CHAPTER EIGHT #3
Vayden and Deckard were each called upon as the principal advocates to sign as witnesses next.
Then Fishere signed at the bottom. He read off the details of Ethenn and Ilain’s betrothal contract, citing their personal details, the exchange of goods (in this case, the only amendment was that their individual finances would be joined), and a few menial legal particulars.
The archminister rose and stood before the couple at the front of the desk.
“Join right hands, please,” he requested, and they obeyed.
With a rope braided of many-colored cloth, he bound their wrists and said a prayer of blessing, the uncanny similarities to Deckard and Evylin’s wedding beginning to compound.
Fishere led Ethenn and Ilain in a short pledge to one another, murmuring the words “To my last breath, I shall serve, honor, and love thee,” and then unbound their hands.
He lifted a goblet and a small blade from the table, offering the first to Ilain and the second to Ethenn.
Once they had them in hand, Fishere instructed Ethenn, “Prick your left ring finger, please.”
Ethenn and Deckard furrowed their brows simultaneously, but the young man did as ordered, squeezing a bit of his blood into the goblet. When the archminister further requested that Ethenn prick Ilain’s finger as well, he balked. But Ilain’s hand was already out, waiting.
Hesitantly, Ethenn pressed the blade into the pad of her finger, and she accepted the cut without flinching before dripping her blood in the cup as well.
Then Fishere lifted a decanter of red wine from the desk, filled the goblet, and, just as Deckard was putting the shocking scene together, the older man ordered Ethenn and Ilain to drink the blood and wine infusion.
“What?” Deckard and Ethenn said at the same time.
None of the Calders showed the same alarm.
“It’s a blood oath,” Ilain explained. “We share our blood as the start of our own bloodline.”
Ethenn stared at the goblet warily but drank his half before offering the rest to Ilain.
Deckard felt the ritual was rather pagan, no matter their country’s traditions. However, he concluded that two small drops of blood in a glass full of wine weren’t so unsavory that they couldn’t be tolerated.
Taking back the empty goblet, Fishere smiled. “In the mighty name of Allore, I declare thee betrothed,” he said, then turned to Ethenn, adding, “You may seal your oath with a kiss.”
“Oh.” Ethenn blanched and turned to Ilain, blinking like she was a mirage on the horizon. When she tipped her head forward encouragingly, the young man swallowed, leaned forward, and, with ears as red as the ruby on the Fire Relic, kissed her.
Generally, Deckard looked away from other people’s public affections out of respect. In this case, he was captivated, realizing this was how he must have looked, kissing Evylin for the first time. Cautious, anxious, and awed.
However, Ethenn lingered far longer than Deckard had had the guts for on his wedding day.
Deckard thought to turn away just as the kiss ended.
Ethenn turned back to the archminister even as Ilain swayed slightly.
She let out a small hum before blinking away her apparent daze.
The Calder brothers watched her reaction with dry humor.
Vayden even muttered something to Auden under his breath, at which the younger Calder chuckled.
“Excellent,” Archminister Fishere said. “With these our witnesses, I pronounce you man and wife. May Allore bless you both.”
The words took a moment to settle. Then Deckard frowned, and Ethenn gaped.
“Wait,” Ethenn said. “I thought this was a betrothal.”
“It is,” Fishere said.
“But you just called us man and—and wife.”
“Because you are.”
Ethenn shook his head, fumbling for words. “You said the wedding wouldn’t be for a year.”
“Or until Allund is established, yes,” Fishere confirmed patiently.
“Then what was this?” Ethenn exclaimed, gesturing between him and Ilain.
Fishere and the Calders looked as baffled as Deckard felt, though he suspected it was for very different reasons.
Ilain set a hand on Ethenn’s arm. “We’re betrothed,” she said. “In Wauld, that makes us probationary husband and wife until such a time as we can be properly married by the clergy.”
Ethenn’s face had turned more red than tan now. “I didn’t know that!”
“You can nullify the betrothal at any point before the ceremony,” Archminister Fishere offered. “As there is no loss on either side, there will be no ill will from a contract broken. That is so long as you don’t consummate the marriage in the meantime.”
Ethenn’s eyes widened, and Deckard’s narrowed.
“Is that allowed for a betrothed couple?” Deckard asked.
“Encouraged, actually,” Vayden said.
“I beg your pardon?”
Ilain rolled her eyes and muttered something about prudish Ephrians before facing Ethenn and Deckard.
