A Husband for Deva

Candles and Sweets

There was a certain amount of thrill to it – a subversive, empowering thrill – to be walking through the public passageways of the Fortress of Ilujavit with four magical golden bandhi tucked under her demure kerchief and cap. Deva could feel them, nestled against her scalp: not only their physical presence, but that sense of brightness and recognition, and the stirring of something fierce inside her. I am... more. More than I was. But Brialach had said the magic had always been a part of her; he – and the bandhi and torcha he'd brought her – had only woken it.

I'll get used to wearing them. I will.

But coming around the corner, there was Jenia in the corridor, and after one heart-pounding moment of dismay, Deva clapped her hands to her kerchief, crushing the sting-zap of fizzing sparks into her palms.

She lowered her hands and brushed them against her skirts with attempted nonchalance. A surreptitious peek showed no burns or marks.

Calm. Calm. She can't hurt me. There's nothing wrong.

Her hands were fine, so her kerchief must also be unmarked. If the magic from the bandhi posed any danger of fire, Brialach would be covered with singe-marks, wouldn't he? And he or Ashlen would surely have warned her.

Jenia curtseyed, and if it wasn't a fully deep and respectful curtsey, it was better than the half-bob she usually accorded Deva. "Princess Deva, I've been hoping to see you."

The back of Deva's neck prickled; she focused for a moment on controlling her breathing and not letting her stress bleed into some kind of magical display. "Oh?"

Jenia's smile was a bit too pleasant. Purposefully benign. "We're in the process of distributing the Midwinter candles to the royal suites. I was wondering if you and your new husband would prefer frostberry or wintergreen or cloves blended into the wax?"

"Oh, I like all the holiday scents." Despite her initial suspicion, Deva could feel some of her tension ebbing away. This was Jenia's first Midwinter as Mistress of the Household Candles – she'd want to do the job properly. "Could we have a mix of the different candles?"

Jenia dropped into another curtsey, her eyes downcast. "Of course, Princess Deva. A wise choice. They make a delightful fragrance in combination. I'll deliver them to your rooms myself."

Couldn't you send someone else? But Deva couldn't think of a polite reason to ask such a thing. "Thank you."

"My duty brings me such pleasure." A barely perceptible flash of smugness crossed Jenia's pious face as she turned and scuttled away.

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Still slightly unnerved by the encounter, Deva decided that fresh air would settle her. Instead of taking the inner stairs, she descended the grand outer staircase to the courtyard just as the bells sounded for the noon meal.

Excitement swirled around a huge crate that had arrived from Dacia and her husband in Quemadra, gifts for Midwinter as they couldn't come themselves – under the supervision of the Queen's most trusted ladies, kitchen servants unpacked and carried away spices, oranges, chocolate, and marzipan, while the head seamstress stacked her assistant's arms high with bolts of silk brocade and embroidered tulle. The courtyard was sheltered from the wind, so despite the frosty weather, many residents of the Fortress had been drawn there for a look at such delights. Word spread though the onlookers that the Quemadran embassy had also sent gifts, and that the ambassador's family would be invited into the inner Fortress to celebrate Midwinter with the royal family.

Those who noticed Deva offered her a brief bow or curtsey as she passed, but she attracted no unusual attention and once again started to enjoy the hidden presence of her bandhi.

Feeling unaccountably mischievous, she sent thoughts of wind to ruffle a nearby lady's skirts – but nothing happened. I was able to move that ball of wool the other day... She'd been wearing her torcha as well, then; did one need the full set? Her sense of logic argued against that; if the bandhi and torcha were just tools to strengthen a magic she already had inside her, oughtn't they to work separately as well as together, at least a little bit?

A distracted kitchen servant brushed by her, laden down with an armful of jars – and a basket of honey nougat confections balanced on top. Deva's mouth watered as a fierce craving for the chewy sweetness of the nougat overtook her. She almost reached out to grab one, but the servant had already moved beyond her reach, and then... she was breathing hard, exhausted as though she'd just run up several flights of steps, and a nougat candy smacked hard into her hand in a faint swirl of violet light.

Did anyone see that? But in all the bustle, one small flying confection appeared to have gone unnoticed. She remembered Brialach telling her she had to want the magic to happen. Indeed.

Nibbling her prize with great satisfaction, Deva followed the flow of the crowd toward the Great Hall and the noon meal.

Just inside the doors, Father Angad intercepted her, inclining his head in the partial bow of high rank, which Deva thought he always made to look somehow apologetic. "Ah, Princess Deva," he said, "I'm glad to see you. In fact, I was thinking of sending you a message after this very meal." His gentle voice didn't carry well in the busy hall, and Deva had to lean in to catch his words.

"Oh? That's kind of you, Father Angad."

"Now that you're a married woman, we should have a talk about what that means for your journey along the Path of Light. Might you come to see me, at your convenience?" He touched her shoulder in avuncular blessing, then inclined his head again and shuffled off to the round table set aside for the holy orders.

Deva smiled – the old man's silver beard seemed longer every time she saw him. She headed for the high table, wondering whether or not Brialach and Ashlen would be able to sense the bandhi tucked under her kerchief.

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♥ So... Jenia's back! Are you wondering what she's up to now? And what about all the yummy things in the crate from Quemadra? Do you like marzipan and nougat? What about lemon curd and marmalade (that's what's in the "armful of jars", by the way)?

♥ Vote stars make me happy! Click the little star so I know you're enjoying the story – and thank you so much for reading it!