Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
WENDY
We spend the next two weeks planning for the wedding and the coronation that will follow a few days after.
This may be my second wedding, but the first time around, my marriage to King Hald was entirely out of my control. The flowers were selected to match the Everland colors. The linens were the same linens used for every royal wedding dating back a hundred years. Even the music was pre-selected.
Now, I can literally have anything, and I’m finding it paralyzing.
Thankfully, I managed to steal Asha away from the Darkland Archives to join me and James today.
In the months we’ve been on Darkland, Asha has easily slipped back into her old role within the Archives, but this time she’s very close to the top, now in the role of Executive Archivist. I’ve barely seen her since we settled in on the island and not for lack of trying.
I’ve sent her a messenger every single day, sometimes with chocolate or silk scarf attached.
Her last reply was, “Are you trying to buy my affection?”
To which I replied YES, spelled out in white roses in a gilded box hand-carved by woodworking artisans from the northern coast.
I think it was the roses that finally convinced her I need her like I need air.
Asha riffles through a stack of napkins and pulls out a black linen square with snakes embroidered in silver along the bottom. “This is very Darkland.”
“Let’s go with that one,” James says.
“You said that about the last one,” I point out. “And it was blue.”
“I like blue.”
“We are not a blue-wedding type of people.”
“Aren’t we?”
“No.”
He scowls at me. He’s been in a foul mood lately and I can’t tell if it’s me, Roc, the wedding, or something else. We never did return to the whore comment he made at breakfast a few weeks ago. I let him pretend he never said it and he seems fine with pretending he didn’t.
But it’s been hanging in the air between us.
I take the napkin from Asha and rub the material between my fingers. “It’s kinda rough, don’t you think?”
Mr. Lo, the textile expert, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, nods his agreement.
“This particular linen is made of the flax plants that are harvested in the midlands of Winterland. It has a very specific, rustic look and if I could recommend something that would match the atmosphere of a king’s wedding… ”
“Yes, of course,” I coax.
“Ms. Taira has the right idea,” he says, nodding at Asha. “As the future queen of Darkland, black would serve you best. And the snakes are iconic, as you know. But we have this softer cotton blend.” He retrieves another sample from a rack behind him.
The design is almost an exact replica of the first, but the cotton is definitely softer than the linen when rubbed between my fingers.
“Let’s go with that one,” I say before I get confused by other options.
“Finally,” James mutters.
“Excellent choice,” Mr. Lo says. “How many will you need?”
I glance at Asha, then James. “What did we settle on? Five hundred?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking me,” Asha says with a laugh. “I didn’t write the guest list.”
“Five hundred. I think.”
“Very well. I’ll get the order written up. Where should we deliver them?”
“The wedding is taking place at the Dark Cathedral,” James says. “With the reception following right after in the adjoining Banquet Hall. If you could please deliver them there, that would be preferred.”
“Of course. It would be my pleasure. And if anything changes, please let me know.” Mr. Lo gives us a quick nod and then returns to his work behind the counter.
James, Asha and I leave the textile shop and exit onto the thoroughfare that runs between a row of shops in the Merchant District.
Paper lanterns are strung overhead, zigzagging back and forth across the fareway with a row of cafe tables beneath.
Several of the tables are full with couples and friend groups chatting over pastries and coffee.
“How come we never come here for an afternoon?” I ask.
Asha breaks away to buy a bag of piril candies from a cart vendor.
“It’s a security risk,” James answers as we pause to wait for Asha. “I’m shocked Roc let you come today without an escort.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I have you and Asha. Besides, if you think I don’t know that Hagan is trailing me at all times, then you don’t think very highly of me.”
He sighs. “Well I haven’t confirmed that she is. I’ve yet to spot her. Have you?”
“No. But I know she’s there.”
Asha returns, opening the white paper bag of candies with a sharp tear. “Who is where?”
“Hagan,” I tell her.
“Oh yeah. She is very good at what she does.” Asha pulls out a candy, this one shaped like a star with white sprinkles rolled into the chocolate coating. “Do you know where she trained?”
We keep walking and pass a group of twenty-somethings and they all watch us, then whisper to each other.
The stretch of time when I could be on Darkland soil and remain anonymous was short-lived.
Before too long, Roc will insist I have more than just Hagan and it will be obvious who I am wherever I go.
“Roc didn’t say,” James answers.
I steal a candy from Asha’s bag. Mine is round and coated in red chocolate. “It can’t be basic training.”
Asha squints into the sunlight as we exit the fareway and hit the sidewalk on the next street. “I agree. She’s highly skilled and her ability to blend into her surroundings is a talent I don’t see very often. Especially for someone of her size.”
I break open the candy between my back teeth. “You have that look.”
“Well…” Asha pops another candy in her mouth. “It’s a theory.”
“Yes, I know. That’s your I-have-a-theory look.”
She laughs. “I think your Hagan is from Wonderland.”
I make a face at James, all wide-eyed and mouth agape. “Did you know that?”
“No. Roc doesn’t tell me anything about his past but I suppose the theory makes sense—”
“Captain Hook!”
A young man with dark, wavy hair and light brown skin comes barreling down the sidewalk. He’s wearing one of the navy blue overcoats that tells me he’s within the portage office, and the three stripes sewn into his sleeve signify his rank as a communication officer, if I remember correctly.
James once spent an afternoon telling me all about rankings and patches and uniform pins within the portage office. That man loves a hierarchy, even better if the rules within the hierarchy are explicitly laid out. I think the rules are like a balm to his mind.
“Manuel? What is it?” James asks.
“We just received word about Mertz’s ship.”
James’s face falls. “Is it bad?”
Manuel frowns. “You should come to the hall for the debriefing.”
James nods and then leans into me, kissing my forehead. “I’ll meet you at home later.”
“Is everything all right?” I ask. Yal Mertz is the Portage Minister. I don’t think they’re friends, but maybe I missed that detail.
“It will be,” James tells me. “Asha, will you make sure she reaches home safely?”
“Of course.”
James and Manuel are off running before Asha finishes her sentence.