Death and the Emperor

Book 2 Chapter VI: The Royal Wedding

The gaudy colouring with which she veiled her unhappiness afforded as little real comfort as the gay uniform of the soldier when it is drawn over his mortal wound. -- Sir Walter Scott, The Heart of Midlothian

The day of the royal wedding was ushered in by bells ringing all over the city. Særnor and Arásy heard them as they offered a quick prayer for their son and his soon-to-be wife. Nadriet heard them as she listened to the cook's last-minute worrying about the menu. Qihadal heard them as her maids began to brush and style her hair. Kilan heard them as his valet showed him the outfit he would wear for the ceremony. Death heard them as she collected the souls of the inhabitants of Esergot appointed to die today -- for people die even on someone's wedding day.

Ribbons had been tied around lampposts and pinned to store-fronts. People lined the streets waving handkerchiefs. There was a general air of celebration in the city. A royal wedding wasn't an everyday occurrence, after all.

The only people who weren't celebrating were the bride and groom.

Custom dictated that the soon-to-be married couple travel in an ornate carriage painted brilliant red and gold, accompanied by the parents. Kilan's parents stood behind him, their presence a silent comfort. Qihadal's parents were conspicuous by their absence. One of her sisters and a half-brother stood in their stead.

No one spoke for the duration of the journey to the temple. Kilan's crown and cape weighed heavily upon him. Qihadal's dress appeared to have been made by someone with only a rudimentary grasp of dressmaking, or for a different woman entirely. It didn't fit her properly, and the veil was so long and so covered with ruffles that it took up almost half the carriage. He hardly dared move in case he stepped on it.

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Qihadal had been told in detail everything that would happen during the wedding. There was a raised platform inside the entrance to the temple. She and the Emperor would ascend stairs on different sides of it, and meet in the middle. Then, hand in hand, they would descend another flight of stairs and walk up the aisle to the altar.

Knowing what to do did not make doing it any easier.

She almost tripped over her dress as she began to climb the stairs. When she finally reached the top, after a slow and awkward climb, the Emperor was waiting for her. Silently he offered her his hand. Silently she took it.

The temple's walls were lined with mirrors. Qihadal didn't know why, and didn't know enough Carannish to ask. She supposed they served some purpose or had religious significance. But as she and Tinuviel approached the altar, she happened to glance in the mirror ahead of her. What she saw made her blood run cold.

Ahead of her, in the real world, stood only the priestess, an assistant, the best man, and the bridesmaids. But the mirror reflected a whole crowd of winged, black-robed figures standing around the altar.

Qihadal sneaked a glance at some of the other mirrors. All of them showed the same thing. Lining the aisle, sitting between the guests, standing around the room... there were black figures everywhere. And not one of them was visible anywhere except in the mirrors.

A cold chill ran down her spine. What did this mean? Was it a warning? An omen? Why was no one frightened? Could the guests not see what was standing in their midst?

Qihadal and Tinuviel had reached the altar by now. They knelt down. The priestess was chanting something in Carannish. Qihadal's eyes kept darting to the mirror.

What was especially unnerving about the figures was that they weren't doing anything. They just stood in one place as if they were statues. Occasionally one of them turned to another as if to comment on the ceremony. They acted like guests, Qihadal realised. Invisible, unwanted guests who had come to watch the royal wedding. But why? What were they? Why did a wedding, no matter whose it was, matter anything to them?