Chapter 5: The Oath

The King's healer stood two steps from the altar with a basin of cold water and a roll of linen bandage over his arm.

The Sun Hall was full to the walls.

Every god on the Heights had come, in their best, and some of them had brought cushions.

They hadn't come for a wedding.

They'd come for a burning.

I walked up the gold floor in my mother's white wool with Eudora behind me holding nothing at all, because I'd refused a train.

My father was in the front row.

He smiled at me.

My stepmother sat beside him with her mouth folded small.

Ismene sat beside her in pale gold.

Phaedon stood at the King's right hand on the dais, close enough to watch every finger.

Theron was waiting at the altar.

No armor today.

A plain black tunic, a bronze clasp at his shoulder, his hair still damp from the bath.

He watched me come the whole way, and he didn't smile, and I felt it anyway.

The priest of the Sun House cleared his throat.

"The bridegroom will swear," he said, "on the name of the goddess."

Theron held out his right hand, palm up, over the altar, where everyone could see it.

The hall went so quiet I could hear the healer breathing.

"On Nysa's name," Theron said, "I take her for love, and keep her for life."

I stared at his hand.

Every god in the hall stared at his hand.

The scarred palm.

The thick fingers, perfectly still.

One breath.

Two.

Nothing happened.

No smoke.

His skin stayed the same plain brown it had always been.

Somebody at the back said, "Gods," out loud, and somebody else hushed him.

The healer looked down at his basin.

On the dais, Phaedon had gone the color of milk.

Theron didn't look at him.

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