Fireblood (7 page)

* * *

The archway is dark. A curtain of midnight-blue velvet is the only thing separating me from the hall of citizens awaiting the betrothal of Prince Sebastian and his
chosen
princess.

My face flames. A mixture of anger and embarrassment causes my heart to beat faster, my blood rushing through my veins, as I think about meeting Sebastian at the altar. I’ve not heard from him since my display in the arcade. I’m sure he’s plenty vexed, but apparently not enough if I’m standing here now, readying myself to become his betrothed. I fear I’d have to humiliate him far worse for him to call off this engagement.

Fury pools in my stomach like fiery lava as I remember his cruel words to me in the inner ward. I try to douse it, reminding myself that I can’t show my revulsion for the prince. Not with all of Karm watching. I bury his words, and the knowledge of him depriving me of my last moments with my father, deep inside.

I must get through tonight.

Madity stands next to me, her sure hands fidgeting with the lace backing of my gown. The skirt flows to the floor, leaving a trail of white satin behind me. The long white sleeves connect at the lace-trimmed bodice, leaving my shoulders bare. It’s more skin than I’ve ever shown in public, and I continually tug at the sleeves, trying to pull them higher.

Back in my chamber, Madity applied a beige cream to my hands to conceal the scrapes. My hair was worked into a braided halo around my head with white satin ribbon woven through, achieving the angel effect Madity strove for. She outdid herself. Even I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.

Though this is merely the engagement, proof to God and everyone that we intend to marry, it’s taken quite seriously. A robed friar awaits me at the altar. He’s to bless us, confirm our intentions to marry, and cry the banns, asking if anyone knows a reason for us not to be united.

I imagine Hadley springing from her pew and denouncing the betrothal, but that’s a ridiculous thought. Even if she wished to do so for my sake, she can’t, not without putting herself in danger. I harbor no false hope of anyone speaking out against this union.

My head swims as Madity gives my dress one last fluff, then turns toward the little boy holding my commitment gift to Sebastian. A round, silver locket that he’ll clip to his vest. And inside it, a lock of my hair.

“Remember to stay to the right,” she tells the boy. “Just behind Princess Zara.”

He nods while yanking on the collar of his blue vest, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.

Madity disappears down the corridor, and in a few moments, returns with a thin, silver band. A crown. From here on out, I’ll be expected to wear it. I bow my head for her as she gently places it over my braid. One small blue jewel drips from its center, resting against my brow.

“You’re breathtaking, Zara,” she says. “I mean, Princess Zara.” She bows once, then turns and joins the other help standing along the back wall of the hall.

I self-consciously rub my leg, wanting to feel my dagger, but the itchy material of my garter chafes me instead. I hid the dagger in my chamber. I’d not bring my father’s weapon into a room full of the Force. I consider myself brave,
most
days, not stupid, but I need the feel of the dagger pressed against my skin, its comfort. Though it hasn’t been in my possession long, I feel strangely like a piece of me is missing.

Taking a deep breath, I face the blue velvet curtain as it begins to part. An orchestra of mandolins, flutes, and drums fills my ears—it’s my cue. I take a shaky step forward, my legs numb.

Row upon row of commoners and nobles are seated in the pews. Their dress is all in shades of blue and gray, complementing the blue and silver tapestries draping the white stone walls. Tall candelabras line the walls and either side of the altar, and the glow of their small flames creates an illusion of warmth despite the cool air of the large hall.

As I walk past the citizens of Karm, I feel their eyes on me. I ball my hands into fists as the girls I grew up with snicker. Their envious glares disarm me, but when I spot Hadley—the worry in her dark eyes, the frown marring her always smiling lips—I’m nearly undone. She mouths the words, “Are you all right?”

All I can manage is a quick nod. Her lips lift into a small, heartened smile, and I’m two seconds from running straight to her when I catch Sebastian’s gaze. His eyes find and hold mine, then his lips spread into a beautiful smile and his face lights up, the soft glow from the candles adding to the effect.

I must get through this
. Then I can find my best friend again.

