Chapter 15
Jump
Somehow, just a day after their first kiss, Norah stood on a little cushion that lifted her off the ground, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her sleeve as she waited for the seamstress to finish making adjustments to her dress.
The white fabric seemed to flow on for miles behind her, swamping her in the reality that had become hers in less than twenty-four hours.
She loved Phillip, she reminded herself. She had to. The list couldn’t have changed if she didn’t. Still… she had more misgivings than she was comfortable with.
“But it didn’t change all the way,” she had pointed out to Freya the day before, when Freya had dragged her toward her room for the gown fitting.
“Love, you haven’t given your magic time!” Freya had said, tears in her eyes, which somehow still sparkled with joy. She laughed a little. “Perhaps if you hadn’t gotten up so early, it would have finished!”
“He can’t talk yet, though,” Norah had said. “He’s not healed! What if–”
“If I remember right, your sisters had married their husbands before their healing became complete.” Freya had waved her off. “You’re worrying too much. This,” she held up the paper scrap, “is proof that it’s working! Your magic can heal what the plague destroyed!”
Norah wasn’t sure about that. But, as Freya had pointed out, they were running out of time. He’d just lost his ability to play his violin. What would he lose next? His ability to paint? Pointing to objects? Eye contact?
Freya was right. There was no denying that the word on the scrap of paper had changed. So Norah must feel some love for him.
But when she took stock of her emotions today, the only one Norah could fully feel was panic.
“How can I be so ignorant of my own heart?” she whispered to the mirror.
She went back in her mind for the hundredth time that day and tried to retrace the feelings she’d experienced the day before, when all of it had begun.
The fear and terror her nightmare had produced were real.
So real that her heart started hammering in her chest every time she recalled his cold, empty eyes as he lay in the bed where she had slept.
It had been all too real–too much like the day that would inevitably find their marriage if healing was never done.
She might as well have traveled through time to the future where her husband was never healed.
The relief at seeing him awake and aware had been real as well. It was one of the richest sensations she’d ever experienced, as was the thrill that had rushed through her veins when he’d kissed her.
But how did one jump in from such fledgling feelings to pledging one’s life to another forever… especially when she was worried she might be falsely raising his hopes for a kind of healing that might never come.
Because, as she’d thought so many times in the last day, he still wasn’t fully healed. And Norah didn’t care what Freya said. Yes, her sisters’ husbands had been healed fully at their weddings. But there was no proof that Phillip ever would be.
“If only you were here, Nanny!” Norah whispered again.
“You could tell me what to do!” Then, to the Maker, she thought, Why is this so hard?
Why, if this was her story too, did she still feel like she was on the outside looking in?
She looked up at the ceiling as though it might reveal some sort of answer.
But, as she had expected, no answers appeared.
“What was that, Your Highness?” one of the seamstress’s girls asked.
“Oh, nothing, thank you.” Norah tried to smile, but even that felt brittle.
She was the bride. This was her day. Even if it was to be a small wedding, it was hers.
She was getting the dress and the shoes and the crown and the jewels that she had dreamed of as a little girl.
Norah, Phillip, and their guests would be surrounded by flowers, and she was entwining her life with that of the kindest man she could have imagined.
So why did she feel so much like crying?
Norah looked beyond the room’s western window, toward the ocean upon which she might have started her adventure.
Back when she hadn’t had Phillip, those plans had seemed so easy and free.
Then she had been free of her fear of pirates, and Nanny had been safely at her side.
Her past might have been filled with what-ifs, but her future had been full of promise.
Now, though, she was making a life-altering promise to a man whom she couldn’t be sure she could heal.
Because, in truth, she didn’t know if her love was enough to heal him–if she was enough to heal him.
And by doing so, she was diving right back into the world she’d sought to escape for so long, the fate of thousands resting on her unreliable shoulders yet again.
And, should her love or her power fail to heal him, that awful responsibility would all be hers for the rest of her life, or at least until a suitable heir could be produced.
Even this wouldn’t have been so bad if Lady Freya and Sir Oliver were ever able to have children.
Norah would have happily handed the crown to one of them.
But as they hadn’t thus been able to have any children, Norah knew a nephew probably wasn’t the most reliable plan.
Which meant that if Norah ever wanted to escape a throne she had never desired, she would need to produce an heir herself before Phillip–
“It’s nearly time!” Freya exclaimed, bursting into the room with a wreath of pink flowers for Norah’s head and a pink jewel surrounded by green jeweled leaves for her to wear on her neck. Then she handed Norah a bouquet of flowers and led her excitedly into the hall.
