“Princess, I have never seen anything—”
“Thank you, my Lord.” She cut him short with a perfunctory wave of her hand. “Shall we go outside into the open for the ceremony?”
Again, His Eminence didn’t look pleased with this suggestion, but Laphroig leaped on it like a starving dog on a bone and proclaimed that, indeed, the wedding must take place outdoors before his assembled knights, who would act as witnesses.
So out the office door they went, then down the hall to the front of the building and out into the sunlight. The knights still sat their horses, and the G’home Gnomes were still bound and gagged atop their mule. Cordstick had gone from looking distressed to looking euphoric. Mistaya ignored them all, resisted the urge to look back for Thom, and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as His Eminence marched her out to a small grove of rather wintry trees and placed her side by side with the Lord of Rhyndweir.
Craswell Crabbit cleared his throat. “Be it known, one and all, from the nearest to the farthest corners of the realm, that this man and this woman have consented …”
He droned on, but Mistaya wasn’t paying attention. She was thinking through her plan, knowing that she must put it into play quickly. If the wedding got too far along, there might not be enough time for things to come together as she needed them to.
Mistaya gazed out at the assembled knights, who had removed their helmets out of respect for the ceremony, whatever it was, and the girl, whoever she was, most of them obviously having no clear idea of what they were all doing there. The G’home Gnomes were moaning softly through their gags, and every so often the two guards bracketing them would lean over and cuff one or the other or both.
“Mistaya Holiday, Princess of Landover, do you take this man, Berwyn Laphroig, Lord of Rhyndweir to be—”
“What?” she asked, snapped back into the moment by the question. She looked blankly at His Eminence and then at Laphroig.
“Of course she does!” The Frog snapped. “Get on with it, Crabbit!”
Craswell Crabbit looked flummoxed. “Well, we need rings, then. One from each of you.”
Laphroig began pulling at the rings on his fingers, of which there were plenty, trying to loosen one to give to her. Mistaya glanced at her own fingers. She wore only two rings, both given to her by her parents as presents when she left home for Carrington. She grimaced at the thought of giving either up.
She made a show of trying to remove the rings, but in effect began the process of casting her spell, weaving her fingers and whispering the words of power. His Eminence was preoccupied with watching Laphroig, who was thrashing wildly now in his efforts to loosen one of the rings he wore.
As he finally succeeded, turning back to Mistaya, reaching for her hand to slip the ring in place, she said abruptly, “My Lord, I lack a ring to seal our bargain, but I give you this gift instead!”
She wove her hands rapidly, completing the spell. His Eminence tried to stop her, but he was too slow and too late.
Crimson fire blossomed across the sky above them, an explosion of flames that dropped the wedding party to its knees and caused the mounts of the knights to rear and buck and finally bolt in terror.
“I warned you, Princess!” His Eminence shouted at her, covering his head with his hands as he did so. “I warned you!”
Laphroig had dropped flat against the ground, his eyes darting every which way at once, trying to discover what was going to happen to him. “You promised!” he screamed at Mistaya. “You gave your word!”
Overhead, the flames parted like the curtains on a stage, and the dragon Strabo appeared.
TILL DEATH DO US PART
Strabo was the perfect incarnation of anyone’s worst nightmare, a huge black monster with spikes running up and down his back in a double row, a fearsome horn-encrusted head, claws and teeth the size of gate spikes, and armor plating that could withstand attacks from even the most powerful spear or longbow. He was impervious to heat and cold, no matter how extreme; he was able to fly high enough and far enough to transverse entire worlds whenever he chose. He was contemptuous of humans and fairy creatures alike, and he regarded their presence as an affront that he did not suffer gladly.
The dragon burst through the flames and swooped down toward the wedding party. Rhyndweir’s knights and their mounts scattered for a second time, taking the unfortunate G’home Gnomes with them. Cordstick dove for cover under the trees. Mistaya stood her ground, watching the dragon approach. Laphroig had flattened himself against the earth at her feet, screaming in a mix of fear and rage, and His Eminence was crouched to defend himself, apparently the only one prepared to do so.
