than necessary.
Wyn plucked my journal and book from my hands, laid them on a dresser, and spun me around. I heard the soft snick of a knife being unsheathed and straightened, my back prickling, but she simply sliced through the stays of my red bodice.
“Out of that travesty, and into the bath,” she ordered, tucking the knife away. “Lissa, help her wash—oh for the ancestors’ sake, what , Cirrien?”
I’ve been washing myself for two decades. I think I can handle this , I signed sharply. I didn’t care if she said she didn’t give a damn about my past, or if I’d been torn from my own indentured servitude and placed into a fairy tale. I was still myself, and I could handle my own baths and scrub the floors just as well as they could.
Wyn gritted her teeth, which was more than a little unnerving given the length of her incisors, but she pinched the bridge of her nose and gestured to Lissa. “I will make an educated guess as to what you’ve said. Scrub yourself within an inch of your life. Lissa, you may take this… this thing , and throw it in the kitchen fires. Or one of the watch fires. I really don’t care so long as it’s out of this keep within the next ten minutes.”
I stepped out of the remains of the red dress and Lissa swept it up, red lace and satin frothing over her arms.
“Wed in red, indeed,” Wyn muttered to herself.
I eased myself into the copper tub before she could admonish me again or summon Lissa back, but there was no time to enjoy the first hot bath I’d had in months, and in a rather massive tub, too. I scrubbed myself hard, from the top of my head to my toes, using soaps scented strongly of roses and spice.
Wyn waited impatiently, double-checking another list and tapping a pen with undisguised anxiety as I pulled myself out and dried off. Lissa returned in that time, the red dress now a distant memory.
No sooner had I dried my legs than they had me in a chair before a vanity, wrapped in my towel and staring at myself in a huge mirror carved with roses and thorny brambles at the edges. I looked paler than usual, but perhaps that was the flickering candlelight. In the Cathedral, mirrors were few and far between; vanity was discouraged.
But at this very clear glimpse of myself, I could see what the Eldest Sister and Aletha saw. My family was of old blood, the lai Darrans undiluted even after decades of conquest. Red or blonde hair marked Veladari blood, as well as the green eyes I thought I’d inherited from my mother. My memories of my parents were foggy and distant, but I thought I remembered a fine-boned woman with pale hair and deep green eyes.
If not for these damned eyes… but as Lissa began rapidly combing through my hair, my gaze drifted to the background in the mirror, to the journal and book laying discarded and waiting for me.
Everything would be all right. I kept my back straight and tried to relax everything else.
As they worked, I was reminded even more strongly that this was no proper wedding according to the customs of my people. If my husband were not a vampire, I would have been gifted with polished rowan stakes to wear to my wedding, had silver dust smeared over my throat, and silver bells both on my wrists and braided into the crown of rowan.
Instead, Lissa arranged my damp hair in a braided crown, and Wyn tsk ed, pulling the braids out and brushing my hair out again in a fall down my back. “Keep it simple. Let the color shine,” she said, her filigree claws combing through. “It’s as red as our roses.”
She paused to study me, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “No cosmetics. Really, Bane has no idea how fortunate he is that you were chosen.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I had always placed my value in how hard I had worked to learn what I had, not in beauty, which was normally covered by a wimple and dust, anyways.
“Come over here, Cirrien. Leave the towel. The dress looks to be of a similar size, but we might need a few quick alterations…”
When they pulled out the simple, shimmering gown of white spidersilk, as thin as air, I forced myself to take a breath.
In my mind, I had been married this entire time, in the tradition of any proper Veladari bride. It took the sight of the moon-pale, unmarked silk to remind me that I was no such thing as Bane’s wife, not according to the vampires.
The gown wrapped around me, sleeveless and exposing my throat, shoulders, and arms. It hugged me like a web, so close to the skin that I felt almost naked.
Wyn sucked a breath between her teeth. “Perfection. What a joyous day, when nothing goes horrendously wrong.” And then she rapped on the wooden dresser, two sharp knocks with her knuckles. “Oh ancestors, I actually said that out loud.”
She turned me back towards the mirror and for the first time, I actually felt pretty. The vampiric wedding gown was simple, but the long spill of crimson hair made it feel deliberate.
