Incense filled the inside of the cathedral. The sweet smoke made Lanius’ eyes water even as it tickled his nose. Olor, king of the gods, peered down from the dome at the King of Avornis. Quelea, Olor’s Queen, stood behind her husband in the vast fresco that must have taken years to paint.
Neither the divine king nor his queen looked directly at their puny human worshipers in the cedarwood seats below. Instead, their gaze was on the Banished One, whom the painters had shown at the edge of the dome, tumbling endlessly down from the heavens after the other gods cast him out. By the satisfied, almost smug look on Olor’s face, he was pleased with himself at solving a problem.
Olor had solved his own problem. The Banished One would trouble him and his domain no more. But the king of the gods had given mortal men an altogether different problem. Maybe Olor had thought the Banished One would smash to pieces when he struck the surface of the material world. If he had, he’d been wrong. More likely, he simply hadn’t cared one way or the other. Ever since that fateful day, the Banished One had been mankind’s worry, not the gods‘.
Lanius, at the moment, had more immediate worries than the Banished One. King Grus came up the aisle toward him. Grus bowed. “Welcome, Your Majesty,” he said. “You do my family great honor.”
Returning the bow, Lanius answered, “I am glad we join our families together.” He wasn’t sure he was glad of any such thing, but those words had to be spoken. His father couldn’t say them—King Mergus was dead. His mother couldn’t say them, either—Queen Certhia was exiled to the Maze. With no one else to speak the required words, Lanius had to say them himself.
Grus held out his hand. Lanius clasped it. That too needed doing. “Come with me, then, Your Majesty,” Grus said. “Your bride awaits.”
Sure enough, Sosia stood in front of Olor’s golden altar, between Arch-Hallow Bucco and Queen Estrilda. Lanius gathered himself, almost as though he were going into combat. Licking his lips, he said, “Thank you, my father-in-law to be. I go to her with all my heart.”
What a liar I am.
Sosia’s brother, Ortalis, sat in the very first row of seats. He was part of the bride’s family, yes, but had no role to play in the ceremony, as her father and mother did. He’s been shoved into the background, Lanius thought, just like me. That gave him a sudden burst of sympathy for Sosia’s brother.
Ortalis promptly made him regret it. As though by accident, he stuck his leg out into the aisle just as Lanius went by. If Lanius hadn’t seen it, he would have tripped and fallen on his face. As things were, he sidestepped. Ortalis sent him a horrible look.
Grus sent Ortalis a horrible look. Nobody said a word. And so I join my new family, Lanius thought.
But he hadn’t joined it yet, not officially. There stood Arch-Hallow Bucco, robed in a shade of red different from Sosia’s, waiting to bind Lanius to Grus’ daughter and, through her, to Grus himself. And to Ortalis. Lanius wished that hadn’t crossed his mind.
Sosia smiled at Lanius as he approached. Bucco bowed as low as his old bones would let him. “Your Majesty,” he murmured.
Lanius dipped his head to the arch-hallow, thinking, You miserable hypocrite. You never thought I should be King of Avornis, and you’re tying me to Sosia to make sure I don’t get the chance to do anything on my own.
Bucco raised his hands in a gesture of benediction. The nobles and courtiers in the cedarwood seats fell silent… more or less. “A wedding is always a new hope,” Bucco said. His voice was twenty, maybe thirty, years younger than the rest of him, a subtle, supple instrument that remained his greatest tool—and his greatest weapon. He went on, “That being so, a wedding between king and princess is a new hope not just for the groom and bride but also for the Kingdom of Avornis.”
He was a man who thought of himself first, Avornis distinctly afterward, and King Lanius last of all, but that didn’t make him wrong. Up till then, Lanius hadn’t been nervous. Now the magnitude of what he was doing pressed down on his shoulders like a great weight.
“To the great and ancient dynasty of which King Lanius is the scion, we add now the vigor and courage that come from King Grus’ line,” Bucco intoned. Does that mean I’ve got no vigor or courage of my own? Lanius wondered. Bucco probably thought it did. Well, a pestilence on Bucco and what he thinks. But then the arch-hallow said, “Your Majesty, be so kind as to take Her Highness’ hand.”
Lanius had been king since he was a little boy. Sosia had been a princess for only a few weeks. She needed a moment to remember that “Her Highness” meant her. Then she held out her hand. Lanius took it. It was the first time he’d ever touched her.
Her flesh was warm and smooth. He suspected fear made his own grip cold and clammy.
“Before the eyes of the gods, Your Majesty, do you take Princess Sosia for your wife, to have her bear your legitimate children?” Bucco said. “Do you pledge not to exceed great Olor’s example?”
The arch-hallow looked pointedly at him. He himself sprang from his father’s exceeding of Olor’s example and taking his mother as seventh wife rather than concubine. But all he could say was, “I do.” The marriage oath, as his work in the archives had proved, was as old as Avornis.
“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One? Do you swear to do all you can to return the Scepter of Mercy to the city of Avornis, its one true and proper home?”
“I do,” Lanius repeated. The last question was reserved for Kings of Avornis alone, and had been added to the oath after the Menteshe carried the Scepter into captivity. Lanius made the pledge, but wondered how much all he could do would be. The Scepter of Mercy, after all, had lain captive in Yozgat for four hundred years. Every one of his predecessors had sworn he’d do all he could to redeem it. Every one of them hadn’t done enough.
If I fail, too, I won’t be disgraced, he thought. Nor will Grus, if he also fails. Lanius didn’t like that second thought so well, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
Arch-Hallow Bucco turned to Sosia. “Before the eyes of the gods, Your Highness, do you take King Lanius for your husband, to bear his legitimate children? Do you pledge not to allow him to exceed great Olor’s example?”
“I do,” Sosia answered, so quietly that Lanius didn’t think anyone but he or Bucco could hear her. Maybe she was nervous, too.
“Do you reject, now and forever, all blandishments of the Banished One?” the arch-hallow asked. He didn’t say anything to her about recovering the Scepter of Mercy.
“I do,” Sosia repeated, a little louder this time.
Bucco bowed creakily, first to Lanius, then to Sosia. “I say to the two of you, then, that you are married. Treat each other kindly. Be patient with each other. If you do, you will be happy together. The gods grant it be so.”
“The gods grant it be so,” Lanius and Sosia said together. Greatly daring, he squeezed her hand a little. She jerked in surprise, ever so slightly, then smiled at him and squeezed back.
“It is accomplished.” Bucco nodded to Lanius. “You may kiss your bride.”
Till then, that had hardly occurred to Lanius. He leaned toward Sosia. The kiss he gave her was a sedate peck on the lips. Even that was plenty to set off cheers and shouts of bawdy advice from the assembled courtiers and nobles. Lanius’ ears got hot. Sosia turned pink.
“Now we feast! Now we drink!” Grus called in a great voice he might have used on the foredeck of a river galley. “And then…” He paused. More shouts rose. So did whistles and cheers. Sosia turned pink again.