His dark blue vest is embroidered with silver. A fitted gray tunic beneath displays his well-defined arms as he stands tall, his shoulders back. The blue-jeweled hilt of his sword stands out against his silver belt. Blue is the color of purity. I inwardly cringe. He should be wearing any color other than blue. Pure is not how I’d describe the haughty prince who oversees horrific punishments. However, he could be wearing it for another meaning…

The thought makes me stumble, but I quickly catch and right myself. I’ve always assumed, with the maidens pining after him, that he must be experienced. Surely he is. However, at least I don’t have to worry about the wedding night at this time.

What does upset me is I’m about to have my first kiss. With Sebastian. It won’t be like I’ve always imagined: with someone I care for. It will be shared with the man who’s trapped me here, who tore me away from my father and my home.

For a moment, my eyes drift toward Sebastian’s first knight, at his left. Devlan’s pale blue gaze meets mine, and my stomach plummets to my feet. His eyes glisten with intensity, as if he’s urging me forward with his stare alone. His features harden suddenly. I’ve yet to read him well, but it’s as if he’s battling some internal conflict. More likely, he’s reminding me that I’m his charge—that I better not mess up, for his sake.

When I reach Sebastian, he extends his hand to me. I stare at it, transfixed, remembering the feel of his hands as they crushed my arms. I force myself to take it. It’s warm and uncallused. He guides me to kneel with him before the altar.

His eyes sweep over me. “Beautiful, Zara,” he whispers. “You’re my vision.”

My molars bite down, and my jaw aches as I refrain from shouting that I’m not his. He can’t possess me like a horse or property.

Before my anger can root any deeper, the gray-haired friar steps to the side of the long altar, and my real fear begins. This will be the first time I lay eyes on King Hart.

Before most of Karm was constructed, King Hart built a secret chamber, a place where he’s rumored to stay hidden away from the Virus. Although we all know the Virus lurks in our veins and is not airborne, still, he’s somehow survived all these years. My father told me that his own father was one of the first to be brought into Karm. King Hart was ancient then, he said. He’s the oldest citizen of Karm, but no one knows his actual age.

My father had his own theories as to why King Hart stays hidden—why he never leaves his secret fortress. He believed Hart had discovered a way to extend his lifespan, maybe even to defy death, yet in doing so, he bound himself to some nefarious contraption that keeps him from ever leaving his chamber’s confines.

I don’t know the truth. I don’t know whether he’s survived all these years because he’s somehow escaped the fate awaiting the rest of us and now lives in fear of contamination, or whether he’s hooked up to some apparatus—

Static echoes through the ceremonial hall.

My palms slick with sweat.

All I know for sure is he’s about to appear on the giant wall monitor before me, and my heart is about to pound right through my chest.

“Citizens of Karm.” King Hart’s gravelly voice echoes through the hall. “I am honored to be here on this joyous day.”

Waves of static wash over his pale face. The monitor’s blue-gray hue doesn’t disguise his pallid color, but rather emphasizes it. His skin is unnaturally smooth, with what looks like strategically-placed wrinkles around his mouth, eyes, and forehead. It shines as if it’s stretched too tight, made of something other than flesh. But it’s his unearthly gray eyes—as if illuminated from within—that unnerve me.

I force my eyes away from the screen and look to Sebastian as a shiver crawls up my spine. He’s watching his father with a look of awe on his face, and I wonder how King Hart appears to him.

My gaze finds Devlan, the only one in the hall besides me not watching the flickering monitor. His eyes are on me. They seem to zero in on my fear, making me feel exposed. He holds my stare a moment longer before angling his face toward the screen.

“Today is a momentous occasion,” King Hart continues, and I look up at him. “Today my son, Prince Sebastian Hart, becomes betrothed.” His eyes seem to peer down at me. A sharp spasm of fear stabs my chest. “Zara Dane. Now Princess Zara to all of Karm, and Prince Sebastian, confirm their engagement and intention to wed.” His eyes scan the crowd. “And in taking a wife, the prince begins his ascent toward becoming King. Our hope for the prosperity of our future.”

There’s a hesitant pause, then the hall erupts into cheers and applause. Sebastian’s hands squeeze mine, and I look at him. Pride wells in his eyes. Not the arrogance or vanity that he first showed when I met him, but a dignified pride. A twinge of regard for his station and duties rises within me, despite my reluctance to marry him.