“In Wauld, we don’t have the luxury of pietism.
Betrothals are oaths of intent, and the consummation of them, while not always enacted, is regularly viewed as the appropriate means of proving your dedication to the oath.
From the time of betrothal, our tradition allows the man and woman to live together.
Otherwise, they could be waiting years before the clergy arrived to perform the proper ceremony. ”
“But we’re not in that situation,” Ethenn protested.
“No,” Ilain allowed. “But my culture’s traditions remain.”
Fishere interjected with a fatherly tone.
“The consummation isn’t required,” he said.
“In fact, in this situation, I’d advise against it per Mr. Calder and Colonel Deckard’s advice.
Take the betrothal as a chance to test your marriage and ensure a future together is what you truly want.
” Then he sent Ilain a knowing look. “Just don’t go trying things you can’t un-try, eh? ”
Ilain gave him a pleased smirk. “After forty-three years, you don’t think I can handle a few months, Edmaund?”
“My child,” Fishere said fondly, “you are known for a great many virtues. Restraint isn’t one of them.”
With Ilain’s silent acceptance, Fishere clasped his hands behind his back.
“With that taken care of . . .” He turned to Deckard.
“Last night, Highlady Freye put forth the request for your meeting with Lord Obel. He has agreed to receive you at his home here in Mouroc. You are expected . . .” He glanced at the clock and then grimaced. “In five minutes.”
“We’ll be late,” Vayden said.
“Yes,” Fishere sighed. “As Obel considers Vayden a friend, he will escort you along with Highlord Calder as your current tutor. However, with Blount’s writ, you’ll need to shroud Auden as you move through the city.”
Deckard nodded, then put forth the request he’d been waiting to make. “Sir, I would like Evylin to join me as well.”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Fishere said instantly. “We’re putting you in enough danger with Auden’s presence. Until the Bonding ceremony tonight, Private Deckard must remain in the protection of our compound here.”
Disappointed but dedicated to Evylin’s safety, Deckard accepted the denial. “Thank you for arranging the meeting, sir,” he said.
“Yes, yes.” Fishere waved his hand at them. “You’re already late, and I have work to do.”
Dismissed, Deckard exited the office with the Calders and Ethenn. Vayden and Auden kissed Ilain on the cheek and shook Ethenn’s hand in congratulations, then stepped toward the hotel’s front door. Deckard offered the couple a smile and his own salutations.
“Colonel,” Ethenn called before he could turn away. He glanced at Ilain, then faced Deckard again. “Thank you—for your advice.”
“Of course,” Deckard said. “Thank you for requesting it.”
Ilain took a step back, understanding in her gaze. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’d like to share the news with Isla and Reyana.”
Deckard dipped his chin in farewell as Ethenn nodded awkwardly.
Ilain rolled her eyes. “Oh, come here,” she said, then pressed a fierce kiss to Ethenn’s cheek. His temples went pink, and she winked at him. “I’ll see you later, husband.”
Decidedly bemused, Ethenn watched her walk away, lips parted. Then he looked up at Deckard. “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?” he asked, desperation thinning his deep voice.
Working to hold back a laugh, Deckard couldn’t help smiling at the young man. “You’re the one who proposed,” he said.
“Actually,” Ethenn sighed, “she did the proposing.”
“Of course she did.” Now, Deckard did chuckle. “Loxley, as a man who went through a similar predicament only three and a half months ago, may I give you a suggestion?”
“Please do, sir.”
Deckard held his gaze, impressing the significance of the lessons he’d learned over the last one hundred forty-five days.
“Be honest,” he said. “You’ve already told her you love her, which is a good start.
Continue to be open with her. If you have expectations for your relationship, tell her.
If you feel you’re failing her, tell her.
If you have questions or reservations, tell her. ”
Deckard tapped Ethenn’s chest. “Such honesty will save your heart in the end.”
Ethenn took the wisdom with his usual steadiness, though the corner of his mouth quirked. “I didn’t exactly expect to come out of that room married,” he said.
“Technically, you aren’t, if that helps.”
Ethenn gave a wry scoff. “She’s my wife, though.”
“Evidently.”
“I’m not sure how to feel about that.”
“You said you love her,” Deckard prompted.
“I do,” Ethenn assured him.
Deckard smiled. “Then love her,” he said, knowing that was the advice he would have given himself all those months ago. “Whether she returns your feelings or not, love her with your whole soul. In the end, it’ll turn out just fine.”