“I would keep you here if I could,” Ridge said. “But I think I had better take you back to your own chamber. I won’t have the servants gossiping about you.” He glanced out the window into the garden. “Not that much remains of the night.” He sat up reluctantly, his hand skimming over the curve of her hip with remembered pleasure. “You must sleep late this morning. You’ll need your rest for our wedding night. And the following morning we must be up early to start the journey”
“I can tell you are going to prove to be a harsh husband,” Kalena murmured. The truth was, she had no intention of arguing with him. She wanted to be alone to analyze this strange thing that was hovering at the edge of her awareness. She needed to understand it before she released whatever it was from its cage. There was a danger here, one she didn’t want to fully acknowledge.
Ridge was laughing softly as he quickly pulled on his shirt and trousers. He emanated masculine satisfaction. “I think you are already discovering ways to handle me.” He gave her the thin trousers she wore under the tunic and tugged on his boots while she dressed. When she was ready he took her arm and led her toward the door. Kalena stumbled slightly as she moved away from the pallet. “Are you all right?” Ridge asked with concern.
“Yes, just a little shaky.”
Amused, he shook his head as if in commiseration. “Poor Kalena, this has turned out to be quite a night for you, hasn’t it? Your first taste of freedom and your first taste of marriage.”
“Every woman knows the two are contradictory,” Kalena couldn’t resist pointing out.
“True, but I’m hoping that now you won’t have too many regrets about giving up the one for the other.”
Kalena found his total male self-confidence both amusing and exasperating. She couldn’t think of anything to say as they walked along the colonnade to her room. At the door Ridge took her once more in his arms, his expression intent.
“I told you earlier that we would make tonight our wedding night. It’s done, Kalena. This evening at sunset we will set the formal seal on our marriage, but as far as you and I are concerned, Quintel’s ceremony and the feast that follows are only trappings. You are in my charge from this moment, and I swear by the Stones that I will take good care of you. I wish you good night, Kalena.”
He kissed her in a manner that was strangely formal, considering what had just happened between them in his chamber.
“I wish you good night, Ridge.”
He waited until she had closed her door behind her. Kalena stood listening for the sound of his footsteps to fade, then sank down wearily onto the round, cushioned chair by the window.
Her body felt strained and a little stiff. A few unfamiliar portions of her anatomy would ache in the morning, of that she was certain. The thought of spending the day after her wedding in a creet saddle was enough to make her wince in advance. Thank both ends of the Spectrum she would be spared that, at least.
But none of those thoughts touched the real reason for her new sense of nervous unease. Deliberately, Kalena probed her own mind, seeking the source of her strange, disjointed mood. True, she had been through a great deal that night. Perhaps she was only being plagued by the aftereffects of all the excitement.
No, it was something else, something infinitely more dangerous. It had begun to break free the moment she had surrendered to Ridge, and now it was busily clanking its loosened chains in her mind.
With sudden, blinding intuition, she realized that Olara had been right. Kalena knew now she should never have given herself to Ridge.
With a soft, despairing cry she hugged herself and tried to shake off the new knowledge that had forced itself upon her. The emotional confrontation and its ultimate result had ripped the veil from that which had been hidden in her mind for years. Tonight that self-knowledge had been freed. Kalena found herself facing the shattering truth: the thought of killing was totally alien to her. She could not do it.
Yet she must.
She did not wish to carry out her duty to her House. Everything within her rebelled against the task. She did not want to be the agent of revenge and murder. Not now, when she was just beginning to learn about passion and freedom.
Kalena blinked back the hot tears that were burning her eyes. She had no choice in the matter. Her destiny had been ordained in the summer of her twelfth year when her House had been destroyed. There was no turning back; to do so would disgrace herself and her House past redemption.
Slowly, Kalena got up and walked across the room to her pallet, Olara’s words still vivid in her mind: You must not succumb to the embraces of this man you will name husband. Not until after your duty is done, and by then there will be no need to give yourself to him. Remember, Kalena, that this man you will be marrying is dangerous in ways you cannot dream. I have seen it in my trance. He is dangerous.
Kalena’s last thought before she fell into an exhausted sleep was that her aunt had been right about the danger awaiting her niece in the arms of the man called the Fire Whip.
Five
The Polarity Advisor chosen by Quintel to conduct the wedding ceremony was dressed in the traditional black and white robes of his office. If he found it odd to be asked to officiate at what was, after all, merely a trade marriage, he was too diplomatic to say so. He could content himself and his curiosity with the fat fee Trade Baron Quintel was paying.
But a few other details about this wedding bothered the advisor. The bride, for example, appeared particularly tense. The hood of her wedding cloak was pulled low over her face, partially concealing her features, but not altogether hiding the strain in her green eyes. In the past the Polarity Advisor had been asked to officiate at ceremonies in which the bride wasn’t always a totally willing party, although forcing any woman into marriage against her will was technically illegal. The advisor knew enough about reality to know that great pressure could be brought to bear on a woman when it came to marriage. Still, that could hardly be the case here, he told himself as he uncurled the lanti skin parchment that contained the formal words. After all, this was a trade marriage. Supposedly, that implied that not only was the bride willing, but she had probably negotiated the contract herself. Few decent families would want their daughters involved in such an arrangement.
