Chapter 32
Wroth
“Tell me I don’t look foolish.”
I smoothed the front of my midnight blue brocade jacket, eyeing myself in the mirror. It had been a long time since I’d felt any true vanity, but this was the only wedding I would ever have that mattered.
The only wedding I would ever have again.
You look perfectly handsome, Cirri signed, brushing my mane back over my shoulders, and Marrion raised a brow. “Don’t you wear that same outfit every Bloodrain?”
“I don’t like tailors,” I grumbled, adjusting the front of the shirt. Fancy velvets and lace made me feel like a court jester.
Marrion took my sleeves, adjusting the gold-heavy cuffs. “You don’t look foolish at all, Uncle. I think she’d be pleased if you arrived in nothing at all, so long as you do it on time.”
“Is she done? Have you seen her?”
Cirri smiled gently. Both she and her daughter were in fine clothes, though not the style popular in the Rivers—all frilly lace and bustles. They were in smooth silk gowns, Cirri’s a forest green, and Marrion in pale jade, their hair braided and drops of precious gemstones glittering in their ears.
She’s waiting very impatiently, and if we don’t finish soon, she’ll storm in and drag you out to the Bloodgarden herself.
“And she’s lovely,” Marrion sighed. “But in all seriousness, Uncle, if you don’t stop fussing about, she’s going to start soldering something to pass the time and all that spidersilk she’s wearing will be scorched.”
“She’s not wrong.” Bane’s deep voice filled the room as he entered. “I believe I saw the bride eyeing the wrenches.”
“Fine, fine.” I tossed my head, settling myself into place. “Brother…I cannot thank you enough for coming. Especially after…”
Bane’s golden eyes were warm as he clasped my shoulder. “There’s no need to speak of it. Not for anything in the world would I miss the chance to see you happy.”
I thanked the gods every day that my brother and sister had forgiven me. Marrion had come through the ordeal stronger, more sure of herself; while I would never let her go Below again, she had learned the depths of her own limits and emerged on the other side as a great sanguimancer.
I was more than ready. My entire life was waiting for me downstairs, and truthfully, she would not care in the slightest if I arrived at the altar in rags.
The Bloodgarden of Owlhorn lay behind the castle, on an outcropping that overlooked the headwaters of the Five Sisters.
Unenclosed, the bloodroses grew up over the walls of the castle and the Tower of Tides.
Underfoot, the ground was sandy and fine; despite this, the bloodroses grew in profusion, their thick scent filling the air.
And the altar itself was relatively new; the past human lords of the castle had chipped away the original long ago.
A sculptor had modeled the new one on the very altar Bane and Cirri had sworn their vows upon, the face of Mother Blood replicated, eyes closed, mouth open to reveal her fangs, the fountain’s bowl her cupped hands.
I had mixed feelings, but this was our history, whether I enjoyed such knowledge or not. Mother Blood had been Fae; perhaps the original statuary was not even based upon the Fae herself, but one of the first vampires she had made.
But I would take her blessing tonight, nonetheless.
Tiarnan and Lorcan grinned at me from either side of the fountain, both in fine clothes.
Marrion stood at a table set near the altar that held the iron goblet, the ewer of wine, and a cut-crystal bowl full of crushed bloodrose petals.
The petals, and the length of thorny vines, had been clipped from Cirri and Bane’s own bramble, the only gift I would accept from them beyond the gift of their presence.
Marrion had earned the right to preside over this ceremony, but I sensed her anxiety. She might be brave in the face of oncoming death, but officiating a wedding? She kept checking the ewer and brambles, as though they might run off.
“Nervous?” Bane whispered, leaning close.
I covered a nervous cough with a chuckle. “You haven’t the faintest idea.”
Mist drifted around us, and finally, the bride’s procession arrived.
Dareia and her children came first, then their family staff, Mathis and Tarja, with Talos behind him; something nervous fluttered in my stomach, my heart racing, even as Líadan arrived, wearing a simple white shift dress, almost frighteningly ethereal in the moonlight.
She hugged the castle wall, walking through the shadows with eerie grace… but she had come.
But there was no sign of Jesamin yet.
What if she changed her mind? What if this…if I…wasn’t enough?
Then a ghostly figure came through the mist, and there she was, the spidersilk clinging to her shoulders and falling in sleek folds at her sides.
Her dark waves were unbound, falling down her back; a simple circlet of braided gold leaves crowned her head, matching the glint of her golden spectacles.
