White Star (29 page)

“My Lord Archbishop.” Orrin lifted a hand. “I ask you, before these witnesses, for the hand of Lady Evelyn in marriage.”

Evelyn jerked her head up, joy filling her heart.

Orrin looked at her solemnly as he continued. “I have nothing to offer her but my heart.”

“Never.” The Archbishop struggled out of his chair. “By the rules of our Order she cannot marry without my consent, and I will never allow it. For one so perfect to be fouled by one so evil is an abomination.”

Orrin’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going to stop petitioning for her hand. I’ll never stop.”

“Be damned, then, for you can pound on the door of the church until your fists bleed. You will never get her. Never.” The Archbishop’s face flushed, his hand clenched white on his staff.

“My daughter’s a woman grown, with a mind and a heart of her own. She’s free to make her own decisions,” Marlon said mildly.

Evelyn looked at her father, confused.

“Evelyn,” Orrin said.

She looked at him then. There was a large crowd of people behind him, all still as mice, their eyes glued to what was happening before them. But Evelyn was conscious only of Orrin’s eyes, his face weary and resigned.

“Evelyn, my heart is yours, now and forever. Know that I will be the man of honor you expect me to be, now and until my dying day.” Orrin turned. “Your Majesty.” He bowed, then turned, walking toward the great doors through a silent crowd.

Evelyn’s heart sank as she watched him stride away. The Archbishop was settling back in his chair, a smug look on his face. Dominic was next to her. She felt his hand on her elbow, ready to escort her back to the church, to days of prayer and meditation and rules and restrictions. A life she loved. . .

Didn’t she?

Evelyn drew in a breath, and looked at her father.

He was looking at her as well, but only with concern. No condemnation. Her life, her choice.

Once before, she’d made a choice, and she’d chosen the safe one. A life in the priesthood, with its prayers and rules and safety. But now, with all that had happened . . .

She pulled her elbow from Dominic’s grasp, and straightened, throwing back her shoulders. Her eyes filled with tears, and she cried out from the depth of her heart, over the noise and buzz of the crowd.

“Orrin!”

Orrin
Blackhart stopped dead at the sound of Evelyn’s voice. He turned, uncertain that he’d really heard her.

She was standing, her eyes bright with tears, in the empty space before the throne. Dominic stood next to her, an appalled look on his face. The look of shock was repeated on the faces of the Queen and those around her.

Dominic placed his hand on Evelyn’s arm. “Evie, please,” he said, his voice an anguished whisper. “Don’t do this.”

Evelyn didn’t even look at him.

“OUTCAST!” thundered the Archbishop. His voice echoed off the stone walls. “Outcast and excommunicate, woman. Say one more word, and you are—”

Evelyn turned and faced the Archbishop. She reached up, and undid the clasp of her white cloak. “I, Evelyn of Edenrich, can no longer serve in the Order of the Church of the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter.” She let the cloak fall to the floor. “I cannot serve when its leader is a selfish, vain man who thinks more of his position and status than of his people.”

The Archbishop’s face went white with rage. “You can’t—”

Evelyn stripped off her heavy white gloves, letting them fall to the floor as he sputtered his outrage. She stepped out of her white and gold slippers, and started to unbutton her overdress.

“Evie, don’t do this,” Orrin said. His heart was pounding so hard, he was afraid it would leap out of his chest. “Not for me. Don’t—”

She turned away from the Archbishop, and let the dress fall as well, until she stood there in her soft white tunic and underskirt. Her face was radiant, glowing with light. Orrin could not believe the joy that shone in her eyes.

Evelyn stepped over the pile of garments, her bare feet pale against the floor. She tugged off her ring, and held it out to him, the white star sapphire blazing with light. “I, Evelyn of Edenrich, in the eyes of those present and before the Lord and the Lady—”

“Who’ll have nothing to do with you, whore,” the Archbishop thundered.

Dominic spun on his heel. “Shut up, Fat Belly.”

Eidam gasped, and sputtered.

Evelyn ignored them all. She took another step forward, holding out the ring. “Before the Lord and the Lady, I ask you to be my husband and to have me to wife. For the labor of the day and the repose of the night, for the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow, the light and the darkness within both our souls, Orrin Blackhart.”

He was struck dumb, his heart so full of hope he didn’t dare breathe.

