The Catalyst

Chapter 43

As it turned out, Queen Veronica was skilled in pretending like nothing had happened. The makeup artists had done wonderful work and she was prettier than ever, the dark glittery paste around her eyes making the green irises stand out as she beamed at Amary. Her auburn curls were elaborately pinned up and her dress was pure white, the satin fabric clinging to her body from breast to ankles.

Two could play at that game. Tessa was pretending, too. Pretending she wasn't hurt, pretending she wasn't afraid, pretending this stupid wedding was what she wanted. She stood close to Myzian, giving his military red uniform an appreciative glance and returning his smile. In truth, he didn't look his best. His hair had been cropped very short like his father's, and Tessa thought he resembled a rat.

Well, she didn't look her best either. Her get-up mimicked Veronica's, and whilst the hair and makeup were acceptable, white was not her color. Her skin was too pale for it. In Veicira, her favorite tailor had been working on her wedding dress, a lovely dark blue garment. So much for that, now. Tessa winced as one of the countless pins in the dress – to accommodate her litheness – pricked the skin of her thigh.

The space inside the ring of trees wasn't at full capacity. Surely these gardens had hosted more sumptuous weddings before. This one spoke of haste. Emperor Shezenos stood with ten of his captains, all dressed in formal red like Amary and Myzian. Veronica's relatives were a little distance away, sporting lavish outfits, but with uncertain looks on their faces, especially when they eyed the priestess. Tessa couldn't blame them. The priestess wore a wig of feathers and beads that curtained her narrow face, and her dress seemed made of white and red ribbons and strips, completely shapeless as it fell all the way to the ground. Tessa repressed a shudder when the priestess' dark eyes rested on her. The Dragon – Dylani – had also made an appearance with some of his followers, all in fine black clothes to mirror their leader's cloak, standing far back under the shade of the trees.

Tessa turned back around and saw Myzian giving the priestess an impatient look. "Can we begin now?"

The priestess looked up at the sky dramatically, spreading out her arms like wings. The moon was visible now, a not quite perfect circle in the late afternoon sky. Apparently, the priestess always decided when the wedding could start. Tessa shivered in the rising wind as the priestess continued her appraisal of the sky. Veronica was shivering too, and Amary rubbed her arms. The men had it easy with their uniform jacket, whilst the women's arms were bare in the autumn wind. For once, Tessa agreed with Myzian. Yes, let this silly spectacle begin, so that it may end.

"We shall proceed," the priestess finally announced, gesturing for the two couples to step closer.

The priestess' accent, perhaps from the southern regions of the empire, made it difficult for Tessa to understand. Plus certain words she used belonged to an older version of the Azurian language, and Tessa's knowledge didn't extend that far.

'Shall I translate for you?' Dylani's smooth voice echoed in her ear. Tessa glanced over her shoulder and saw that he still stood far back with his followers. His mask made it impossible to tell whether his lips were moving.

'Keep your eyes on the priestess, to do otherwise is offensive,' he advised.

A shiver running down her spine, Tessa turned back to the priestess, who'd gone ominously quiet. Myzian cleared his throat and the priestess glared at him. Then she resumed her speech with theatrical gestures of her arms. A few steps away, Veronica and Amary smiled at one another, their hands clasped together. No one else had heard the Dragon's voice.

'You are bound in a sacred alliance before the gods and goddesses,' Dylani translated, and this time she resisted the urge to turn around, even though it felt like he stood right behind her speaking in her ear. 'An alliance that shall only be broken by death. The husband shall have as many as ten wives, or fifteen if he is blessed by the gods . . . That means if he's rich,' Dylani clarified for her sake. 'The wife shall never marry another. She shall be faithful to only one man, and birth only his children. To break these sacred rules grants her husband the right to punish her in any way he sees fit.'