In addition to the bride’s obvious tension, the austere grimness that hung about the groom disturbed the advisor. Not that the Fire Whip appeared unwilling; on the contrary, he seemed unusually determined. Ridge stood before the advisor wearing a mantle of unrelieved black. The hood of his cloak was thrown back. The night dark garment made a striking and unmistakably dominant contrast to the scarlet, hooded cloak worn by the bride. The stark colors of this wedding were enough to make any right thinking Polarity Advisor cringe. Surely such dramatic tones presaged conflict and strife.
The Master of the House watched from his seat in the center of the long hall in which the wedding was to take place. Quintel wore black like the groom. But then, the Polarity Advisor recalled, the trade baron almost always wore black. Perhaps he had even loaned the groom his mantle.
Around Quintel were ranged an assortment of vividly dressed guests, most of whom appeared to have come straight off the floor of the Traders’ Guild hall. Even the women had the stamp of lower class females. Their tunics were too short, their hair too extreme, their eyes far too bold. There was no sign of any guests from a more distinguished stratum of society. But given the nature of the marriage, that was hardly surprising.
Behind the guests musicians waited with counterpoint harps and flutes to play for the feast that was to follow. And feast it would be, the Polarity Advisor thought with some satisfaction. The long, low banquet table was already brimming with an array of food. Roasted haunches of grain fed zorcan, full bowls of rich whipped columa berries, platters of harten liver patés, iced serinfish, and trays of expensive tango fruit were just a sampling of the offerings. A seemingly endless quantity of good red ale and fine Encana wine was arranged nearby. More of everything would be brought
out when the party really got under way. The advisor looked forward to that part. He was, of course, invited to the feast.
But first there was a ceremony to perform. Clearing his throat, the advisor hesitated three more seconds, waiting for the last wink of sunlight outside the windows. As the fading rays lit up the sky, the crystal water clock in the great hall announced that twilight had arrived. The wedding could begin.
“The sun has given herself into the embrace of the night even as woman gives herself to man,” the Polarity Advisor intoned. “It is fitting that at this moment we gather to witness another such joining of light and dark, day and night, male and female. For in this union between a man and a woman is inherent all the strength, all the power and all the energy created by the meeting of opposite points on the Spectrum. The power of this union is so great that new life may be born of it. Yet no such joining can exist without the force of resistance.
“It is the nature of the union to contain within it the seeds of its own destruction. Ultimately, one point of power and contrast must be stronger than the other or devastation and disaster will result. The union would be torn asunder. Therefore it has been ordained that as darkness swallows light and night envelops day, so must man enfold and protect woman. His strength is that of the darkness that is the universe. Hers is the flickering sources of light that dwell therein.”
Kalena listened to the ancient words of the ceremony, aware of the complete attention her groom was giving the Polarity Advisor. Trade marriage or not, Quintel’s Whip seemed to be taking this ceremony far too seriously. The intent and determination she sensed in Ridge panicked her. But, then, she had been on the verge of panic all day, she thought gloomily.
Kalena had seen Ridge only a few times during the day, and then only briefly. He had been occupied with the final preparations for the journey to the Heights of Variance. His preoccupation was just as well. Kalena had stayed out of sight in her chamber for the most part, pretending to be suffering normal bridal jitters. In reality, she spent the time struggling with horror of the duty that lay ahead of her. She had been grateful when Arrisa and the other freewomen had arrived early and had gleefully begun to dress the bride. Vertina had asked if she had remembered the day’s pinch of crushed selite leaves and made one or two cracks about the steel of Countervail. From that point on there had been little chance to brood.
But the ceremony was almost over, and she would soon have to face the role Olara and the luck of the Spectrum had assigned her. Kalena was only half listening as the Polarity Advisor continued the ceremony. Her mind on her problem, she caught only scattered words and phrases.
“A man who accepts his wife must also accept the duty he assumes toward her. She has left the protection of her family, trusting in the protection of her husband. She is now his responsibility. Her honor is forever entwined with his own. He must protect it as he would his own.”
Kalena thought she could feel Quintel’s dark gaze on her and she wondered what he was thinking. As far as she was concerned, his insistence on the formal ceremony had never been satisfactorily explained. Aunt Olara had predicted the large wedding, but her Far Seeing trance had not explained why Quintel would provide such excellent cover for his own murder. Kalena clearly recalled her aunt stating that the time to strike would be on the night of the marriage, when feasting and celebration occupied the members of the household. Kalena had been told she was to use the privacy provided by the traditional hour allowed the bride after the feast.
If only she had not succumbed to the temptation the night before, Kalena thought in despair. All day long she had been paying the penalty. Her mind was in turmoil and her resolve was almost in shreds. The thought of the act which lay ahead was enough to make her tremble with nausea. She had no doubt that the time she had spent in Ridge’s arms had weakened her catastrophically. A barrier in her mind had been breached and the waters of resistance and uncertainty were flooding her senses.
