Celia Friedman - Crown of Shadows

Self-sacrifice.

How many sorcerers would practice their Art when death was the price of a Working? How many men would be willing to part with their lives as casually as they had once parted with books, or artifacts, or even the lives of others? Those few who might dare to Work wouldn’t be men of greed or cowardice now; the new rules would scare those away. Perhaps one man in a million would dare to pay the price the fae demanded, to serve a higher goal. Perhaps. As for the rest, they would observe that the fae was now a distant force, unworkable ... and slowly the fae would respond to that belief, and become so in truth. As it had changed after Casca’s sacrifice, so it would change again.

Bright futures exploded before his eyes, blinding in their brilliance. He saw a sky peppered with colorful explosions, winged carriages that flew like birds, a thousand and one precious legends of Earth come alive before him. There were things he didn’t know the name for and things whose purpose he couldn’t begin to guess at, but oh, the overall pattern was clear. Tears came to his eyes as future after future unfolded before him, not all of them perfect, but so full of hope! He saw what must have been a spaceship-how smooth it was, how plain in design, how unlike anything he would have imagined a spaceship to be!—and then the visions began to fade, pictures bleeding into a field of light, sensations into a numbing warmth—

“Thank You, Lord,” he whispered. Voicing the words within his soul, not knowing or caring if they ever reached his lips. “Thank You for giving me this.”

Slowly, peacefully, the Patriarch let loose his hold on life, and slid down into the embrace of his God.

The wedding was held in Merentha, beneath suitably sunny skies. There were storm clouds to the west, but no one saw them. There was a faint whiff of ozone in the air, harbinger of trouble to come, but no one smelled it. There were even a few drops of rain that fell upon the crowd during the ceremony itself, but no one noticed them, and the spots of wetness that lingered for some time afterward went likewise unregarded. All in all, despite the true weather, it seemed a beautiful day.

From his vantage point at the edge of the milling crowd, Karril grinned at the figure by his side. “Nice going, Sis.”

Saris smiled.

There were flowers strewn about the ancient estate in such profusion that the air was a heady perfume, the scents of roses, carnations, lilacs, and a dozen other varieties all mingling in the afternoon breeze. True Earth-flowers, all of them, rushed to Merentha from gardens and hothouses all over the continent. They were gathered in pots by the front of the house, they twined up the trellis supports of the bridal canopy, they festooned the silk canopy itself in carefully orchestrated profusion. On the great wall they had been arranged so as to cover the sections of new mortar and stone which had recently been added, making it seem that the antique barrier was as perfect on this day as it had been when erected, nearly five hundred years ago. And if the scent of the flowers lacked perfect balance in any one place, if the cloying sweetness of one bloom interfered with the delicate fragrance of another

... well, that was one problem easily corrected. It paid to have Iezu among the wedding guests.

“How many of us are here, do you think?” Saris whispered.

Karril looked over the multitude and ventured a quick count. “Ten that I can see. Maybe more. Hard to pick them out in this crowd.”

“All in human form,” she mused. Her tone that made it clear that she found the thought incredible.

“Of course.” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to detract from the proceedings, would we?” He patted her gently on the shoulder-flesh-toned, not silver, and as flawless in texture as one would expect from a Iezu of her aspect—and whispered, “It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

"Fun is your department, not mine.” But she smiled as she said it, and he sensed her relaxing at last into the unfamiliar masquerade.

A bridal canopy had been raised in the middle of the courtyard, in accordance with some ancient Earth-custom whose purpose had been forgotten even as its aesthetic details were faithfully preserved. Sunlight shone through the fine white silk, rendering it aglow against the azure brilliance of the afternoon sky. White was the color of weddings, according to Earth tradition, and despite the fact that most of Erna preferred more festive colors, the Tarrant clan had always been Earth-reverent in its practices. Today was no exception.

And Andrys Tarrant looked fine in white, there was no doubt about that. White velvet ribbed in white satin cording for a jacket, full white sleeves of a silk so light that it fluttered in the breeze like fine gauze, white leather gloves and boots so supple that they clung to his body like a second skin, fringed and embroidered with silken threads of the same hue. Against such a background his skin, normally so pale in aspect, took on the bronze sheen of a healthy tan, and the sun picked out Core-gold highlights in his newly trimmed hair. He looked good and he knew it, and his self-confidence, as always, was irresistible to those who surrounded him. Karril chuckled as waves of lust rose from the crowd that gathered around him, mostly (but not all) from women. As for the ladies he had courted and seduced in the past, there were dozens of them here today, and not all had come to wish him well. For the most part they crowded around the wedding lawn with an impatient mixture of curiosity and resentment, waiting to see the waiflike foreigner who had stolen the prize they had so coveted.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. There was no Iezu illusion active here, nor any need for it. The soft silk gown of graduated layers, Revival-inspired, made her slender form seem almost wraith-like, angelic, and her jet-black hair, hanging loose about her shoulders, cascaded down her back like a second veil. When the wedding crowns were placed upon their heads (of her own design, it was whispered, sculpted and polished by those same slender hands that now offered and received a pair of rings) the fine silver filigree glittered against the jet-black strands like stars on a clear night.

“Flat as a board,” one woman whispered, drawing up her own considerable endowment into a position of prominence. “Pale as a ghost,” another observed, lightly stroking her own cocoa skin. “Won’t last a week,” a third muttered, and they all nodded their agreement that yes, they knew Andrys Tarrant’s taste in women, and no, this stick of a ghost-child wasn’t going to keep him amused for long.

It was a priest of the One God who bound the two together, and Saris nodded her approval as the second rings were exchanged, the bonds of Earth joining those of secular marriage in a tradition as ancient as the Tarrant name. She had known, as Narilka had not, the tradition of that family, and as much as she would miss the girl as a worshiper she knew there were times that even a “goddess” had to give way to fate. Would she have signed on to his faith so willingly if I hadn’t released her back then, when all this started? she wondered. Either way, she had no regrets. The difference between a true godling and a Iezu was that the latter wasn’t dependent upon worship. And love, besides, was a very special kind of beauty.

“Come on,” Karril urged, nudging her forward. “We’ll miss the fun.”

A reception line was forming now, and it stretched across the courtyard and back again; officials first, then neighbors, friends, and whoever else cared to greet the host and hostess of the afternoon’s festivities. In that Andrys Tarrant was claiming the ancient title of Neocount with all its prerogatives and responsibilities, there were more than a few men and women of local importance who had seized this opportunity to introduce themselves. Most of them clearly had their doubts about the situation-a few even had the bad manners to mutter that it would have been better for them all if Samiel had survived, rather than this irresponsible playboy-but one by one, as they shook Andrys’ hand, they saw in his eyes an indefinable something which said that yes, this man had changed, and if they would give him a chance, he might surprise them. That, too, was a Iezu gift, but one so subtle that neither side noticed its oddness.