Chapter 7

Date: 12/13/1852 Town: Thornwell In which Letha gets married.

Letha had assumed her wedding would be a painful, loathsome event, for she knew no good could come of it, but she found herself pleasantly surprised. Her corset was too tight, as usual, and her garters itched, but the hall was pleasantly decorated and the somber lighting made it easy to ignore the Regis family members cast into flickering shadows. The path she walked on was bright and warm, and Aristeo stood at the end fidgeting in his tidy new suit.

She nodded silently to him as she took her place beside him, the crow pin hidden under her veil making a small gurgling noise. Her mother hadn’t wanted her wearing it, but at times like this she needed the courage that Nathaniel’s gift gave her. His face twitched; he could hear it there. She just hoped it wouldn’t crow too loudly during the ceremony.

Florian Regis acted as minister to these ceremonies. He was the youngest among the elders, at the age of fifty-two. His hair hung a bit past his shoulders, curled and brown with thick streaks of grey. His skin was pale as snow and his posture was comfortably rigid. But if there was anything about him that fit his name, it was his warm, airy voice. He alone among the elders seemed the type one could bring their concerns to. But as much as she respected him, he was the gatekeeper to her unhappiness. And for that, she thought pleasantly, he would never be forgiven.

She’d read a few books on the subject of marriage before it happened. She heard that, outsider of the necromantic world, the opening speech of a wedding would involve the power of love, and the bond of the bride and groom. It was not the case for a necromancer. Florian’s speech was about the importance of their job, to procreate so that the Regis family would flourish. He spoke about the power of the Netherworld. He spoke about the importance of strong children. He didn’t mention love once.

But that was fine for her. She didn’t want to pretend she loved Aristeo.

She glanced at Aristeo as the speech continued. He was paler than usual; he looked ashen. She guessed he hadn’t slept in a day or two. He twitched from time to time, and he kept brushing his long hair out of his face. He’d been twitchy the week before, the last time they’d been able to practice, but not as badly as this. Some part of her wanted to comfort him, at least so that he wouldn’t keep fidgeting in the corner of her eye. But it was improper to touch before the kiss at the end, and she had had enough for the moment of breaking the rules. She just wanted this ceremony over with.

“Your vows, if you please.” Florian interrupted her thoughts.

“Y- yes.” Aristeo stammered, lifting his hand as he addressed Letha. “With this hand-”

He was cut off by a twitch in his arm. The fabric moved, not the arm itself, and he shuddered before continuing.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” He took the cup from the altar and showed it to her, “Your cup will never empty, for I shall be your wine.”

He tried to set the cup down gently, but another shudder passed through him and the cup clattered to the floor. He stood there frozen, staring up at Florian with full expectation of some horrible punishment. Letha watched the cup roll away for a moment, before Florian’s soft, sharp command hit her ears.

“Continue.”

“Yes, sir.”

She’d never heard Aristeo say ‘sir’. It was refreshing, and yet… she worried. He hesitated, before moving forward to strike a match and light the candle at the altar.

“With this-” He shuddered again before he could pick up the candle.

Someone giggled in the piers. His face was bright red. It nearly shone in the candle-light. It was now clear that his suit was wiggling with something aside from himself, and he shook himself in an attempt to get it out. The squeaking of mice filled the room, and Letha noticed tiny bodies pushing up the fabric along his back. Someone was pulling some sort of prank on him.

But honestly, it was hard not to laugh at him. Mice. He was plagued with mice. And he was so very stressed, and his ears were crimson, and he kept doing this funny, twitchy little dance in an attempt to get them out of his suit. Before she could stop herself she was giggling, and then her chest was straining against her corset with laughter. The noise woke her pin, and the cawing of the crow skull complimented her laughter.

Oh, she was sure Aristeo hated her. But she couldn’t help finding it perfectly fitting for him to fall from his high horse like this. And he did fall, tripping onto the floor before the five mouse skeletons scurried out of his sleeves and pant legs and returned to their owner somewhere in the piers. Without thinking, Letha held her hands out to him, still giggling but at least putting in the effort to help him up.

He sat there and glared at her, looking like he might cry, before shoving himself to his feet on his own and brushing himself off.