“Sebastian.” King Hart draws our attention back to him. His mouth creases into a thin smile. “I bless this day and your future marriage to Zara.” He bows, and we see the top of his glossy, silver hair.

Sebastian bows his head and the screen goes black. Silence thrums the hall like a plucked string that’s been strung too tightly.

The friar steps up to the altar, and my heart hammers. I remind myself that I’m not leaving here married. This is just the betrothal, but King Hart’s piercing gray eyes stare at me in my mind’s eye. I feel defeated, as if this is only the beginning of a lifetime imprisonment. I clamp my eyes shut.

When I open them, Sebastian is smiling. “Relax,” he says. “This part is nearly over.”

He thinks I’m merely nervous to be in front of the crowd. Which I am, but there’s so much more. I can’t do this. I can’t commit myself to someone I don’t love. I can’t commit my life to serving and
enforcing
the laws that my father was punished for breaking. Or condoning “questioning procedures.” I’m seconds away from hyperventilating when Devlan moves closer to us, holding out Sebastian’s commitment gift.

Sebastian takes his gift as Devlan watches me. Again, it’s as if he’s urging me to continue—to go through with it. He steps back, and my vision fills with the line of crimson and black-clad knights stretching across the back of the ceremonial hall. The Force stands at attention, their eyes seeming to bore right though me. There’s no getting through that barricade.

The little boy comes forward. He’s the same height as me in my kneeling position. I take the locket from him. Drops of water sprinkle my hair as the friar blesses us. His murmured chant barely reaches my ears. He pauses, looking out to the crowd. “Should anyone here know of a reason why these two may not be united, let them speak.”

The tightening in my chest forces all the air from my lungs. I’m desperate to seek each pair of eyes in the hall, implore someone to commiserate with me, but I keep my gaze steady on Sebastian.

My heart sinks as the friar continues. “You may exchange your commitment gifts and solidify your engagement.”

My hands shake as I clip the locket to Sebastian’s vest. “With this, I will commit myself to being your wife. Body, mind, and soul.” Inside, I cringe.
It’s only words
. The vow will never be consummated.

I stare at the floor as I await Sebastian’s gift. He reaches out and slides his fingers along my jawline as he tilts my face up to look at him. His golden eyes shimmer in the candlelight.

“With this,” he says, undoing the clasp of a silver chain. “I will commit myself to being your husband. Body, mind, and soul.” He separates his hands, expanding the chain, then drapes it around my neck. His hands press against my neck as he clasps the necklace, and my skin tingles at the feel of his soft skin on mine.

A heart-shaped silver locket rests against my breastbone. It weighs on my skin, cold and heavy. His hands linger, cupping my neck just below my jawline; his thumbs rest against my cheeks. I hold my breath as I wait for Sebastian’s lips to touch mine.

His gaze traps mine, and a rare flash of concern registers on his face. He draws me to him as he moves forward, closer. The hand facing the crowd shields my lips as he places a kiss next to my mouth, on my cheek.

“I can be patient,” he whispers in my ear. “Just don’t make me wait too long.”

My clenched muscles relax, and my lips release a breath. The crowd cheers, but I barely hear them over the whooshing in my ears.

Sebastian takes my hands and pulls me up beside him as he rises. He doesn’t seem to be too disappointed over the missed opportunity to kiss me. His face is lit with excitement. “Ready for the celebration?”

SEVEN

T
he slow, earthy music from mandolins and flutes echoes off the stone walls of the great hall. I’m seated upon a dais at the head of the room, at a table laden with every kind of dish imaginable. The smells of vanilla and roasted meat perfume the air. Roast beef, cutlets of chicken, and racks of lamb are presented on massive porcelain serving platters. Silver trays and baked rolls fill the few open areas of the tablecloth.

The high walls are swathed with blue and silver velvet. Iron vines holding lit votives wrap the high pillars. Their small flames twinkle, blanketing the air with jasmine and spice.

Sebastian rests his chin in his hand as he watches the room bounce and sway, the citizens dancing in celebration of his betrothal. He’s not spoken of my outburst in the arcade, and I’m reluctant to press him on the subject. I know Mr. Levine is dead. I don’t need his confirmation. No one could survive that much torture.

And it’s my fault.