“No jewelry, either. That would just be gilding the lily.” Wyn snapped her fingers, and Lissa placed a pair of matching silk slippers before me. I stepped into them; they were slightly too large, but not enough to make my walk clumsy. “It’s strange, but I could have sworn that the name given to me for earlier planning was not Cirrien; it started with an A, I believe? Alanna? Antonia? Perhaps I misread it. But the girl’s size was sent ahead, and though these were clearly not made for you, it happens to be a fortuitous fit.”
A chill ran down my spine as I was reminded of Antonetta and her sad, ignoble end. It was sheer good luck that we were similar in size; these clothes had been made with her in mind.
I was wearing a dead woman’s dress.
Banishing the chill, I cut my hand sideways in a sharp motion, a sign that not even Wyn needed a translator for: do not ask .
I was determined to go into this marriage with—if not good cheer, then at least determination to find some silver lining, so to speak. I wanted no reminders of death on this night, or on the series of events and unfortunate lineage that had led me here.
The bloodwitch took my sign as it was intended, tilting her chin down. “Now for the last thing we need. As admirable as your constitution has proved up until now, we don’t need you fainting at the altar. This is the one wedding the Rift has been waiting for and it will be the talk of the valley for the next year. Believe me, you don’t want that talk to be about how you collapsed like a sack of flour in front of the Lord. Hold out your wrist, if you please.”
From within her voluminous sleeves, she produced a delicate, leaf-shaped blade, the edges gleaming sharp, and a small glass bottle.
How many knives did this woman carry around? I was starting to think she held an entire cabinet of curiosities within those robes.
Feeling no small amount of trepidation, I held out my left arm, wrist up, and Wyn took it. She delicately ran a fingertip over the blue tracery of veins, then angled the leaf-shaped knife and chose a precise point to insert it.
I sucked in a sharp breath, fingers clenching, fighting the urge to rip my arm away from her. I’d known this was coming. One way or another, as long as I was in Ravenscry, I would spill my blood.
She held the jar to the small wound she’d made, capturing much more than a pinprick of blood this time, but not enough to make me feel weak. And once it was full, she capped it and held it up to the light, giving it a little shake with a smile. Lissa silently handed me a silk bandage, and I held it to the tiny wound.
“I realize we haven’t discussed our customs in-depth with you, but I assure you, you will want Lord Bane to have your blood. His aegis does not extend to you in the manner of a husband until he has partaken of your blood in the ceremony. In a… more typical vampire wedding, you would drink of his blood, but this is no ordinary wedding. It’s…” She waved a hand, trailing off.
Politically expedient? I asked, arching a brow.
“I do hope that wasn’t an insult, dear. You will drink the wine as you make your vows, but there will be no blood in it for you. Before Bane drinks, I will add this to the cup. There will be more bleeding, but I assure you it will not be enough to cause an issue.”
More bleeding? I stared at her.
“The thorns, you see,” she said, rolling one shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing that will cause permanent harm, I promise.”
The thorns?
Wyn finally met my gaze and exhaled slowly, her mouth thinning. “I must be honest with you. I’ve had many opportunities to educate you on our customs and what to expect, but to be frank… I chose, quite specifically, to keep you in the dark until now. Once the vows are made, you will be taught our customs in full—the customs we have managed to preserve from the days of the Red Epoch, at least.”
Why? I asked, tipping my head with curiosity, though I was completely unsurprised and could guess at why she might have chosen this.
“The other brides did not go willingly to the altar, knowing what their lives would become, so I chose the easiest path—keeping you blind to what was to come. Is it not better to bring a lamb to slaughter happy and blindfolded?”
My lips twisted as I took a step back from her. I hope that’s simply a poorly-chosen metaphor.
A faint wince crossed her face. “Perhaps that was not quite how I meant to put it… what I do mean to say is, your fate was sealed from the moment we entered Argent. There is nowhere to run now. You cannot escape the keep. I didn’t want you attempting to flee while in Thornvale, but now that we’re here… well, this wedding will involve blood. It will cause you some pain, because we believe that the bond is all the sweeter later for enduring that slight sting. You will emerge unharmed, and you will be expected to allow Lord Bane to feed from you once the bond is made. You seem to be a bright girl, Cirrien; I’m sure you’ve put much of this together yourself.”