Florian looked between the two of them, Aristeo now messy and blushing furiously, and Letha crossing her arms haughtily now that her help had been refused, but fighting down the aftermath of her giggling fit.

“May we continue?” His voice was still soft in volume, but sharp in tone.

“Of- of course.” Aristeo muttered.

He took the burning candle and showed it to Letha with a more aggressive motion than he needed. “With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.”

He placed it down, and took a ring from the pillow where they lay on the altar. “With this ring, I make you mine.”

Letha delicately extended her hand to him, and he took it in a harsh, clammy grip. He was still red and sweating, and she tried not to make a fuss of it. But it was a bit painful when he shoved the ring onto her finger.

She paused, and smiled politely, before raising her other hand. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” She motioned gently toward the cup now too far away to reach and remain dignified, “Your cup will never empty, for I shall be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I make you mine.”

She took the ring and placed it gently on Aristeo’s hand, her fingers moving soothingly over his skin as if there was anything she could do to calm him down. If anything, it made his twitching worse.

“Ancestors grant me strength…” Florian muttered to himself, before adding so that the crowd could hear, “May our ancestors shine on his union. May their children be strong, may they make the Regis name proud. Now, you may seal it.”

Aristeo was twitching too badly to continue. Letha let out a small sigh, lifting her own veil and taking a step forward to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. He was rigid and unmoving, ready for it to end before it even began. She couldn’t blame him.

Florian silently blew out the candles around the altar. The family members in attendance shuffled their way into the antechamber. Florian brushed past Aristeo, seeming more stiff than usual. Aristeo was still ashen, mortified.

“I think that went well...” Letha murmured.

“Shut up.” Aristeo muttered.

She froze. Someone was still in the room, and they were snickering. Instinctively she moved between Aristeo and the direction of the laughter, if only to seem brave. But her eyes sharpened when she saw who it was, just beyond the path of candles.

Severin Thornwell sat in the front pier, furthest from the path. It was odd to see him without Marionette; ever since he’d started his visit she’d been at his side as if she were tied there. Her younger brother Elliott tended to stay near them as well, along with Aristeo’s younger brother Gilligan and a half-breed named Neoptolemus. They made quite a fine little gang, but here Severin was all by himself. If anything, he looked much more intimidating without twelve-year-old boys playfighting around him.

Letha puffed herself up as she walked up to him, tipping her head. “Mr. Thornwell. Shouldn’t you be joining the others in the antechamber?”

“I wanted to congratulate the two of you properly… before you have to suffer your relatives’ criticism.”

Letha doubted this was the case, but she let it pass.

Severin got to his feet; being a few centimeters taller than Aristeo, he towered over Letha. His pale green eyes were locked on her, even when he addressed Aristeo. “You’ve earned yourself a fine woman, Aristeo. I would keep a close eye on her if I were you… the best things in life tend to last the shortest.”

Aristeo kept quiet, before muttering, “You can have her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Severin’s eyes flickered up toward Aristeo for a moment, and Letha swore she saw excitement in them, more than anything. As if Aristeo had offered him a game he’d been wanting to play. But when he looked back at Letha, he was cold and unreadable again.

“No, I wouldn’t want to impede on this, ah… well-chosen union.” He looked Letha over as if assessing a slice of meat.

Letha puffed herself up under his gaze, matching it with a cold stare. She didn’t care what he thought about Aristeo - she could probably agree with the worst of it - but she wasn’t going to sit there idly while he insulted her as if she wasn’t right there.

“Yes, you do plenty of impeding by having been born, Mr. Thornwell.” Letha hissed, putting special emphasis on the half-breed surname. “But I suppose that’s why you end up babysitting Elliott when you’re around, isn’t it?”

Severin narrowed his eyes, looking like he would like very much to strike her. She dared him, silently, but he wouldn’t dare lay hands on a bride. Not a pureblood bride with ample potential where he only made proper cannon fodder. With a twitch of his expression that might have been a silent threat, he turned to smile at Aristeo instead. “Anyway, I won’t keep you waiting much longer. You may as well go and visit with the rest now.”

He had a skip in his step as he left the room, but Letha sensed he was feeling more indignant than anything. Still… what he’d said held her interest. She glanced at Aristeo.