“I stand here, empty of hand, bereft of my titles and powers, with nothing to offer but my heart and this simple ring. I ask this of you, woman to man, heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul.” Evelyn took another step, and held out the ring. It trembled in the light, the star shimmering on the white stone. “Orrin Blackhart, will you have me to wife?”

Orrin stepped toward her. He swallowed hard before he dared speak. “I, Orrin”— his voice cracked— “of the Black Hills, take you as wife, and ask you to have me as husband. For the labor of the day and the repose of the night, for the good and the bad, the joy and the pain, the light and the—” His throat closed tight. He reached out, and took the ring from her hand. “The blackness of—” He swallowed. “Evelyn, are you sure?”

She laughed, then, through her tears. “Oh, yes. Please say yes, beloved.”

He reached out, and she stepped into his arms. “Oh, yes, Evie, yes. Heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul.” He buried his face in her hair. “I love you so much.”

The entire crowd broke into cheers around them.

“Damned, both of you,” the Archbishop shouted, spitting his words, his face livid. “Damned for all eternity.” The crowd went quiet as his words echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

Orrin lifted his head, and snarled. He shifted their bodies slightly, so that he was between Evelyn and the Archbishop.

The Court was shocked into silence, and Gloriana was pale as a ghost.

“We should leave,” Evelyn whispered.

“Have a care.” Lord Mage Marlon spoke loud enough to be heard over the rant. “A man your age shouldn’t—”

The Archbishop ignored him, lifting his staff and shaking it. “Damned before the Gods and man. In the name of the Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter, I curse—”

His words stopped suddenly, as his face went white, beads of sweat on his forehead. An odd gurgle came from his throat.

“Your Grace?” Dominic stepped toward him. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

The Archbishop seemed to collapse in on himself. With a groan, he leaned on the staff and wrapped an arm around his belly. He leaned forward, and vomited on the floor.

Dominic danced back to avoid the splatter.

Archbishop Eidam swayed, then dropped to the floor to lie in his own spew. There was a brief moment of deep silence, and then the unconscious man drew a rasping breath.

For a moment, no one moved. “See to him,” Dominic snapped.

The acolytes rushed over, their faces screwed up in disgust as they tried to pull the unconscious man off the floor.

Evelyn shivered as other guards ran forward to help at least get the man upright.

Dominic looked at Evelyn.

Orrin felt her hesitate. “If you want to try to help him, I won’t argue,” Orrin said.

She gave him a grateful glance, and walked over to where they’d managed to get him back in his chair. Avoiding the mess, she stepped close to Dominic. They joined hands, and Dominic’s voice rang out. “Hail, gracious Lord of the Sun and Sky, Giver of Light and Granter of Health, we ask . . .”

Evelyn bowed her head and closed her eyes. The room fell silent as all eyes focused on the healing.

With a shake of his head, Dominic broke off the words. Holding on to Evelyn’s hand, he said something to her.

Evelyn’s face was grim, and she shook her head, pulling her hand away. She returned to Orrin’s side and slid under his arm.

“My Queen,” Dominic said, “I must return the Archbishop to the church. Quickly.”

“Did it help?” Orrin asked Evelyn quietly, as the room filled with talk again.

“No,” she whispered. “I renounced my vows, and the power that goes with them. But the healing didn’t flow for Dominic, either. I can’t help but think that if he’d collapsed a few moments earlier, we might have been able to heal him.”

“I’d levitate him, but I’d be sure to strain something,” Marlon said over the noise.

“Perhaps a few more men,” Vembar suggested. “And a cart from the stables.”

“Herald”— Queen Gloriana stood— “let us clear the room, so that the Archbishop may be taken care of by his people.”

No one moved until the Herald stepped forward. Then people started filing out, abuzz with the news.

Orrin studied the mass of moving people, frowning. It was a fairly good bet that at least a few of them wanted him dead. His weapons were at the main doors, and though Evelyn still had her battle magics, she wouldn’t want to use them here. If he could get her to Cenwulf, through that back alley . . .

Lady Bethral caught his attention.

The tall blonde woman was standing by one of the recessed doors, off to the side, behind the throne. She summoned him with a nod.

Orrin swept Evelyn out of the center of the frenzy, and toward the door, as quickly as he could. Bethral held the door open for them, then pulled it closed.

