VIII. Before the Wedding

Holland staggered into her room, covered with dust from the road and aching all over from a day spent in the saddle. Her arm was still recovering, bruised and battered at the shoulder to the point where stretching it was difficult and painful. She was barely awake. Even worse was the invisible weight that had settled on her, knowing that Galeo would never return safely home because of her. It was a surprise to be met by someone: Seva. Delicate hands steadied her even though she knew she was grimy. The baroness's blue eyes were wide with concern.

"I'm fine," Holland said, voice rough and raw. She didn't sound alright even to her own ears and she knew full well that Seva could see through it, no matter how much the warrior wished otherwise.

"Let me aid thee," Seva said. She sat Holland down on the edge of her bed and set to work unbuckling the strange armor. The penitent tried to help, but she was so clumsy from exhaustion that she was more of a hindrance. The baroness helped her out of her surcoat and armor, carefully setting each piece on the floor. There were no questions about how the battle had gone or what was wrong. Seva knew enough to just let it be. She peeled off Holland's subarmalis, the black cloth dirtied by sweat and blood. She wasn't straight off the field, but the road back had left her little time to clean up. There had been two more skirmishes with those Imperials that had retreated off the field, these on the road to Tamaris where some of them had run. The last had been within a day of the city. The Yssan troops were victorious, but that did not mean they were casualty-free.

Holland knew the number and variety of scars across her body surprised Seva, but the baroness was good enough not to say anything. Normally, Holland would have been embarrassed to be seen battered and beaten like this, but she was too tired to care. It hadn't even really registered that Seva was seeing her unclothed, nor was she aware enough to look for a real reaction.

Once the armor was discarded, Seva helped her lay down on her better side. She brushed Holland's dusty hair out of her face. "Wouldst thou have thy bath this night or on the morn?" the baroness asked softly.

"Tomorrow," Holland sighed, hiding her face in the pillow. She was leaving dirt marks on the sheets and the pillowcase, but she didn't really care. It felt so good to be out of her armor and sleeping on something other than the cold, hard ground. Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt fingertips trace along her cheekbone, following the line of a bruise carefully. She wanted to sleep so badly, but she kept stubbornly clinging to consciousness.

"Certes," Seva said, tucking a few more loose strands back behind Holland's ear. "Thou art too wounded to attend."

"Attend?" Holland said groggily. Vaguely, the buried memory was coming back to her: the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. She fumbled for Seva's hand without opening her eyes and settled on grabbing the one that was currently touching her face. "I'll be there."

Seva smiled faintly. "Sleep for now, o faithful hound."

Without any further prompting, Holland slipped into unconsciousness. She was too tired to even dream, falling deep beneath the level where Deus could whisper into her mind the way she had become accustomed to.

She woke to the sound of her name and a dull ache of muscles throughout her whole body. Holland felt stiff and distinctly unattractive in her dirt. She groaned and lifted her head slowly, which was about all she could do without incurring penalties from her body. The winter sunlight was bright and beautiful streaming in through the windows where the curtains had been pulled back. A serving girl was watching her expectantly. "What?" Holland said thickly.

"Your bath is ready, Lady Penitent," the young woman said patiently.

Holland grit her teeth and forced herself up, feeling that strange blend of pain and pleasure. It was Saraqael's sorcery that had given her an appetite for breaking her own body. The first thing she did once she was sitting up was begin to slowly, gently, stretch her injured shoulder. She didn't want to lose the full range of motion that she had regained. "Coming," she said as pleasantly as she could while things in her body snapped and popped. She rotated her neck, feeling the tension release with a few cracks. She felt as though she had a new appreciation for the pains of wheat sent through a grain mill.

The bathroom was small and plain grey stone, with a large wooden tub that had been filled with hot water. It stood at the foot of a small statue of Santri, spirit of cleansing. There were clean towels beside it and freshly laundered clothes. The good smell reminded her painfully that she was not exactly a spring blossom at the moment. Had Seva really seen her this way? Holland almost cursed at the thought as she finished undressing completely and sank into the water. It was almost heaven on earth. The hot water was an absolute godsend, even though she had to wash twice to get rid of all the dirt. Holland felt a world better by the time she was finished scrubbing and soaking. It was tempting to just lie down on the towels and stay there forever, but she knew that she needed to get herself together.

