Dark Lord's Wedding (60 page)

Sails fluttered with its passing. Servers hauled on ropes. More canvas opened on the sides of the ship. The first flag revealed the design of a dragon spiraling closer, and a second spread into the Lord Tethiel’s black triangle. They flanked the hull and draped downward. Sails above, sails below.

The Lady Hiresha flitted past the prow and attached leads to the dragon. The living statue pulled the ship around. They faced the east and the white blaze of the moon.

Land breeze caught canvas, and the crystalline vessel sailed atop the mists. They passed a tower. Women leaned out of windows, waving jars of fireflies and hollering. The ship left the city and ghosted over the plains of fog. Its fore and aft sails angled down into the mists. They seemed to plow through a white land that was not wholly there.

The air pierced the lungs. It lacked all the comforting thickness of unwashed streets and ripe ambition. Still, the clearness could be suffered for the wedding.

A clinking and plinking echoed within the hull. The wedding gifts had settled into a ballast of treasure. The fox had dropped down there somehow and was now leaping between the chests and digging through piles of gold necklaces, chirping to himself. He would also be a god of wealth and fortune. Tendrils of mists waved past him on either side of the crystal vessel.

The dragon flew ahead. Its wings put the sails to shame. Both gemstone entity and ship headed toward the dark horizon of the sea. Lightning flickered from a distant storm. The black mountains of cloud reached closer to the moon. They might mask it, if the wind turned.

The Lady Hiresha coasted back onto the deck. She glanced around the ship, searching for someone she could no longer see.

Kissing Tethiel felt much the same when she was female. Tethiel’s lips pressed against Hiresha’s, and she was lost and hopeless then found again in cyclical moment of victorious eternity. Magenta burst across her vision and left an afterimage of green. Tethiel’s breath was incense. Her tongue was a secret shared.

Hiresha squeezed the red diamond in her hand. Its hardness centered her.

Tethiel leaned back. Lace skittered over her brow from the stigma then dragged back into the three-sided pit in her skull. The dark triangle pulsed along with the rise and fall of her corset-clamped breasts. Tethiel gestured with her long fang nails at herself. “What do you prefer?”

“Consistency,” Hiresha said.

With the clatter of terror-bird claws, the king brute trundled up to Hiresha. Though he panted, his arm was steady when he pointed the butt of his axe at Tethiel. “Need me to pry this dickless leech off your face?”

Hiresha was well amused. The king still must see Tethiel as a man. Hiresha shared a conspiratorial smile with Tethiel.

“Your choice of insult is intriguing,” Hiresha said to the king. “You couldn’t know that only several species of leech have penises. Others are both genders simultaneously.”

The words washed over the king brute without any observable effect. He swung his axe to prod Tethiel. “The lady’s not marrying you.”

“Allow me to share another underappreciated fact. Talking isn’t strictly necessary in a guest.” Hiresha squeezed an enchantment into a pink zircon then flicked it around the king. It stuck to the back of his skull. “The ideal guest need not speak, only smile in thanks.”

“Who’re you—Ah!” His teeth were Attracted together, and his jaw clamped shut. The corners of his lips stretched upward into an unwilling smile. “Mmmmhmmm!”

“Much better,” Hiresha said.

“Always smile.” Tethiel traced a fingernail over the king’s cheek. “Especially when you don’t mean it. The surest way to happiness is self-deception.”

“Intolerable, coming from you,” Hiresha said.

Tethiel’s deadened face never gave more than a hint of feeling. Her smile could only be seen in the corners. The lips of this new visage were painted in an aberration of a grin, a wedge of shining red. The upward spokes threatened to pierce her own eyes. The precision of the angulation impressed Hiresha. As sharp as those lips appeared, they had felt soft.

Tethiel walked with a serpentine sway. Her shoes were shaped like cloven hooves. All her weight would fall on the tips of her toes. They must bleed, and her ankles should have broken. They might with the next step, or the next.

Two servants bowed before her. They each carried a folded flag.

“My Lord,” one said, “which banner should be flown above the ship? The Obsidian Jaguar or the Winged Flame?”

The Talon sprang from his seat and over the table to reach them. “It must be the flame of flames, the light of lights. He shines even in the night.”

Tethiel’s fingernails pattered over the flags. She swerved around to face the jaguar knight. “Do you agree, my spotted delicacy? Should we honor the Winged Flame?”

The jaguar knight groomed his forepaw as if the discussion were well beneath him. Between licks of his broad tongue, his eyes flashed toward the banner of the Obsidian Jaguar.

“Then with the lady’s leave,” Tethiel said, “raise the Winged Flame. Without light we could never savor the dark.”

Hiresha nodded. This part of the plan would show the power of their subtlety. She stood behind the jaguar knight. “My apologies, yet Tethiel and I hope you’ll still be able to admire our choice of design. Particularly the dragon god’s shadow.”

The banner flared out in the wind. Bands of moonlight traveled down its forked length. The colors of the dragon drew the eye, yet a keen observer would notice its embroidered shadow didn’t match. The patch of darkness lacked wings, was more square of shoulder and jaw, more feline of tail.

The jaguar knight’s purr had a halting, chuckling quality.

“We will always arrange it so,” Hiresha said. “Every monument for the Winged Flame will bear the hidden design of your god. Every high temple will hold a secret cellar.”

Tethiel pulsed into view in a blink. Her head peeked out from beneath the table, though she couldn’t possibly fit beneath its lowness. “Veneration is all the sweeter when stolen.”

The jaguar knight licked Tethiel’s face then did the same to Hiresha. The tongue scraped across her chin, cheek, and brow all at once in a hot swath of approval. She was succeeding, and she knew it. One by one, the rulers of all the lands would accept Hiresha and Tethiel as a necessity.

