The Shining City (57 page)

Olwynne had days when she was sure of it.

Certainly she was very beautiful. As the Ensorcellor‟s daughter walked slowly down the rose-lined path, the silk of her gown sliding over her slender form, there were little sighs from the courtiers crowding the formal garden. Olwynne tried not to feel jealous.
I am just weary
, she thought.

Olwynne was not sleeping well. Nightmares stalked her heels. She dreamed she was being pursued by a tall man in black, whose shadow strode ahead of him down a long corridor. She dreamed she was in a coffin and could not get out. She dreamed she had lost something very precious to her. She dreamed of weddings and funerals, till one seemed much like another, and it was no comfort to remind herself that all dreams go by contraries.

Olwynne had tried every trick she knew of in her search for sweet dreams, and if not sweet, then at least not bitter. She had hung her stockings over the end of her bed with a pin stuck through them and piled cold iron under her pillow, old skeelie remedies that had not, of course, worked.

She had drugged herself with poppy syrup and valerian, she had tried meditating, she had tried not sleeping at all.

Nothing helped.

Olwynne knew her conscience was not easy. She tried very hard not to think of Rhiannon but instead thought of nothing else. She told herself many times that what she had done was for the best and listed the many reasons why, but it did not help. Olwynne was not finding the joy in Lewen that she had expected. Her love was twisted awry by her jealousy. If Lewen even sighed and looked pensive, she imagined he was thinking of Rhiannon and was eaten with a canker of pain and longing. Once or twice she had even wished she had not cast the love spell on Lewen but had suffered alone in silence. It was too late now, though. She had to make the best of it.

Soon Rhiannon would be dead, and in time Lewen would forget her and come to love Olwynne truly. She knew it.

The bridal procession reached the stone-paved circle at the center of the garden. Tall red candles stood at the four points of the compass, their sweet-scented flames flickering wildly in the hot, rough wind.

The Keybearer stood under a flower-hung arbor before a stone altar on which rested a beautifully carved statue of the god and goddess, naked and embracing. Spread out under the statue were two more red candles, anointed with rose and jasmine oil, a silver goblet of dark wine, a plate of new bread, a pot of honey, and a double-bladed knife with a handle of white bone. There was also a coil of red ribbon and a thick scroll of parchment from which dangled myriad red seals.

The Pact of Peace.

Isabeau took the bell from Roden with a grave nod, and he stepped back with some thankfulness to stand beside his parents, who were gathered with the rest of the guests around the circle. The Keybearer rang the bell three times, then walked the circle, ringing the bell at the four cardinal points and calling upon the elemental powers to bless and protect them all this day.

The Rìgh and Banrìgh were sitting on tall thrones to one side, smiling with pleasure at the pretty sight the wedding party made. Seated behind them were Olwynne‟s grandparents, Ishbel and Khan‟gharad of Tìrlethan, and her second cousin, Dughall MacBrann of Ravenshaw, with his adopted heir, Owen. There were many other friends and relatives too. Olwynne saw Nina and Iven, Finn and Jay, Gwilym the Ugly and Cailean of the Shadowswathe, Iain of Arran and his wife and son, and the round figure of Brun the cluricaun, bouncing up and down on his seat in excitement.

On the other side of the circle sat Bronwen‟s uncle Nila, the king of the Fairgean, and his wife, Fand. Beside them, dressed in a simple dark blue gown of rich satin, was Maya the Ensorcellor, with a long rope of exquisite pearls wound thrice about her throat, then dangling to her waist.

Olwynne could not help widening her eyes at the sight, for she had never seen Maya dressed in anything but her drab servant‟s gown and a grubby apron. The Ensorcellor was still a very beautiful woman, Olwynne admitted to herself. The midnight blue of her dress deepened the blue of her eyes, and emotion had brought color to her high cheekbones. The pearls wound about her throat hid the stark blackness of the nyx ribbon that bound her to silence. For the first time Olwynne could see how it was possible that Maya had once been called the most beautiful—and the most dangerous—woman in the world.

The Keybearer again rang the bell three times, then directed Bronwen and Donncan to walk around the circle from east to south to west to north, and then back to face the east once again.