"What's happening with the wedding?" Holland asked once she had climbed out of the bath, finally feeling human again and ready to talk. There was a dress waiting for her, nicer than she'd ever expected to wear. It was a white, cambric kirtle with a wool, emerald green cotehardie over the top and a silver girdle. It made sense, as she couldn't just show up to Seva's wedding in just anything, but she was still grateful for the gift. In the east, clothing was more expensive than at home and so people had far less of it here.

The servant girl took her towel. "It's this evening, Lady Penitent. The baroness...well, princess soon enough...was hoping you'd stop by her room and see her." She helped Holland with the dress, which was thankfully simple enough.

"Thank you," Holland said with a quick smile once she was appropriately attired. She would be able to leave her hair long and loose for now. She wasn't expecting fight, so that wasn't really problematic. She stepped out into her bedroom just in time to see Riaghán coming in, Ciar on his heels. The boy was cleaner and neater than the last time she'd seen him, but he darted over with the same enthusiasm, his shoulder colliding with Holland's midriff hard enough to almost wind her. "Hey. Missed me?"

Ciar nodded against her side, his arms locked around her. He seemed to have no intention of letting go at any point in the near future. He smiled a little when he felt her pat his head gently.

"How'd it go?" Riaghán asked with amusement. He saw a shadow flicker across Holland's expression and sobered. "That poorly?"

"Good people died," she said vaguely, her mind immediately going to the promise band that was still with her belongings. She saw that someone had brought up the contents of her saddle bag and that her subarmalis had been washed and dried already, waiting beside her armor. "We won, but only because their commander made a serious mistake in trying to get us at night."

"And the verdict? Rogue shipwreck?" the monk asked, raising an eyebrow at the dirt marks on her bed.

"I don't know," Holland said. "I didn't find orders when I searched G—their commander, but that doesn't mean they weren't given. There were no Immortals, though. Mind you, if we're facing the Imperium, we'll see at least one of those in the near future."

"The prince has already taken news of the victory and spread it across Yssa," Riaghán reported as he sat down on the edge of her bed. "The country is quite pleased with you and Lord Cadeyrn, though they know of you primarily because of the good words of Seva of Essen. You cannot expect to maintain His Highness's good will if you are the prophet of doom, however."

Holland sighed and pried Ciar off of her. "I'm not going to lie or pretend it's going away. I talked to Cadeyrn. He's going to see if he can recruit more squires to the Hooded Knights."

Riaghán shrugged a little and changed the subject. "Lad missed you. He's been doing well at his letters, though."

"Really?" Holland said, thoroughly pleased. She ruffled Ciar's hair. "Knew you could do it. You'll be a better scholar than I am a warrior."

The boy looked pleased with the praise and started fishing around in his pockets. He had on trousers and a hooded shirt, both the brown cloth of a monk. Holland was certainly surprised when he produced a small frog. She immediately grabbed for the washbasin that stood alongside her bed, currently empty. Ciar giggled and let the frog go into it.

"I...thank you?" she said, bemused as the boy ran off laughing. She handed the washbasin to the serving girl. "Please put this outside."

"You ought to come see him tomorrow," Riaghán said, peering out the door after Ciar. "Be good for you both. Now, I imagine the bride wants to see her friend. I know you're not her maid of honor, but she'll want some comforting words before all this if she's like any young lady I've ever known."

"On my way," Holland said with a nod. She flashed him a quick smile, trying to make it genuine. "I'm alright, Riaghán, I promise."

"I'll believe it when I see it," the old man said. He rose from his seat with a grimace and followed her out the door. "I'll go catch the lad. Oh, and Holland? You look nice."

Holland wasn't certain what to make of the brief visit as she headed to Seva's rooms, dodging dozens and dozens of people along the way. Servants, other nobles involved in the planning process, and who knew who else. She even saw Maebh, the healer. Holland spared her a wave and got a smile in return just before slipping into Seva's quarters.

