Bride of Kalathan

15: Wedding

The jewelled headdress was heavy on her head, and hot even on this cloudy autumn day. It gave her a headache, and although she had been comfortable enough in the stiff, high-collared white dress while she was still at the palace, now in the stuffy, close atmosphere of the temple she felt as if she was crawling in her skin. She had looked into the mirror that morning and barely recognised herself in the formal clothes, the thick line of kulal under her eyes making her look severe and so much older, she thought. It was fitting, though, for the moment that would turn her from being a simple citizen of Kalathan into its new queen.

Theoland stood before her on the platform, beads of sweat on his forehead under the heavy turban and crown. He was in pain, she knew, to be standing for so long, but they were not quite finished the vows yet. Amrak, the old fatir, said the words in the Old Tongue and they repeated them, promising faithfulness to each other until death parted them. Death, she thought, when she was finished speaking her part at last. It had come very close to Theoland, and he had been spared. Kalathan was grateful that he could stand up to be married today, and so was she.

He stepped forward to place a ring on her finger, not the old one with the sapphires – a new one, lighter, set with diamonds and emeralds. He was breathing hard now, exhausted and hurting badly, and despite the significance of the moment she just wanted it to be over, for him to be able to sit down and rest. He had been determined that he could manage to stand all through the ceremony, and once he had made his mind up she knew no one would be able to change it. The accident had humbled him, and she had seen nothing of his temper since her return, but he was still the same Theoland, still a man born to be king, a man unused to being told what he could and could not do. He was stubborn and proud – good traits for a king, but not always, perhaps, for a husband.

He took her hand and they faced the congregation of men, stepping carefully down the three steps towards the wooden wedding cubicle on the left of the platform. She clasped his hand tightly as they stepped into it and sat down on the narrow bench together, trying to help him through the pain that she knew lowering himself onto the bench caused him. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, holding her hand so tightly it hurt her, as the priest closed the knee-high door and locked it with the ceremonial key, the symbol of their marriage. Gradually he released his grip and his breathing levelled out again.

"You did it," she whispered, as the priest made his way back to the altar to sacrifice the doves.

"Only just," he whispered back, smiling at her briefly.

She turned her attention to the altar now, watching reluctantly as the priests cut the doves' throats, lifting the limp bodies high. The blood ran out in a dark stream, tinkling as it hit the metal bowl on the altar. She shivered as she watched. It was a solemn thing, to be married, to be joined by God for life, to have the blood thumbed onto their foreheads and drip down their faces onto the floor as they knelt in the tiny cubicle. But that part did not last long; Theoland could not stay kneeling for more than a few seconds and before she knew it they were standing again, Amrak was handing the key to Theoland to keep, and they were walking out of the Temple under a cloud of incense to the chanting of the priests and seated men.

She caught sight of her father and Nairan as she walked out on Theoland's arm, then looked towards the lattice, behind which she knew her mother must be. Her parents were so immensely proud that she was marrying the king, so thrilled to be catapulted into royal society. But for Nuria the moment that she stepped out of the Temple to the cheers of the thousands of people lining the streets, now as Kalathan's queen, was bittersweet. She was not doing it for the wealth and the status, for the power and the luxury of the throne. The thought of living the rest of her life at the court, of raising a family under the scrutiny of the nobles and the courtiers was not appealing to her. Theoland, she knew, would not be a husband as she had once imagined a husband could be. Kalathan would always come first, before any other role he might have. He would belong to Kalathan before he belonged to her and her children, and that was, she knew, the way it had to be. He would be absent, distracted, burdened and busy. The needs of his people would trump hers, more often, she suspected, than she would like.

All these things and more she had learned over the last few months. She had met the advisors and the council of nobles. She had spent hours with the queen, hearing stories of life at the court, learning what would be expected of her. She had spent hours of long days alone in her room, reading her Scriptures and preparing her mind for what was ahead. But she had learnt something else: that when you loved someone you could face hard things, even willingly. She had learnt that she loved him, for reasons that were hard to understand and impossible to explain. He was her king, he needed her, and when she had come to terms with that she had found that she needed him too.

This was her destiny, she reminded herself, as she propped up a pillow behind his back in the carriage for the ride around the city to greet the people who were lining the streets for miles, waiting eagerly to see them. She had plans to do good here in the city, to work with the Temple hospitals, to improve the quality of education in the schools, to start a shelter for widows and orphans. And she cherished a small hope, too, that one day when more time had passed she could do something about the persecution of the city's devilclaws, that she could help the king to see past his prejudice and perhaps even reform the laws. But that, she knew, was not going to happen soon.

She heard her name being called and turned to wave to a group of young women standing behind the barriers on the side of the road. When one of them, a tall girl with dark red hair, lifted her arm to wave back, she saw with a jolt of recognition the blue mark on her wrist as her sleeve slipped down. When she looked at Theoland to see if he had noticed, he was already leaning stiffly over to speak to one of the guards. As the carriage began to move Nuria turned her head to see the alarm in the girl's face as she spotted the guard shoving his way through the crowd towards her, then ducking away out of sight.

"What are you looking at?" asked Theoland, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She paused, long enough to make sure that the girl had managed to slip away, a sadness creeping over her as she thought of what she had just witnessed, and of Shandar too. "Nothing," she said, turning back to smile at him. "Just our people, happy for us."

"I think," he said, adjusting the heavy crown on his head, "that this crowd of our people would be happy to see my kiss my wife."

"I am sure they would," she said, lifting her face up to his.

"You helped me to get through that," he said, clasping her hand as the carriage jolted over the cobbles. "And I know you will help me every day from now on. And I hope, Nuria, that I will be a good husband. I am still not at all sure that I can."

"You will be a good king and a good husband, Theoland," she said. "God will help us."

He smiled and leant forward, and for a moment Nuria forgot the devilclaw girl and the weight of the throne in the warm tenderness of her husband's kiss. The crowd cheered and clapped as the carriage passed by, and the new queen of Kalathan waved out to them, smiling and beautiful on her wedding day.

THE END