Born Under an Ill-Omened Star

An Ill-Omened Wedding

I wake up in darkness. How early is it? I can't hear Yvaine rustling around downstairs as she usually does, tending to the fire and collecting the morning eggs. It must be well before the crack of dawn. Never mind, I'm awake now. Today is going to be a big day.

I throw on my robe and head down the stairs. I wonder if Xander is up. Hopefully, he's not got cold feet. Despite the bare wooden floor and my lack of slippers, my feet have never felt warmer. My heart starts to quicken at the thought of Xander, and how far we've come. I didn't think it was possible for a human to think about another so often. Yet every time I find my mind drifting off, I see his face. I think I might be a little obsessed with him. 

I start to make myself some porridge and make a mental note not to add my usual winkleberries which although delicious, are all too prone to giving me bloating. I can't be having that today. By the time I finish my bowl the sun is coming up. Stirring in the stairwell and Yvaine is in the doorway.

'Heavens! You're up early!' Yvaine greets me as she grabs her cloth apron from the back of the door.

'I know! I couldn't sleep last night, wedding jitters and all!'

'Well let's hope you can stay awake for this afternoon's ceremony!'

'Yeah, hopefully', I agree with a laugh. 

I retreat upstairs to start getting ready. I may have a good six hours before I'm due at the church but I daren't leave my bridal transformation to the last minute. Plus, I need something to distract me from all the excitement.

 I wash my face and body with some soap and water laced with quocoaflower extract. The blade Yvaine sharpened for me yesterday is laid out with my preening tools. Looks tricky. I've never really seen the point in hair removal, but I suppose if there was ever an occasion, today would be it.

An hour passes in a blink and before I know it, Yvaine is sat behind me, styling my hair. She has opted for an intricate do that pulls the top portion of my hair away from my face leaving the rest cascading down my back. She carefully adds tiny flowers to complete it. My makeup for the day is what Yvaine describes as "enhanced natural" with darker lashes and fuller lips. A touch of colour on each cheek completes the look. When I see my reflection I'm almost taken aback. So foreign does the girl in the mirror look compared to the warrior I once knew.  

As Yvaine takes a step back to assess her work I see her eyes well up and a slight quiver on her lips.

'Yvaine, what's wrong?' I say.

'Its nothing. It's just... I wish your father were here to see this day. He'd have been so proud of you.' She dabs her eye with the corner of her apron. 

I breathe, 'I'm sure he's looking down on this day, blessing its omens.'

 This woman who has brought such kindness, such warmth to my family. What did I ever do to deserve her? 

I remember when Yvaine first joined our household twelve years ago. Her son, who happened to also be the breadwinner of her household, had been killed on the plains. Without his support, her circumstances had become dire and she was in desperate need of an income. My father offered her a job and lodgings after tasting one of her sugared puff rolls that she had been selling out of a basket on the streets. The rest was history.  

'You remind me of your father, you know,' she says. 'Something about the glint in your eye, perhaps. Or the way you tilt your head. I see his spirit live on in you.'

I feel like a fraud. My father, the pacifist, the academic. Our mannerisms are where our similarities end. If Yvaine knew the truth, the things I'd done on the unholy plains. The pain I'd caused. The lives I'd snuffed out. Then she'd think differently. I try to shake that thought from my mind and focus on the day ahead.