Out of the Darkness

house with Krasta, but Merkela managed. She went on, “She was going to name the baby Valnu.”

“Too bad she couldn’t,” Skarnu said. “Sooner or later, these things have to come to an end.”

“Not yet, by the powers above,” Merkela declared. “When she had Lurcanio’s bastard, I told her she should name it for him.”

Skarnu sighed. “That doesn’t help, you know. Krasta’s going to be your sister-in-law whether you like it or not.” He held up a hand. “You don’t. You’ve told me. You don’t need to tell me again. Just remember, Valnu put in a good word for her. He’d be dead if she’d opened her mouth at the wrong time. Then there wouldn’t have been any doubt who the baby’s father was.”

“She opened her mouth at plenty of the wrong times,” Merkela said. While Skarnu was still spluttering over that, his fiancee added, “If she’d done it once more, she wouldn’t have had the little bastard in the first place.” That only made Skarnu splutter again.

In the end, he decided not to push the argument. He wasn’t going to change Merkela’s mind. Part of him-not half, but close to it-agreed with her, anyhow. What he most wanted now was to get through the wedding ceremony without any fresh scandal. Enlisting Merkela in that effort was bound to be futile. Trying to enlist Krasta in it was bound to be worse than futile. Skarnu had spent a lot of time away from home, but not so much that he didn’t know what to do in such cases.

He approached Valmiru, who nodded wisely. “You are holding the ceremony out of doors, is it not so?” the butler said. When Skarnu agreed that he was-he could hardly deny it, not with the pavilion already up behind the mansion- Valmiru nodded again. “Very well. I shall make a point of allowing no physical disruption. I cannot necessarily promise there will be no commotion from within the house, however.”

“I understand that. Believe me, Valmiru, I’ll be grateful for anything you can do-and I’ll make it worth your while, too,” Skarnu said. The butler’s expression didn’t change in any way Skarnu could have defined, but he contrived to look pleased nonetheless. They were indoors. Skarnu looked up at the sky even so. “It had better not rain, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

To his vast relief, it didn’t. The wedding day dawned fine and mild. It might have come from the end of springtime, not the beginning. The ceremony was set for noon. Guests started arriving a couple of hours early. Servants steered them around the mansion to the pavilion in back of it. Giving the temporary structure that name could not disguise its origins: it was, in fact, an outsized tent borrowed from the Valmieran army. Being an officer who’d never been formally discharged had certain advantages when it came to laying one’s hands on such things.

Every now and then, an alert listener-Skarnu, for instance-might have heard a newborn baby wailing inside the mansion. Most of the guests knew by then that the baby had hair of not quite the right color. A couple of people clapped Skarnu on the back in sympathy. Valnu gave him a comic shrug almost exaggerated enough to have come from an Algarvian, as if to say, Well, it could have been mine.

At one point, not long before the ceremony was to begin, a listener would not have needed to be alert in the least to hear Krasta trying to come outside and expressing her detailed opinions of the people who kept her from doing so. She waxed eloquent, in a vulgar way. Several people shrugged at Skarnu now.

White-mustached old Marstalu, the Duke of Klaipeda, conducted the ceremony. As far as Skarnu was concerned, conducting a wedding was about what he was good for. He’d commanded the Valmieran troops opposing Algarve in the early days of the war, and had had not a clue about beating back Mezentio’s men. His nephew had been a collaborator, but that brush didn’t tar him.

“He’s splendid looking,” Merkela whispered as she and Skarnu approached him. Skarnu thought she looked quite splendid herself, in tunic and trousers of glowing green silk, the color of fertility in Valmiera since the days of the Kaunian Empire. That it went well with his own darker green captain’s uniform was a happy coincidence.

Marstalu looked like a kindly grandfather. He spoke classical Kaunian as if it were his birthspeech. He had enough years on him to make that seem almost plausible (his backward cast of mind during the fighting made it seem plausible, too, but Skarnu did his best not to dwell on that). Skarnu’s own command of the old language left something to be desired; Merkela knew next to none. But they’d rehearsed. When the duke stopped and looked expectantly at them, that meant he’d just asked if they agreed to live together as man and wife. “Aye,” Skarnu said loudly. Merkela echoed the agreement in a softer voice.