She knew her friend was beautiful. It just hit her that she hadn't really realized how much so until she saw Seva sitting there by the window in her white wedding dress with its golden embroidery, sun casting its halo around her golden hair. The young woman was a slight figure, the dress following slender curves as its neckline dipped just low enough to reveal a hint of décolletage. Holland couldn't breathe when those smiling blue eyes turned her way. "Hey," the warrior managed to get out.

Seva blushed, adjusting her corsage. "Thou art a fine sight," the bride said, unable to help a smile. "Finer than last night, certes."

Holland grimaced at just the thought. "I'm sorry, my lady, I hadn't expected to see anyone that late."

"Oh, 'tis naught. I sought thee out on mine own initiative," Seva said gently, motioning for her friend to come and have a seat. "And 'sides, had I not found thee, thou might have slept in thine armor."

"True. You look beautiful, my lady," Holland said as she took a seat. In a few hours, Seva would be walking down the aisle to her husband. "The prince is a very lucky man."

"Sweet words," the noblewoman said. She couldn't stop smiling. "Now we have only to find thee a husband."

"I can't," Holland said softly. There were a variety of reasons why she couldn't. She was a penitent still, at least in name. She wasn't interested in men. She was in love with Seva. They were all good reasons, but she couldn't articulate any of them now.

"Holland, 'twas a tease," Seva said chidingly, though not unkindly. "Marriage would not suit thee, methinks. Thou art far too bold and battle-loving."

The warrior shrugged. That was probably true, at least in the east. "It hardly matters what I want, my lady," she said. "Oh, Ciar is doing well. He's been learning his letters."

"So I heard," Seva said, clearly as pleased with that as Holland herself was. "A kind monk, Brother Riaghán, came with him to visit me."

Holland nodded and watched as Seva began to pin up her golden hair. "Riaghán is a good man. I've known him for a long time," she said. The servants had temporarily dispersed, leaving the two of them alone to talk for a few moments. The warrior was grateful for any time she was allowed to share with the soon-to-be princess. "Ciar is in good hands with him."

"Glad I am to hear it," Seva said. She looked over at the warrior. "Thou hast my thanks forever, Holland. Without thy intervention, I would not have come to Tamaris safely and Moloch might have slain Fionn."

"You would have been fine," Holland said with a small smile. "You're more powerful than you like to admit, my lady."

Seva glanced over her shoulder, making sure there wasn't a servant standing there. "I pray thee not tell my lord husband of mine studies. He doth not ken by what artifice Moloch was cast to a side, and I wish it remain that way 'til I have broached it to him," she whispered. "Yssa is still an unkind place to some."

"Your secret is safe with me, my lady," the westerner said, standing up and smoothing her dress out. She hated to leave, but she knew the rush of servants were going to return any minute and she needed to find Cadeyrn before they were both roped into the ceremony. "I promise I am the most faithful of hounds."

"Truly," Seva said gratefully. "Thou wilt be at the ceremony, I trust?"

"Of course," Holland said with a bow of her head, praying fervently in that moment that Seva found everything that she could hope for in her marriage with Fionn. It's for the best. Holland wondered privately how much she could get away with saying that to herself before she turned blue in the face. "I will see you then, my lady."

She departed when the flood of servants returned, weaving her way through them just like they were enemy warriors. She didn't have to go far to find Cadeyrn. The Lord Protector had just excused himself from the company of royalty. The King was further down the hall, a brooding figure with steel-colored hair and a short beard. "Holland, just the woman I was looking for," Cadeyrn said with a grin. "Almost didn't recognize you out of the armor."

"I could say the same to you," she said, though he was wearing grey with the tabard of his order over his doublet. His hair and beard were neatly combed and trimmed for the occasion. "You look...presentable."

He chuckled. "And you look lovely," he said, offering her his arm. He was almost surprised when she took it, but then again, her manners had never been lacking. He studied her face and Holland suspected that there was some sign of stress showing. "His Majesty was just inquiring more into the forces we encountered."

"Strange talk for a wedding day," Holland commented.

"He's not the one getting married," Cadeyrn said by way of reply, heading towards the palace gardens. "He wanted to know if the Imperium is going to be a continued threat."

"What did you tell him?" Holland asked.

