floor of his mouth.
For a moment the two of them just looked at each other. Croy tried to smile and felt his lips tremble, so he pressed them together tightly enough to still them. This served only to make a flat, grim line of his mouth, as if he dreaded what was to come next.
Cythera’s face fell.
“Give me a kind word, Croy,” Cythera begged. She reached forward to take his hands. “Tell me I look beautiful, please. I spent so long coming to this favor. I put on this uncomfortable dress. All for you.”
He drew back a pace and stared at her. How could he be so nervous now? He could scarcely credit it. He felt as if his feet were not touching the floor, as if his legs dangled in empty air. He’d been working toward this day since the first time they’d met, years ago. He’d slain monsters for her hand, had brought her and her mother out of sorcerous slavery to reach this exact moment. He’d never lacked for courage before.
Now, it seemed, he had not the bravery to even open his mouth. “You,” he managed to stammer out, “look-”
There were no more words in his head. He could not speak.
“When he saw you from the window,” Malden told her, “he used up every word he knew, words like ‘enchanting,’ ‘divine,’ and-of course-‘beautiful.’ ”
Croy stared at his friend, unsure of what was happening.
The thief raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in Cythera’s direction. What was he trying to communicate? Croy was unsure.
After a pause for breath, Malden went on. “He even swore on the Lady’s holy name that he had been struck through the heart, by that invisible arrow whose wound no physic can heal, save the kiss of the archer.”
From below came the sound of an old drinking song, sung well off key.
Cythera didn’t seem to notice the music. “ He said all that, did he?” she asked.
“Indeed, milady,” Malden said, and bowed.
“Well, then he has said enough. Would someone be kind enough to pour me a cup of wine? I think I need to sit down. This corset is tighter than what I’m used to.”
Malden rushed to help her. Croy couldn’t move. She sipped at the wine the thief offered her and gave him a smile of thanks.
“When my mother arrives, we can get this formality out of the way, and then-” Cythera stopped speaking because the serving boy had let out a stifled yelp. “Ah,” she said, not turning in her chair to look. “That must be her now.”
The witch Coruth stepped out of the hearth and brushed sparks from her cloak. She must have come down the chimney in the form of a bird, Croy thought. He supposed if you were a witch you didn’t need to travel in the way of common people.
Coruth had a wild tangle of iron gray hair and a nose so sharp it cut through the air like a ship’s prow through the sea. She stared around at each of them, with an especially long and pointed glance at Malden, and then said, “Why is the thief here?”
“The law requires a witness,” Cythera said. “After all, this is a legal contract of marriage. Once I sign it, I will be bound to marry Croy, or suffer quite severe penalties.” She gestured at the roll of parchment. “Malden was kind enough to offer his services.”
Coruth’s thin mouth curved upward in a smile like a sharpened sickle. She was staring still at Malden, who couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. Croy wondered what the witch found so amusing. Then again, he told himself, maybe he didn’t want to know. The things witches found entertaining were not always pleasant for common folk. “Handy fellow, your thief. What’s that singing?”
“We are above the public room of a tavern,” Cythera explained.
“Hmm. Well, then what are we waiting for? Sign this thing, and then we can eat.” Coruth sat down heavily in one of the chairs.
“Yes, of course.” Cythera picked up one of the pens and smoothed the parchment out with her other hand. Then she stared down at the banns and laughed. “It’s odd, I can’t seem to make out the words. I have tears in my eyes, yes, that must be it. Tears. Of joy. Sir Knight, would you come over here, please, and show me where to put my name?”
Croy’s head snapped upward and he blinked rapidly. Suddenly he felt in possession of his own body once more. He rushed to stand behind her and put one hand on her shoulder-her very warm and very soft shoulder-as together they looked down at the paper.
“My love,” he said, “you seem ill at ease. I think I know why.”
“You… do?” Cythera said. Strangely enough she glanced over at Malden as she said it. Croy wondered why. Perhaps she was hoping the thief would give her his support as well.
“Yes, of course,” Croy said. “After waiting so long, this day must seem like a dream. After all you’ve been through, all the suffering and hardship. But I assure you, once you sign this paper, I will take full responsibility for you.”
“Responsibility,” Cythera said, very softly, but she lowered her head so the bells in her hair jingled.
Words came easily to him now. Perhaps too easily-they spilled off his tongue before he’d even thought of them.
“In full. I will protect you,” he promised. “I will never let you near any harm, ever again. I will whisk you away to my castle, where you will be served night and day, all your needs met, all your requirements seen to on the instant. Why, you’ll never need to lift a finger again. You’ll never need to leave the castle at all. And when our children come, you will be complete as a woman. Think of how fulfilling it will be, to raise our sons and daughters far away from this noisy throng, this vulgar city.”
Malden gave a cheer. “And that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it, Cythera?” he asked. “What you’ve always dreamed of.”
Cythera looked up at the thief and scowled. “Indeed. As I’ve told you many times, Malden.”
“Then you should have no trouble signing this paper,” the thief said. “Once you do, there’s no going back. You’ll spend the rest of your life with Croy. You’ll be his property.”
“In a legal sense, perhaps,” Croy said, hoping Malden wasn’t going to scare Cythera off. What was the thief thinking, saying that? “But in a spiritual sense, it’ll be the other way around. I’ll be your slave. Forever,” he promised.
“Sounds like a bargain,” Malden announced, and he laughed as if he’d made a hilarious joke. “Sign now, and let it be forever. Or-”
“I’ve never been happier to write my name, Malden!” Cythera said, her voice almost a shriek. Nerves! So many raw nerves in the room, Croy thought. If only she would get this over with and let everyone be at peace!
He could say no more, only watch as Cythera moved her quill to dip it in the ink pot – and flinched as a scream came up from the room below. Her hand jumped and she knocked the ink pot over, spilling ink across the table.
“What was that?” she asked, lifting the parchment away from the expanding pool of ink. “Did everyone hear that?”
“It was nothing but men carousing,” Coruth insisted. “Sign, now. I’m hungry.”
“I could have sworn it was-”
Cythera did not have a chance to finish her thought, because just then something hit one of the walls of the tavern hard enough to make the entire building shake. A candle fell from a sconce on one wall. Luckily, Malden was quick enough to grab it before it could land on the floor rushes and set the place ablaze.
The sound they heard next was even more startling-booming laughter from below, the sound, surely, of a demon exulting over deadly mischief. It was followed by the sound of a man crying out in dire pain. There was no more singing from below, no sound of clinking tankards or muttered jokes.
Suddenly everyone in the room was looking right at Croy. Croy, who had sworn an oath to protect the people of Skrae. They were looking to him, he knew, for an explanation of the noise. Well they should, he thought. As a knight of the king, it was his sworn duty to keep the king’s peace-which, by the sound of it, was being violated most egregiously in the room below.
If he were truly honest Croy had never been so grateful for a distraction in his life. “I should go investigate that,” he announced. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He was already headed down the stairs.