“It is accomplished,” Duke Marstalu boomed, still in classical Kaunian. Then, the formal part of the ceremony concluded, he grinned and switched to ordinary, everyday Valmieran: “Kiss her, boy, before I beat you to it.”

“Aye, sir.” Skarnu saluted. “I’ve never had an order I was gladder to obey.” He gathered Merkela in. All the guests cheered and whooped and clapped their hands. People pelted the newlyweds with flowers and nuts-more symbols of fertility. Some of the nuts flew back and forth in among the crowd, as if rival armies were tossing eggs at each other. Skarnu had seen that happen at other weddings, too.

After the ceremony, people ate and drank and danced and gossiped. If any more squawks came from the mansion, the noise the guests made drowned them out. Somebody slapped Viscount Valnu’s face. Skarnu was at the far end of the pavilion then, and never did find out whether Valnu had offended a man or a woman.

And then, towards evening, the guests began to drift away. Valnu said,

“I had a splendid time.” Getting slapped hadn’t bothered him in the least. He leered and added, “But not nearly so fine a time as the two of you are going to have-I’m sure of that.” He kissed Merkela and then, for good measure, kissed Skarnu, too. After that, whistling and grinning, he took his leave.

“Impossible man,” Merkela said, to which Skarnu could only nod. She glanced over to her new husband. “Are you sure he was on our side during the occupation?”

“Positive,” Skarnu answered. His new bride sighed.

Servants had charge of little Gedominu for the evening. Skarnu held the door to the bedchamber open for Merkela. After she went in, he closed it and barred it behind them. She smiled. “No one’s going to bother us tonight, and I won’t try to get away.”

“You’d better not.” Skarnu took her in his arms. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t made love before; the son they weren’t watching proved that. But the first time as man and wife still seemed special. “I love you,” Skarnu told Merkela just before pleasure overwhelmed him.

He wasn’t sure she heard him; she wasn’t far from her own joy. But then, as their hearts both slowed, she reached up to stroke his cheek and said, “You must,” in wondering tones. Some small part of her must have wondered if he would abandon her when he could. It being a wedding night, Skarnu got other chances to prove how wrong that was.

He and Merkela were both sodden with slumber when someone rapped on the bedchamber door much too early the next morning. His first coherent words were some of the harsher ones he’d picked up as a soldier. But then Valmiru’s voice came through the door: “Your pardon, my lord, milady, but King Gainibu summons you to the palace at once. A carriage awaits.”

That put a different light on things. “We’ll be down directly,” Skarnu said. He and Merkela dressed as fast as they could, dragged brushes through their hair, and hurried out to the front of the mansion, where a carriage did indeed wait. Half an hour later, they were bowing before the King of Valmiera.

“Congratulations to you both,” Gainibu said. He still looked like a man who sometimes had too much to drink, but he didn’t sound like a man who’d done it lately. Like his kingdom, he was recovering from the occupation. He went on, “I’ve been thinking about what sort of present to give you, and I believe I’ve found a good one.”

“You’re too kind, your Majesty,” Skarnu murmured. Merkela kept silent. Speaking to the king had seemed even stranger to her than marrying a noble.

Gainibu said, “The estate formerly held by the late Count Enkuru and his son, the late Count Simanu, has been adjudged forfeit to the Crown because of their treason and collaboration with the foe.” Skarnu nodded. That was the noble estate nearest Pavilosta. He’d had a good deal to do with Enkuru’s demise; he and Merkela had both had a great deal to do with killing Simanu. The king continued, “I have it in mind to raise that estate from a county to a marquisate and to confer it on the two of you. That way, I know it will stay in loyal hands. What do you say to the notion?”

Skarnu glanced at Merkela. Her eyes glowed with astonished delight. She found words now: “We say, Thank you, your Majesty. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

With a chuckle, Gainibu remarked. “She’s speaking for you already, is she? Well, I’m glad you’re pleased. This will also let you get away from Krasta, and from her unfortunately irregular offspring. Oh, aye, I’ve heard about that.