Wyn reached out and touched one of my limp hands.
“All you must do is follow our cues,” she told me. “I’ve organized this wedding down to the last ancestors’-blessed petal; everything is in place. But remember that you must go through with it, and you may as well do so with dignity. My kind will not allow any other outcome than success.”
I nodded, a strange sort of numbness that I’d never felt before welling up inside me. Even during the worst disappointments of my life—being rejected from becoming a Silver Sister, being rejected as a candidate for the Library—I had never felt anything quite like this.
I understand , I signed, my fingers seeming to work independently of my brain.
Wyn gave me a bracing smile.
“Well, come now!” she chirped. “The ceremony will be held in the Bloodgarden, of course. Fortunately we’ve earned a little extra time, as we didn’t need to paint a more presentable face on you, but these vows must be made before midnight.”
She took the bandage from my hands before I could pull away, and I looked down, seeing that the puncture mark had vanished, leaving smooth pink skin behind.
Is this the work of a bloodwitch? I signed, but expected no answer, and got none, only a slightly bewildered look from Lissa.
Wyn held the door open. “After you, dear. The vampires of the legion would surely like a good ogle at their new Lady before the wedding.”
It occurred to me that she had deliberately shunted me through to the castle in the quickest route to my chambers, where there were only human maids, specifically so I wouldn’t see that I was surrounded by vampires on all sides.
For the first time in my life, I was in a place where humans were the minority. Not only that, but I had very little clear idea of vampire customs. Fraternization with the enemy was forbidden in the Cathedral.
Wyn had been very cavalier in harvesting my blood whenever she pleased. Despite the new laws about vampires requiring direct consent in order to drink from humans, I no longer lived in a world where those human laws could be counted on. Would I be expected to bleed for any vampire who asked?
Or would being Bane’s wife, under his aegis, protect me from such a thing?
I kept my questions to myself, to be put to paper another time, and followed Wyn back into the candlelit halls of the keep.
This time she led me in another direction, down a set of stairs, and the hall abruptly opened onto a wide hall, lit with crystalline chandeliers overhead and gold sconces on the walls. The grandeur was astonishing, when the outside of the castle appeared so defensive and utilitarian, especially after a lifetime of thinking the inside of the Silver Cathedral qualified as grand.
The Cathedral did not hold a candle to this keep, with its black marble floors polished so smooth it appeared we walked on a pool of dark water, or the delicate stonework buttressing the high ceiling. A faint, sweet scent hung in the air, enticing my nose.
And the people … or the vampires, as they really were.
Besides the maids, I picked out only one or two humans. The rest were clearly vampires, with their flawless skin, the slit pupils in faintly-glowing eyes, the incisors hidden behind plush lips.
Every vampire but Wyn was wearing armor, each armed to the teeth, and most of them maintained their posts as we passed. I felt their eyes moving over me, and once or twice saw nostrils flare as they caught my scent.
My skin prickled, especially when one particularly burly vampire, his blond hair pulled back in a horsetail to show off cut cheekbones and a chiseled mouth, licked his lips, his blue eyes glued to my exposed throat.
He was the kind of vampire the books were written about. The handsome knight in armor, eternally perfect. His mouth was formed in undeath to draw the eye, to make one want to melt into his arms and tip the head back just so…
And I wanted nothing to do with it. I couldn’t fathom such a thing.
My husband was something else, something far beyond this.
Something so different that even the vampires themselves considered his existence to be a sacrifice.
Not a vampire… but a monster.
I ran through the wyrd-runes in my head again, my favorite method of maintaining my composure, and followed Wyn up a pair of wide, scrolling stairs, my white dress trailing behind me like a veil.
She brought me to an unassuming door, as thick and well-defended as the rest, and opened it into a loggia surrounding a courtyard. I knew the moment I stepped foot into the Bloodgarden, the scent that had been haunting me all throughout the keep finally blooming.
Roses. All around us, roses by the thousands.
The courtyard was in the middle of the keep, surrounded on all sides by the high, dark walls of Ravenscry, and it was large enough to almost serve as a park.
In the day, it would be a fairy tale. By night, with the crescent moon gleaming overhead, it was a dark shadow whispering of romance and seduction. The roses grew on everything, climbing up the walls of the castle, twining around stone balustrades.