“Do you two know each other well?”

“Too well…” Aristeo muttered, “Any time he has leave from the army, he comes to court Marionette and start fights with me. It isn’t as if I did anything to him, he’s just- unreasonable.”

She doubted he was innocent, but she kept that to herself. She wondered why Severin had never visited her, since he seemed to hold so much interest in her… but it hardly mattered, in the long run. He still wasn’t important to her, just some half-breed who took her childhood dreams from her by luck. And while he’d tried to ruin her wedding, he’d only served to make it more enjoyable. Whatever he seemed to be after, he wouldn’t be getting it.

“Well… no matter. Let’s just go to the antechamber. Shall we?”

***

It took a few hours for the reception to finish. There was no celebration, but there was food, and there was conversation. The conversation ranged from dull to claustrophobic, both for Letha and for Aristeo. She was glad to have the quiet carriage ride home, but it wasn’t to her old house. They were to spend their first night together, at least, in their new home together. It was a house that neither of them had been in before, but their servants had been moving things in for them. It was rather barren in her room now, with most of her clothing taken to the new house, and all of her belongings there.

Aristeo was silent during the trip. It was a tense silence, but it was welcome all the same. She didn’t care to speak to him, and even if she did, she didn’t know what to say. The expectation was that they would consummate their marriage when they reached their house. Or at the very least, at some point this night. She couldn’t imagine wanting Aristeo anywhere near close enough for that… she barely suppressed a shudder at the thought of him taking off his clothing. Or worse, having to remove her own clothing for him.

She thought he might be thinking the same thing. When she glanced at him, he was tense and watched the setting sun through the carriage window as if begging time to go faster. She supposed it wasn’t all bad, if he was at least as unwilling as she was. Maybe they could avoid it, and tell everyone they’d done it. But, she supposed, it would only make them look worse if that continued and they never produced a child.

By the time she thought of speaking up, the carriage had pulled to a stop and Aristeo burst out of the door as if he wanted nothing more than to get away from her. She assumed that was exactly what he felt, until he circled the carriage to open the door and hold out a hand for her. She found herself silently surprised, taking his hand and letting him help her to the ground.

They were still silent as they walked slowly toward the house, past a small graveyard with four graves, and into the foyer. The outside of the house had been painted black, and the inside was all dark, polished wood. They stood silently in that room for a few minutes, simply looking around. It wasn’t much bigger than her parents’ house, but it felt huge and empty with minimal furniture in it. The only contents were the bare essentials and what she and Aristeo had brought from their own homes.

After the awkward pause, she slowly walked to the only open door and found their bedroom. One double-bed with a dark headboard and black bedding, with a dark nightstand on each side. She took her place at one side, and Aristeo followed to stand at the other.

They watched each other for what felt like years. Aristeo’s dark eyes seemed full of worry, and Letha was sure hers were the same. It was quiet enough that she could hear their breathing, both of them trying to remain calm. She swore she hear a drop of sweat hitting the ground. Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to be the first to move.

She had to break the tension somehow. Awkwardly, she shed her veil and unpinned her crow hairpin, setting them gingerly on the nightstand beside her. Aristeo undid his cravat, and Letha unpinned the broach that held her collar. Aristeo shed his vest, and Letha loosened her dress.

Several minutes, she wore only her chemise and he wore only his poet’s shirt, which reached down to cover half of his thighs. It was no less awkward. She could easily admit that she was too nervous to move closer.

Finally, Aristeo spoke.

“I saw a sofa in the sitting room. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sleeping there.”

She hoped the sheepish relief she felt wasn’t as obvious on her face, but she couldn’t help it if it was. She felt as if he’d saved her life. At the very least, they had a little more time to adjust slowly. And he’d been selfless, taking the sofa and leaving her with the proper bed. She couldn’t object to that.

“You’d better be awake before the servants arrive tomorrow.” She raised her chin a bit, trying to seem nonchalant, “There’s only so much impropriety they can be allowed to see, even from you.”

He didn’t reply, but she swore she saw a flash of humor in his eyes. He simply left to the sitting room, and she was alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts, and a very soft bed.