The sky was spitting with rain, even as the last long rays of the sun struck out from under the black-bellied clouds. Thunder growled, and many gathered in the garden looked to the sky, the women lifting their parasols to shield their hair from the rain.

The Keybearer looked weary as she intoned the midsummer rites, and Olwynne wondered what it meant for her, the failure of the summerbourne to run that morning. Normally the Keybearer seemed to blaze with a white aura of energy and vitality. Today all that was dimmed. The elongated rays of the blinkered sun haloed her with darkness so that Olwynne, watching her through a haze of tears that dimmed her sight, could barely see her, as if she was fading away.

Then Isabeau spoke the words that she herself had never vowed, so that the betrothed couple could repeat them after her.

“I, Donncan Feargus MacCuinn, have come here o‟ my own free will, in perfect love and perfect trust, to commit myself to Bronwen Mathilde NicCuinn, in joy and adversity, in whole-ness and brokenness, in peace and turmoil, living with her faithfully all our days.”

Donncan repeated the vows, stumbling once or twice and having to correct himself; then Bronwen repeated the words, as sure of herself as ever, her gaze downcast. They were like sunlight and shadow, Olwynne thought, her brother all warm and open with his golden eyes and hair and wings, and Bronwen so cool and remote, her black hair crowned with moonflowers, the long ropes of pearls about her throat hanging almost to the floor.

Isabeau gave them the cup of wine to share, and bread smeared with honey, to bless their union with sweetness. The bride and groom kissed, and the crowd clapped and smiled and threw rose petals over them. The kiss was brief and formal, and many in the crowd urged them on to a more passionate embrace. Color rose in Donncan‟s cheeks and he glanced at Bronwen, half shyly. She returned his look coolly and, although they kissed again, it lasted little longer than the first time.

The tower bells rang out, peal after joyous peal, to let the city know the wedding vows had been sworn. Donncan and Bronwen both had to sign their marriage documents, and then Lachlan and Nila came up to put their signatures together at the bottom of the peace agreement. The melting candle was dribbled onto the parchment, and the royal seals were pressed deep into the wax.

Isabeau then took up the remainder of the ribbon and bound together Donncan and Bronwen‟s wrists to show that their lives were now tied together for evermore. Then Donncan and Bronwen walked back together through the crowded garden, towards the palace square where the remains of the bonfire smoked sullenly in the gloom of the stormy dusk. A page in royal livery held a great black umbrella over it, trying to keep the spitting rain away. The court all followed close behind, talking and laughing, some of the women trying to hold their coiffures in place as the wind grew stronger. The bells rang the changes.

Together the newly wed couple ran and leaped over the low, flickering flames. Donncan kept his wings folded tightly down his sides and released his clasp on Bronwen‟s hand as soon as they had landed on the far side, holding up his wrist for Isabeau to unwind the ribbon. Glances and raised eyebrows among the guests expressed their surprise and disappointment at the couple‟s lack of enthusiasm, and Olwynne saw Lachlan and Iseult exchange troubled looks.

Bronwen‟s face was expressionless. She moved away as soon as she was free and went to speak to her mother, who was waiting close by, alone among the crowd. Maya embraced her

affectionately, and then set her back, looking into her face intensely as if trying to communicate all she felt with that one glance. Olwynne looked at her brother. As polite and composed as ever, Donncan was receiving the compliments of his mother‟s parents with a graceful smile. Olwynne thought he looked pale and unhappy, and sighed.

In a year, Lewen and I will jump the fire too, but we will laugh and be joyful
, Olwynne thought fiercely.
In a year he shall have forgotten her. . . .

The feast began with a blast of trumpets. The newly married couple led the way to the banquet hall, bowing to all the well-wishers who crowded about them, throwing grain and flower petals before them. The rain had blown over, but thunder still rumbled intermittently and every now and again lightning stalked the horizon.

The musicians struck up a stately pavane, and together Donncan and Bronwen swept up the hall, then turned to bow to each other. Both smiled out at the crowd, without meeting each other‟s eyes.

