Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [273]
"Do we know where Gallus is?" I whispered to Eamonn, who looked resplendent in a toga of fine-combed white wool with a crimson border, his gold tore around his neck. I was standing at his side, along with Deccus Fulvius and a bewildered-looking Publius Tadius. Something inside him had cracked the day his son struck him across the face, and what will remained, the siege had broken. I was surprised he was there.
Eamonn shook his head. "Up to his plans, I imagine."
"Does he know about this?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Excuse me." Publius leaned forward and peered at Eamonn. "Who are you again?"
I bowed to him. "My lord Publius, this is Prince Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada, who has fought bravely for Lucca. He is grateful beyond words that you have extended the hospitality of the Tadeii to him on his wedding day."
"Oh, indeed!" Eamonn agreed.
Publius blinked at me. "Who are you?"
"Imriel," I said.
Deccus Fulvius clapped a hand on Publius' shoulder. "Let's have a quick cup of wine, old friend," he murmured, steering him toward the banquet table. "I'll explain it all again."
At the other end of the atrium, the doors opened to admit Brigitta, escorted by Claudia and the Lady Beatrice. Deccus and Publius hurried back, wiping their mouths. Brigitta was clad in white, too; a long white gown, with a gold cingulum tied around the waist in an elaborate knot. It made me think, briefly, of the sacred girdles the Magi had worn in Daršanga; the ones the bone-priests had used to strangle their loved ones.
I pushed the thought away, determined not to taint Eamonn's wedding day with my own dark memories.
Brigitta looked lovely. Her golden hair was arranged in an elaborate coif, adorned by a wreath of myrtle. Her cheeks glowed pink, and her blue eyes shone. Eamonn straightened at the sight of her, his tunic straining across his broad shoulders.
There was awkwardness with the ceremony itself; and how not? But in the end, none of it mattered. All together, we managed to get them before the altar. And there, each in turn, Brigitta and Eamonn spilled incense into the offering bowl and held their hands above the flame and declared their willing consent to this union. There was some business with a bronze scale and a distaff that went wholly amiss; I had to repress a laugh at the dubious gaze Brigitta cast toward the latter.
The young priest was perspiring. "Iuppiter, Iuno atque, dii me omnes testes vos testor mihi, " he said in formal tones, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "I call the gods to witness. In their presence, in good faith, make now your vows."
Eamonn took Brigitta's hand. "Upon my life and by my honor," he said solemnly, "I pledge myself to you, for as long as I live."
Her blush deepened and her Caerdicci dwindled. "So do I."
Once it was evident that nothing more was forthcoming, the priest beckoned for a winejug and a chalice. He filled the chalice, and indicated that they should both pour an offering to the gods, and then drink from the nuptial cup. When it was done, he heaved a sigh.
"By the gods immortal," he pronounced, "you are joined together in matrimony."
We all cheered, and Eamonn swept Brigitta into his arms and carried her over the threshold of the atrium toward the banquet. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him in a rare moment of unreserved joy. My eyes stung with an odd mixture of affection, envy, and grief. And strangely, the person I missed most in that moment was Lucius. He would have understood.
After the ceremony, it was all revelry.
There was a hectic gaiety in feasting during a time of siege, in defying orders. I ate and drank deep of all that was placed before me, making a concerted effort to thrust aside any feelings of ill will, to take joy in the happiness of my friends. And in others, too. Claudia and Deccus shared a couch, the apparent picture of wedded contentment. The Lady Beatrice was happy, and I could not begrudge her that. Even Publius Tadius seemed pleased