"The ugly truth. He was not pleased," the Lord Protector said with a humorless chuckle. "You and I are not going to be popular long if we continue insisting that this was merely a vanguard. The King likes solutions that are simple, and the Prince is hardly different."

"You're an echo of Riaghán," she murmured to him, lowering her voice as they passed by a group of giggling noble girls. The gardens were beautifully kept and tended to, though the roses coaxed into bloom by loving gardeners were nowhere to be seen. Winter birds of dozens of varieties lingered in the low branches of delicate trees and on the trestles that supported climbing vines. There was only the lightest dusting of snow and ice across the garden, barely more than one might see on a first frost.

"He's a wise man. Holland, we cannot rely on the King if we are to make preparations for the full might of the Imperium if they are anything like you say they are," Cadeyrn said, turning to her. His voice was very soft now and he'd made certain they were away from anyone else. The sound of birdsong in the garden would drown out their voices. "We should speak to Leus at the very least. Their mages would offer us an actual chance. His Majesty will not, his son will not, but Seva of Essen might. She was their hostage for part of her youth."

"A very solid point, with one problem: the Kingdoms of Yssa and Leus have been at war off and on for the past fifty years," Holland said. "I was on the fields at the beginning of autumn. They'll want to exact a heavy price for their toleration, let alone their cooperation. I cannot imagine them believing either of us were we to go to them."

"If this threat is what you say it is, Holland," Cadeyrn said, "and I don't know if it is, but if it is, we need every soul we can get on our side. We have to be willing to try."

Holland nodded. She was grateful to have an ally like Cadeyrn. After seeing the armor and the weapons of the enemy, as well as what those weapons could do to his own men's armor, the Lord Protector was more than willing to listen. He seemed to take the threat seriously, probably because he accepted her word at face value no matter how unlikely it seemed. "The Princes of Iron will come," she said, thinking of the piece of Deus that she'd encountered. "The east has something they want, and they are accustomed to getting what they want."

"We'll have to introduce them to disappointment," the Lord Protector said. "I'll see what I can do about recruiting more knights, as I said before. Unfortunate that penitents are so rare. We could use a couple hundred more of you, Holland."

"We'll make do," she assured him, seeing her own concern reflected back in his eyes. However, some part of her was almost secretly glad that there was some crisis she had to focus on, that could draw her mind away from everything else. "Go carefully, Cadeyrn. People out of favor with the King raising an army will not go over well."

"Discretion is the better part of valor," the leader of the Hooded Knights agreed. "Let's speak no more of it today. There's work to be done and no point talking about it until we've made progress. Besides, this is supposed to be a happy day. How is Lady Seva?"

"Glowing," Holland said as they resumed their walk. "How are the nobles?"

"Still pleased and making a good showing," Cadeyrn said. "House Astor and House Grey in particular seem thrilled. But they're the oldest of the old besides Essen. No doubt they expect the new princess to attend to them closely. I expect she will as well, if she knows what's good for her. They may approach you as well. Lady Seva's fondness for you is no secret. They're already calling you her guard-dog."

Holland grimaced. "That was not my intention."

"These things happen," Cadeyrn said with a shrug. "I expect we'll have some foreign showing as well. Leus may not send a delegation out of protest, or they might. Genev, Talin, and Ethilir most certainly will, in the interest of a continued toleration."

Holland nodded. All of the countries engaged in sporadic border wars, but for the most part it was relatively genial. Genev in particular had ties to Yssa's royal family, which had purchased some amount of peace. "I'm not certain when this turned into my life, but I'm not enjoying it," she murmured. "I came east to get away from politics."

"You could leave," the Lord Protector pointed out. "But think of it this way: you're serving penance by doing something you dislike for a greater good. A penitent is to devote themselves to the good of others, yes? What do you think would happen to Yssa if a voice of warning so close to the royal family left?"

The penitent sighed. Unfortunately, she could see the sense to Cadeyrn's argument. "I know," she said in a muted tone. "I'll stay."

Cadeyrn patted her hand on his arm companionably. "No one is saying you have to enjoy it, Holland. The important thing is that we protect the kingdom."

"Whether it likes it or not," Holland said dryly.