“A woman who accepts a husband accepts his authority. She must remember this even though there be times when the natural reaction of opposites causes her to think of rebelling against that authority. She must trust in his guidance and strength, knowing he is the guardian of her honor as well as his own.”
Kalena’s attention was caught by the small, carved onyxite box that was being handed to the Polarity Advisor.
“Let this symbol of union be worn around the bride’s throat. Placed there by her husband as a sign of his protection and authority, it is not to be removed by any other hand.”
Kalena watched with a numb feeling of inevitability as the onyxite box was opened and held out to Ridge. Her new husband reached into the sarsilk lined interior and removed the thin, shimmering chain. One end of the chain ended in a lock of white amber. The other ended in a key of black amber. When it was in place around her throat, Kalena would be well and truly wed—at least for the length of time stipulated in the contract.
Ridge turned to her for the first time in the ceremony, the symbol of his possession in his hand. Kalena caught her breath. For an instant everything around her seemed to stand still as the panic that had been simmering just under the surface suddenly possessed her completely. She looked up into the banked golden flames in his eyes and every instinct warned her to flee. She knew she would have done exactly that if there had been any way of overcoming her body’s paralysis.
Instead, she found herself standing unmoving as Ridge carefully pushed the hood of the scarlet cloak back so he could have access to her throat. She closed her eyes, felt his hands on her as he looped the chain around her neck, and then there was a slight pause as he held the key to the opening of the lock. The guests were as still as Kalena. Ridge inserted the key into the lock, thus joining the ends of the beautiful chain.
There was a faint but audible click as the key turned in the lock and a great cheer exploded in the hall. Even Quintel smiled briefly, the expression fleeting and curiously satisfied. He got to his feet and came forward to greet the bride and groom.
For the next three hours, Kalena existed in a haze of exuberant, noisy chatter, endlessly flowing wine and a table full of food that was forever being replenished by scurrying servants. The selection of guests had practically guaranteed a loud, raucous crowd. Fortunately, Kalena was not expected to participate to any great extent. Her duty consisted primarily of sitting at one end of the table, sampling bits of food and tasting from a goblet of wine. Considering what lay ahead of her that evening, she decided, it was as much as she was capable of doing anyway. Tonight, at least, she was not expected to serve. Good thing, she decided. Her fingers were shaking too much to allow her to risk holding a crystal decanter.
Ridge sat at the opposite end of the long table. He lounged at ease on the cushions, his gaze flicking frequently to Kalena’s tense face. The guests plied him with bawdy jokes and an endless assortment of sexual advice. Quintel sat halfway down the table, indulgently tolerating the noise and good cheer.
“A toast to Quintel’s Whip,” declared one man, staggering to his feet after several others had already led such drinking bouts.
“A toast!” the others agreed, waiting expectantly.
“I give you the man they say can turn cold steel into glowing fire…”
Kalena was aware of Ridge’s abrupt scowl. Apparently, the legend behind the label he wore was not to his liking.
“May he succeed in doing exactly that tonight in such a way that his bride will always remember her wedding night!” the trader leading the toast concluded with a leering grin.
Loud guffaws and several ribald comments concerning Ridge’s alleged affinity with fire and steel and the possible uses of that ability in a sleeping pallet swamped the room in laughter. But no grin broke out on Ridge’s face, Kalena noticed.
Vaguely alarmed by her new husband’s silence, she looked up in time to see him lean forward across the table, his hand thrust under his cloak to rest on the sintar he wore. As the guests became aware of the fact that the joke had
not gone over well, a ragged hush fell on the crowd. Ridge spoke into that uneasy silence, his voice low and harsh as he addressed the trader who had made the unfortunate jest.
“A man who doesn’t know his manners would do well to keep his mouth shut on the occasions when he has been fortunate enough to be invited into civilized company. But perhaps it’s not too late to teach you a few of the social graces, Laris.”
Uneasy glances passed along the table. Automatically, Kalena looked to Quintel, expecting him to interrupt the proceedings before Ridge got into a fight with the man named Laris. But Quintel merely lounged on his cushions, watching his Fire Whip as if Ridge were some species of pet fangcat who was about to give a performance.
“Ah, Ridge,” Laris said with an attempt at a shaky chuckle. “It was only a jest.”
Ridge fingered the handle of the sintar, although he did not remove it from its sheath. “Only a jest? Perhaps you would like to apologize to everyone present for your unfortunate sense of humor? You have embarrassed my wife.”
“Now, Ridge, there’s no call to get upset about this,” Laris said uneasily.
“Maybe not, but I’m upset anyway. What are you going to do about it?”
After one last, frantic glance at Quintel’s disinterested expression, Kalena rose to her feet in a swift movement that brought all eyes—including Ridge’s—to her end of the table. There was silence again as she reached down to pluck up the wine decanter. Forcing herself to smile with a demure sweetness she was far from feeling, Kalena started around the table toward Ridge. Her scarlet cloak swirled gracefully around her ankles.
“I see your wine glass is nearly empty, my husband. Perhaps that is the real cause of your ill temper. I would not have you in a bad mood tonight of all nights. Allow me to perform my first duty as your wife and refill your glass.”