Page 72 of Frost Like Night
“Already talking of marrying her off?” Lekan jokes.
Amelie giggles. “To a Ventrallan!”
She makes a gagging noise behind the screen, and Ceridwen laughs.
“Thank you for your support, Amelie. I must say, though—thisisart, no matter what kingdom you’re from.”
The screen shifts, one panel folding back under Amelie’s hand, and she bounces out, the smile in her eyes overshadowing the brandedSon her left cheekbone.
“May I present—Princess Ceridwen!” She swings her hand out in an elaborate bow, her black hair dipping around her face as she pivots to make a small presentation area.
Ceridwen pops her hands onto her hips, the smile on her face causing ripples in the gold paint that swirls all the way down to her collarbone. Every strand of her hair shinesscarlet, and Nessa is right—she does look like a sunset, her dark skin the hue of tan-brown hills in encroaching night, her hair the final trails of bleeding sunrays.
But her outfit completes the vision. Interlacing sections of scarlet silk fold over a sleeveless bodice and hem that glitter with gold beads.
“What do you think?” Ceridwen runs her hand across the beads. “Art, right?”
She sounds uncertain, as if she’s afraid maybe it isn’t enough to marry the monarch of the kingdom known for art.
I step forward as Nessa and Dendera whisper soft assurances, and when I take Ceridwen’s hands, I see the same swirling gold designs fluttering down her arms.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her.
“Perfect,”she echoes with a roll of her eyes. “Far from it. Dead sexy, though, yes.”
Amelie giggles, rocking back. And, as if sensing Ceridwen’s finishing touches, the tent flaps part to reveal Nikoletta again, now in her own properly fancy outfit—layers of orange and teal overlapping in a weave of brightness.
She grins. “We’re ready to start if you are.”
Ceridwen pulls out of my hands and sucks in a breath. But when I look at her, she doesn’t appear nervous or hesitant or anything but deliriously happy.
The suddenness of the ceremony means most of the camp is still busy with war preparations. As Nikoletta leads usthrough the dim streets, soldiers trot past, and people pound out weapons on anvils. And here we are, a cluster of royals dressed in glittering Autumnian finery, strolling through a war camp. Where did they even get these outfits? I can’t imagine anyone thought to grab them in their rush to leave Oktuber. Could they be from Nikoletta’s own wardrobe? I lift the hem higher off the dusty road regardless.
Nikoletta leads us deeper into the forest camp, snaking through patches of trees and wider blocks of tents. The Klaryns’ foothills loom even higher, their sharp, spindly blackness stretching over us all.
At an intersection, Nikoletta turns to us.
“We’ve set up the ceremony site just beyond there.” She nods around the corner. “Jesse is waiting in the middle of the group with Caspar. It’s tradition in Autumn for the bride to weave her way through the crowd, emulating the path a leaf takes in its descent to the earth—your path to the one who is your true home.”
Ceridwen shakes her hands in front of her face. “Stop! Burn it all, I’m crying already.”
Nikoletta turns to the rest of us. “Follow me, please. We have a wedding to witness.”
As everyone trails Nikoletta around the corner, I linger, my eyes on Ceridwen. She notices me next to her, and when her brow lifts, I put my hand on her arm.
“I’m glad you’re happy, Cerie.”
She laughs. “Me too. You have no idea how glad I am to be happy.”
I squeeze her arm and back up a step.
“But . . . thank you,” she adds.
The tears in her eyes are far too contagious. “Just don’t trip,” I call as I jog away.
“You’re evil!”
But she’s out of sight, and the only thing I see now is the ceremony set up at the end of this road, the rising foothills of the Klaryns capping the scene not far off. The tents stop after only a few paces, the path becoming a tunnel of lush green grass and rows of trees. Leaves flutter in slow spirals of orange and red and brown, and at the end, a small clearing opens. The ground is carpeted by still more leaves, an aromatic blanket that makes the area smell of long-asleep plants. People stand in a loose cluster, all facing the opposite direction from us, and Jesse’s and Caspar’s heads peek over the crowd. Musicians wait in a silent group on the edge, instruments poised to start playing at Ceridwen’s arrival.
