Out of the Darkness

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.