Jesamin, holding her father’s hand as Bram pushed his wheelchair. She smiled widely, those dark brown eyes full of light and joy, cheeks flushed.
She squeezed her father’s hand and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, and motioned her towards me. Jesamin needed no further prompting to step before the altar, close enough that her hip and elbow brushed me.
Cirri poured the wine into the cup, and to my surprise, it was Líadan who stepped up to scatter a handful of bloodrose petals into the wine. She gave Jesamin a shy smile, stepping back as Marrion handed the goblet to Jesamin with a gravity I rarely saw from my niece.
“Jesamin fel Arron.” Marrion inclined her head to my bride. “You come before our first ancestor, Mother Blood, to give yourself, body, blood, and soul, to my uncle who stands before you. Will you have him?”
My heart skipped a beat as Jesamin looked into my eyes, and in the magnification of those lenses, I could see every amber speck, as warm as summer honey.
“Forever,” she promised, her voice thick with feeling.
She promised herself to me forever, to take my blood as hers, to offer her heart freely, to accept my aegis over her body. Every word rang out with absolute conviction, imprinting itself deep inside me.
“When your soul is weighed, will you claim his as yours?”
“I claim him now,” she said, never looking away from me. “I need not weigh my soul to know what I feel. He has lit a flame inside me.”
Marrion lifted the thorny vines. “With any love comes pain. Bind yourself, and know that any obstacles you face, you face together.”
Jesamin held out her hands, and Marrion wrapped the length of thorns around them. They pierced her skin, adding her to her scars, but Jesamin beamed at me.
The smell of her blood…beautiful, mouthwatering. I wanted to rush Marrion, to get to the end when I could kiss my beautiful wife.
“Lord Wroth the Soulbreaker,” Marrion said formally, and from the twinkle in her eye, I knew she was suppressing ‘the best uncle’ as a title. “You come before your first ancestor to give yourself to this woman, body, blood, and soul. Will you have her?”
“For all of time,” I vowed. “I have waited centuries for her.”
I would share my blood, protect her to the last breath, be her sword and her shield.
“When your soul is weighed, will you claim her as yours?”
“Her soul has always been the other half of mine,” I said, and Jesamin’s hands trembled as she reached out for mine.
“She has kindled me into something I thought lost, and made me a better man than I was. She is a creator of wonders, and it was not her wrenches nor turnscrews, but her courage, tenacity, and kindness that were the instruments of my revival.”
Jesamin’s eyes shone bright as she looked up at me, speechless.
“It is the greatest honor to claim your soul as mine.” My hands tightened around hers, her pulse thrumming across my palm.
“All futures hold hidden storms,” Marrion said softly. “But the greatest of loves can weather them all.”
She wrapped the thorns around my hands, each pinprick a sweet spark, and Marrion held the cup beneath our clasped fingers to catch our mingled blood.
“Drink of this cup, blessed by the ones who came before, and bind yourself to this vampire.”
Jesamin took the cup eagerly, though the thorns tore at her hands in her haste to drink. She swallowed, the bloody wine painting her lips crimson.
“Now he lives in you,” Marrion said, and handed the cup to me with the same command.
I drank deep, tasting Jesamin’s sweet blood within, sparking like fulmen in my veins.
“Now she lives in you.” Marrion took the cup to the altar, Mother Blood’s waiting mouth. “Two souls are now one. Through life and into death, you shall never be parted. Now we ask you for your blessing, Mother.”
She poured the cup into the statue’s mouth, spattering the flawless marble of her visage. Jesamin took my hand, both of us slick and bloody, the thorns digging deeper with every motion.
Marrion and Cirri had instructed her on the wedding; she knew the rituals and rites, the blessings every vampire hoped to receive, and to never shed a tear upon the bloodroses. Her breath was shallow and rapid as the wine disappeared into the statue’s throat.
But in a silent flood, the blood poured from her mouth, overspilling the Mother’s cupped hands. Jesamin exhaled, laughing softly as she squeezed my fingers.
“Their union is blessed,” Marrion announced jubilantly, equally relieved. “The Lord and Lady of the Rivers stand before you. Let the binding be planted, that their love might flourish so long as they both live.”
I led Jesamin to the neat hole dug at the base of the castle wall, shallow and sandy.
“My lady.” I unwrapped her hand carefully, smoothing my thumb over each prick of smeared blood, and pressing a kiss to each one. “You must plant it.”
Jesamin took the ropes of thorns, carefully coiling them in the sand. “My lord, you must bury it.”