Olwynne made an effort of her own and smiled as Lewen bowed before her, offering her his hand. They fell into place behind Owein, who was dancing with the eldest daughter of the NicThanach. In strict order of precedence, the lords and ladies of the court followed them, and the swish of the ladies‟ silken skirts and the tap of their high-heeled shoes was like another instrument in the minstrels‟ troupe.

The banquet hall was softly lit by candles on the long tables set up along the sides and in candelabras on either side of the high table at the far end. Flowers had been wreathed around the base of the candelabras, adding their heavy scent to the air.

The high table, where Lachlan and Iseult presided, was set under a massive shield depicting the crowned stag of the MacCuinn arms. Tradition demanded that the bride‟s mother should sit at the high table with the groom‟s parents, but given the long enmity between Lachlan and Maya, she had been seated at the table to the right, with her brother Nila and his wife, Fand, and various other Fairgean nobility. She sat quietly, listening to her brother speak, and then wrote her response on the slate she carried at her waist, as always.

The next table, where the Celestines had been meant to sit with various other forest faeries and witches, was half-empty, and Olwynne wondered with a sudden stab of anxiety whether

Thunderlily was dangerously ill, as none of her family were here at the wedding. She hoped not, for Thunderlily was one of only a few Celestines born since the days of the Burning, and it would truly be a dreadful thing if she died while under the care of the Coven. She could tell by her aunt‟s face that Isabeau was worried too. Dide was trying to coax her to dance and the Keybearer was shaking her head, a little frown between her eyes. Brun, who sat next to her, was patting her hand in comfort.

The minstrels played in a gallery set high above the doors that led out to the garden. The gallery ran down both sides of the hall, supported by tall wooden pillars, beautifully carved at the top with merry faces wreathed with leaves and flowers. The pillars were all joined into archways by curving fretwork carved to look like writhing vines. Through each archway was a shadowy recess. Doors standing open onto the terrace alternated with small curtained chambers where guests could retreat for a more confidential conversation, or play cards or dice if they preferred.

Each of the private chambers was illuminated by lanterns of red glass that created a soft, warm glow that shone out through the fretwork. The whole effect was very pretty, and the Master of Revels looked about him with a look of great satisfaction before bending over as far as his tight corsets would let him to straighten a candle an infinitesimal amount.

Once the stately pavane was over, most of the more elderly guests settled themselves down to eat and drink and dissect the day, while the younger set enjoyed jigs and reels, the canary and the galliard. Bronwen unhooked her elaborate train and danced blithely, laughing and smiling while Donncan looked on. Occasionally he stepped in to request her hand, and at once her brightness would dim and she would restrain her natural grace to his more subdued step.

Neil MacFóghnan did not dance. He brooded over his goblet of wine, lifting it often to drain it to its dregs and then signal the page for more. Elfrida sat beside him, drinking little, eating less, her heavy gold fan fluttering back and forth so fast it was almost a blur. Certainly she must have been hot, for although she had not worn her customary black in deference to the superstition that it was an unlucky color to wear to a wedding, her grey silk was as dark as thunderclouds and made high to the neck and wrists as usual. Only a narrow edging of lace at her throat and cuffs and a double row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons relieved its severity. Olwynne, who was uncomfortably sticky in her pale silk, wondered why she had not worn something lighter. Then she saw the black-clad pastor sitting at the Banprionnsa‟s right hand, his whole body stiff with condemnation and distaste at the music and dancing and feasting going on all around him, and felt sorry for Elfrida. It must have been hard to have been raised in a society that disapproved of all that was bright and free and beautiful.

Olwynne danced with her father, and then with Donncan, and then took her twin‟s hand and promenaded down the length of the hall with him. After that, her duty done, she could rest, Olwynne told herself, feeling her heart slam in the cage of her ribs, her temples thudding.
I am
just tired
, she told herself again.
It’s the heat.

Owein was unusually quiet, and Olwynne was glad of it. They turned and he raised his arm so she could duck beneath it, then he ducked under hers. Then they stood, arms held high, as other couples ducked through the long archway, one by one.

When it was time to promenade again, Owein said abruptly, “Mam says
Dai-dein
plans to pardon the satyricorn girl.”

Olwynne stumbled. Only long years of rigorous training by her dancing master enabled her to go on. “What?”