The god sovereigns of the Alliance of Masks might be a welcome exception. Hiresha’s intestines were still taut from meeting Guile. Another examination of the crystal corsair’s decks yielded no sign of the woman, or man. Hiresha had perfect recall; she should remember. All that came to mind was the image of a mask, half white, half black, and entirely insufferable with its smirk.

Hiresha breathed out her shivering tension into the night. The moon would eclipse in thirty-six minutes, and before then she would give her marine demonstration. She Attracted her bloom of jellyfish after the ship and below, keeping them in the mists and out of sight.

Celaise came to her side with a scraping of feather against feather. “Lady, do you wish for your eighth dress?”

“Not until we sail over the last of the fog. And, Celaise, I appreciate your help with the Bleeding Maiden.”

“Not as much as I did.” She licked her upper lip.

Darkness flickered over the pink of her tongue. The feathers of her gown fluttered at twice the rate predicted by the wind. Between heartbeats, wings erupted from her cape. Their massive span covered the corsair, wrapped around it, and could crush it with their carrion-fed strength. Their feathers were black shields. They drizzled a white rain of maggots on the deck.

The wings were gone. They had never existed, yet they could have been. Hiresha’s rapid pulse still scoured through her veins like so much cleaning acid. Guests glanced about, shivering and afraid without knowing quite why.

“You’ve grown stronger, Lady Celaise.”

She didn’t reply. Her eyes shone the unforgiving blue of a desolate sky.

Yes, she could lead the Feasters. Celaise would serve the plan, as long as she would listen to reason. Hiresha checked the unseen strand of power leading into the girl’s onyx teeth. The enchantment was still ready for implosion.

Celaise sucked in a breath and touched her jaw. Hiresha could tell she suspected. She had scented the danger. Very well. Fear would keep her from doing anything foolish.

Hiresha touched the skirt of her wedding dress, where designs of ice melted then refroze into new patterns. “You’ve surpassed my expectations. I hope we will stay as collaborators forever.”

Tethiel’s voice rose over the hiss and buffet of the wind. “Yes, we must have—”

“—a game.” Her voice shifted into his. Tethiel appeared to pass a chalice to himself, as the horrifically feminine aspect blinked out of sight, and he appeared alongside.

He had changed back into the self Hiresha knew best. His back was straight, his pose commanding, yet at the same time he gave off the impression of a crouching giant, of a monstrosity bent over double to squeeze into so puny a ship. Behind him, above him, beneath him, and within him awaited a spiral of fangs as long and endless as human desire.

“At court we played the Greenest Toad, a contest of compliments.” He was speaking to the guests. Purest Elbe rested one hand over the other and listened. “Whoever pays the Lady of Gems the greatest compliment wins.”

“Like a ring of praise?” Fos angled up his shoulder to scratch the back of his head with his sword hilt.

“No rhyming. A well-told poem upsets the digestion,” Tethiel said. “And one other rule. Since her beauty is obvious, you may not compliment her appearance.”

“As you just did?” Hiresha asked.

“Exactly.” His face showed as much remorse as the moon. He swept his endless gaze over the guests. “Who is brave enough to speak first?”

Alyla spoke from her chair, her voice a clear tone without pause or hesitation. “She’s bold enough to stand against Feasters.”

“As can any Bright Palm,” Tethiel said. “Is she no better than the lowest of your order?”

Alyla’s pupils flared white at him. “Feasters obsess with beauty, but she has more of it than the highest of your order.”

“Ah ha! You broke the rules.” Tethiel wagged an elongated finger with seven joints. “If you could fear, perhaps you would’ve paused to consider your words.”

“Why should I care to lose at your game of words?” Alyla asked.

Tethiel turned to Hiresha. “Why indeed? You must choose a penalty for her.”

While it was no great honor to be the subject of a game called “the Greenest Toad,” Hiresha could insinuate her first commands in an unassuming manner. “The words were ill chosen, especially as I am wearing the craft of Feaster Celaise. Thank you, My Lady. Bright Palm Alyla, for your error you must compliment the Lord of the Feast.”

Alyla paused for the span of one glowing heartbeat before answering. “He hasn’t killed as many Innocents recently.”

“Bright Palms are such inexcusable flatterers.” Tethiel fanned himself with his lace handkerchief. “Who will burn our ears next?”

The Talon cackled a laugh and jumped onto the table. His feathers beamed. They clattered against each other in the breeze. “The lady’s as enrapturing as a heart beating in your hand. She’s a vision of blood, as precious as an ocean of it.”

Well, then! Lofting his god’s banner had improved the Talon’s mood, of that Hiresha was certain. He hadn’t even finished.

“You are the searing gold light before the dawn.” The Talon cut his tongue and flicked the blood to the east.

“Impressive.” Tethiel clapped. “Have you played this game before?”

The next guest to stand was Fos. His face pinched with thought, until the fennec hopped onto the table in front of him. He laughed and lifted the fox in his palm. “We all of us went into the tomb of the Opal Mind, a great and dead enchantress.”

“The greatest,” Hiresha said.

“Maybe, but if she was Opal, you’re diamond. To Hiresha, the Diamond Mind.” Fos lifted the fennec in salute. He squeaked triumphantly.

Given their common home of the City of Diamonds, she could excuse part of Fos’s puffery. Her skin still wanted to flush. Her eyes wanted to tear. This time she didn’t indulge them, though that only made her throat sting all the more.

She and Fos had undergone much together, and now she frightened him. She couldn’t pretend otherwise. His natural breadth of stance was pinched and narrow by reflexive huddling. He couldn’t seem to decide between speaking in a bellow or a hush. He was scared, maybe not for himself but for her and the person she had become.