More of Bane’s legions were here, patrolling the edges of the courtyard, keeping watch from balconies high overhead. There was no escape from the sensation of eyes watching me.
“This is a holy place,” Wyn said in a low voice. “The bloodroses and their thorns are sacred to our Mother. You will find no ritual conducted by our kind that doesn’t take her symbols into account, and we treat this garden with great reverence.”
I read between the lines: if I damaged anything in this garden in an attempt to flee, they would find me wanting, and the punishment was unlikely to be pleasant.
The smooth trail of stones underfoot brought us through the Bloodgarden in a winding path, and Wyn finally slowed as we approached a fountain set in the wall.
But it was not just any fountain; where the face of a protective gargoyle or green man might have been carved in a human’s garden, in this one there was a pale bust of a woman, her head tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open to reveal gleaming marble fangs. Her cupped hands formed the bowl of the fountain.
I swallowed hard, staring at that empty bowl and wondering if it was truly meant for water, or something thicker.
“Stand here,” Wyn said quietly, positioning me to the left of the fountain. “This will be a small, quick ceremony. Don’t worry, Cirrien dear; we’ll be with you every step of the way, and by midnight you’ll be wed and the Accords will be met.”
I laced my hands in front of myself, mouth dry, heart pounding a rapid tattoo against my breastbone.
Thus far I had managed to maintain my composure in this marriage.
So long as I didn’t think about what came after the vampires considered us properly married.
For a few brief minutes, it was only Wyn and me by the fountain, and despite the easy quiet around us, my heart beat faster and faster. Several shadows slipped from the darkness on silent feet; vampires, all of them, looking like courtiers in intricate brocade and jewels.
Their thin pupils fixed on me, some skeptical, others reassured as they glanced between me and the bloodwitch. Perhaps they were expecting me to have to be hogtied, but Wyn did not have so much as a finger prepared to grab me.
This is for Veladar , I reminded myself. This keeps the wolf from the door.
I recognized Visca as she stepped into the courtyard, her friendly, crooked smile wide. She still wore her armor, but she held out an arm like a gentleman, ushering an even more massive shadow past herself. I had to crane my head to find the gleam of golden eyes.
Bane. I exhaled, a knot in my chest loosening. Had I really been worried that he wouldn’t arrive when I was terrified of what was to come?
But I hadn’t seen him all day, and our last exchange had been… less than friendly. I felt a faint burn of shame that he had heard me cry, and thought it was because of him.
I did my best to muster up a smile, but the presence of so many vampires was unnerving, and it wobbled and fell.
Bane stepped closer, on the other side of the fountain, and then I saw him in the light spilling from the castle and almost recoiled.
He had been monstrous when I first laid eyes on him, but this… the primitive lines of his face were even more bestial now, exaggerated into sharp peaks and valley. His lips could not fully close over his fangs; his body had thickened, plates of armor-like cartilage warping the shape of his shirt.
My heart started racing again, and I reminded myself that he had left me paper and a book. He had done it from the kindness of his heart; there was more to be seen in him than met the eye.
Took you long enough , I signed, trying for a hint of playfulness, to show that I wasn’t afraid of him. Were you having second thoughts?
He did not meet my gaze. I lowered my hands, reknotting them in front of myself. He didn’t understand; that was fine. Everything would be fine.
The fiend moved closer, slowly; there was something in his posture that spoke of nervousness, his shoulders held higher as though in defense.
He raised his hands, displaying dark claws that had been hastily cut down and filed to bluntness, and I just managed to not flinch.
And then he made words, his large, powerful hands clumsy in forming them, but still legible to me.
Not fear. Not hurt… you. Marry me.
The last one might have been ‘cats’, his thumb crooked a little too low, the gesture performed awkwardly, but I was sure he meant ‘marry’.
He had spoken to me.
In my own language.
I took a deep breath, wanting to say ‘yes’ to him, to say the most important word of my life out loud for once. To feel the weight of it in the air.
But it wouldn’t come.
Instead, I stared at those brutal hands, still hovering hesitantly in the air, shaping words he had learned solely to speak to me. He had learned it… for me.
He was the first person in my life to ever try to hear my words, to return them in kind.
Without warning, tears spilled over.