Norah hadn’t known how many people to expect at the wedding. After Phillip had fallen sick and their parents had died, Freya had shrunk the palace staff down to the smallest number they could survive with in an effort to economize, as well as keep news of the prince’s condition quiet.
“We’ll announce the wedding after it’s taken place,” Freya had explained that morning. And though she didn’t speak it, Norah knew what she wasn’t saying.
After Phillip’s communication has been restored.
But what if it wasn’t restored? What then?
Norah was nearly dizzy by the time they reached the garden. Sir Oliver had kindly volunteered to walk her down the aisle, an offer Norah had happily accepted. But it wasn’t his presence that brought her a sudden and unexpected sense of peace.
It was the tall man standing at the end of the aisle, his brown eyes bright with what Norah assumed to be joy and hope.
What about love, though? she wondered. Could there be love?
Even as she considered this, however, Norah recalled the way his lips had felt on hers the day before, and she suddenly felt as though she could breathe a little easier again.
Maybe they could do this. She could very easily wake up to his kisses every morning.
And if her love and her power somehow managed to heal him…
maybe she wouldn’t be alone after all. Perhaps she could have her adventure at his side, and they could live happily ever after together.
He was wearing a full military uniform like the one he’d been wearing the night he’d rescued her, only this one had more braids and buttons, and it made his shoulders look even wider than they usually did.
His long blond hair had been tied back neatly at the nape of his neck, and his face had been carefully shaved.
It was all very impressive, but Norah suddenly had the desire to throw herself into his arms, where he could hold her and chase away all the doubts that plagued her.
She didn’t care how many soldiers and staff were there, or how many visiting members of the inner nobility. She just wanted him.
But, as it was generally frowned upon for brides to race down the aisle, Norah had to content herself with Sir Oliver’s stately pace.
The man was a bred nobleman through and through, which meant he was not going to hurry their steps one bit.
But they did eventually reach Phillip and the holy man at the end of the aisle, and Norah was finally able to draw a deep breath when her hand was once again in Phillip’s.
And that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Perhaps her love would be enough after all.
It was ironic, really. Even though she was the one who was supposed to have the healing powers, it was the man who couldn’t speak who had a soothing power over her.
The holy man was beaming almost as widely as Lady Freya as he began discussing the vows.
He had a pleasant voice that rose and fell with the friendly breeze that danced through the trees.
The flowers were still fragrant and bright with their yellows, pinks, reds, oranges, and whites, despite the late summer month, and the morning sun was shooting beautiful golden beams through the air that danced and played with the moving leaves.
And as Norah spoke her vows, her own voice joined in the song of happiness the Maker seemed to have spoken into the world that morning.
If she could have picked the place and hour for her wedding, this would have been it.
The groom was a good man. The best kind of man, really.
Her family would have been thrilled if they could have known she was marrying the man they had chosen for her.
Even better, she was giving an entire kingdom a new chance at life.
She was happy after all.
So why did she still feel so afraid?
“Your Highness,” the holy man said, “would you please seal your union before these witnesses with the sign of a sacred kiss?”
Norah’s heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings as Phillip gently placed one hand on her hip and the other on her arm and drew her toward him. And with a kiss both gentle yet passionate, both fiery and serene, full of hope and promise, he declared her his in the presence of all gathered there.
The shouts and cheers were much louder than Norah had expected from such a small group of people, but even they were nearly drowned out by the sound of her own heart in her ears. Was he going to try to speak here and now? Would all of those cheering see whether or not her love had healed him?
And if it hadn’t… what would they think of her then?
But to her immense relief, Phillip didn’t try to speak to her or the crowd.
Rather, he took her by the hand and dragged her off into one of the many gazebos, one covered almost completely by yellow and pink climbing roses.
Gently, he sat her down on the bench and took her other hand in his as well.
Then his lips parted as he drew in a deep breath.
And nothing came out.
Not a single word.
Not even a sound.
He was just as mute as he had been the night they’d met.
Norah stared at him, frozen as he tried again and again to speak, her own horror rapidly reflected on his face. Miserably, she watched as his expression changed to one of frustration, and then to heartbreak. Which really was the worst of them all.
Norah had gambled on a dream. And, having lost, now she was living a nightmare in return. Only this one was real, and there was no waking up from her failure.
“Phillip, I–” she began, her voice cracking as she spoke. But she was cut off by the sound of explosions coming from the direction of the harbor.