Ezren Silvertongue stood there, a smile on his face. “Come. I would hear more of this story.”

Orrin stiffened, but Ezren shook his head. “You are welcome in my chambers, Orrin Blackhart.”

“My men are awaiting word,” Orrin said.

“As simple as sending a messenger,” Ezren responded. “Come now, while they sort this all out.” His green eyes gleamed. “Come and tell me everything.” He walked off, gesturing for them to follow.

Orrin leaned down to Evelyn’s ear. “Maybe not everything.”

She blushed, and then laughed, a joyous sound.

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Ezren
Silvertongue’s quarters had a fire burning bright, and more chairs in one room than Orrin had ever seen.

He also had servants of every age and race. They came at his bidding, and disappeared just as quickly at his rasped commands: “Food and drink and shoes for Lady Evelyn.” He gave her a smile, his green eyes sparkling. “Cannot have you barefoot, Lady.”

“Just Evelyn now, Ezren,” Evelyn reminded him gently as she sat, tucking her feet under her.

“That is not quite true, Lady,” he reminded her. “The late King ennobled you as an honor quite separate from your status as a priestess.”

“An honor that fat idiot cannot take away from you, Daughter.”

High Mage Marlon strode into the room, looking smug.

“Papa,” Evelyn launched herself out of the chair and into the man’s arms. “Oh, Papa.”

Marlon’s arms wrapped around her in a massive hug. “Evie.”

Ezren looked at Orrin, and they stepped to another part of the room, giving Evelyn and her father a little privacy for a quiet conversation.

An older man entered the room, his hat in his hand. Orrin noticed his hands, rough and big-knuckled.

Ezren waved him over. “This is Hew, one of my men. We need a message taken to Blackhart’s men. Bring them here—”

“Not a good idea,” Orrin interrupted.

“Good point.” Ezren thought for a moment. “The Flying Pig, then. Take them there, and install them in rooms for tonight. I will send a message to have everything ready.” Ezren turned to Orrin. “Where are they?”

“They’re outside the city walls,” Orrin said. “Near the mass graves, in the trees. There’s a stand of birch off to the right of the road.”

Hew nodded. “How shall I know them?”

“Sidian,” Orrin said. “A big, tall man with black skin, and scars all over his face, chest, and arms. He’ll be there, with three others.”

“How will they know me?” Hew asked.

Orrin took off his cloak. “Wear this, and tell them the white-haired lady wishes to see them.”

“Easy enough.” Hew took the cloak and wrapped it in his own. “I’ll see it done, Lord Silvertongue.”

Ezren nodded. “Take two others with you, just in case.”

Hew nodded, and went out the door as servants arrived with food and drink. As they left, another group entered, including a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair and a glowing smile. “Aunt Evie!”

Orrin almost didn’t recognize the Queen without her regalia.

Evelyn and Gloriana came together in a hug, crying and laughing and talking all at the same time. Others came in as well: a thin woman with a severe, plain face, her hair pulled back tight, and Vembar, using a walking stick and leaning on Bethral’s arm.

“Officially, the Queen, upset by the events of the day, has taken to her chambers with a sick headache,” Ezren said softly. “This is just an informal gathering of friends, to exchange a bit of gossip and laughter. There can be no celebrations when the Archbishop’s health is in question.”

“Of course,” Orrin murmured.

Ezren moved to join the group by the fire, but Orrin Blackhart eased back from the group, letting the others claim the chairs, watching as Evelyn greeted her friends. He did not begrudge her this reunion, but he was not entirely comfortable.

Once Vembar was settled in a chair, Bethral looked at Orrin with what was clearly a warning. He noted that she had her weapons ready, and he suspected there were more guards outside the door. It wasn’t that she thought he was a threat. She was making sure he knew she was protecting her charge. He understood, and gave her a nod to make the point.

A glass was held out to him, and he was surprised to see the High Mage standing next to him, his own glass in hand. “It seems you’ve won my daughter’s hand.”

Orrin took the glass, not sure what to say.

“Just want you to know that I don’t give two damns about your past. All I care is that you make her happy.” Marlon poured wine into both their glasses, and drank deeply from his. “Ahh,” he said with satisfaction. “A good wine. Not up to Athelbryght’s standards, but good nonetheless.” Marlon held his glass out toward the chatting women. “Of course, if you don’t make her happy, I will fry your balls off.”