Page 6 of Stolen Fates
Arm in arm, they watched the sunrise until it bathed them in shades of red.
“It’s time.” Damocles, their father, reached for his boots by the entrance of their home. He’d dressed in his finest fur-trimmed blue tunic and had tidied up his beard for the occasion, revealingthe thin white scar etched along his jawline, a remnant from his past. The scar bore the resemblance of a sword injury, but who could have attacked her father? He’d never been in a fight, as far as Katell knew.
Deep furrows marking his brow, he yanked the tent flaps aside, ready to depart. When Katell remained rooted to the spot, he turned to her in surprise, and his expression softened. Leaving the flaps to drop once more, he reached out to hold her shoulders. “Are you ready?”
Katell’s words got stuck in her throat. Alena, hovering beside them, clutched the folds of her skirt with white-knuckled hands and gave her a wan smile.
Katell answered with a reassuring nod and reminded herself of the events to come. She would spend the rest of the day getting to know her future husband under the elders’ watchful eye and then the wedding ceremony would take place at sunset, followed by a spectacular feast. Depending on her husband’s mood, she’d have a day or two after that to pack her belongings and say goodbye to her family before departing for her new home.
But she couldn’t think about leaving her friends and family behind yet. For now, she needed to focus on the meeting.
“You look beautiful, I’m so proud of you.” Her father drew her close against his broad chest. “We still have a few days together,” he murmured in her ear, “and before you leave, I’d like us to talk. There are some things that I need to tell you.”
Katell’s cheeks warmed. Surely her father wasn’t going to go over what happened between a wife and her husband? Leywani’s mother had once explained to both her daughter and Katell the duties expected of a wife in bed and Leywani had taken great pleasure since then recounting all the details she’d wheedled out of the married women at camp.
Her father pulled away from the embrace and held the tent flap open for her. “Come. Let us not be late.”
Katell turned to her sister and the delicate beads of her bridal dress tinkled with every movement. “I’ll see you at the feast tonight, little star.”
She pressed a tender kiss on Alena’s forehead, and her sister stared back at her with wide eyes, her face unusually pale in the morning light.
Alena squeezed Katell’s hand in her cold one. “Good luck.”
With a final nod, Katell left and took hold of her father’s arm. They walked in silence as he guided her through the maze of tents towards the elder’s pavilion. The small crowd of brides and their families came into view, and her pulse quickened. Each bride waited for an elder to usher them into a tent, while some of the councilmen stood to one side, overseeing the proceedings.
Elder Ignatius approached, his tall frame casting a shadow over them. His long white hair had been meticulously braided for the occasion. “Councilman Damocles. Katell. This way, please.”
Her father lowered his head in respect while Katell remained impassive. Ignatius’ voice was neither soft nor kind, and his face was perpetually set into a stern frown as if he disapproved of everyone and everything around him.
They followed him to one of the smaller tents where Elder Moskon, a stout old man with a warm smile, greeted them. “Your suitor is waiting.”
Her father clasped her shoulder and squeezed before stepping back. Taking a deep breath, Katell hiked her dress up—enough so she could walk without tripping on the beaded fabric— and ducked through the flaps.
Inside, the tent was dimly lit. A dozen candles were scattered on a low ceremonial table, which also held a tea set and a delicious spread of cakes.
In the centre, a modest fire crackled within a ring of arranged stones. Her intended husband, a burly man with dark featuresand a crooked nose, sat perched on his knees next to it. When she approached, his beefy hands, clasping his leather-clad thighs, flexed with tension.
He neither spoke nor acknowledged her as she sat across from him. Only the soft rustle of her dress and Elder Moskon’s robes filled the stifling silence. The old man settled down by the entrance to supervise the meeting.
“About time,” her suitor uttered, his voice deep and gruff. “Get on with it.”
Katell’s attention turned to the tea set laid out on the table and her heart raced. Elder Yorn’s teachings became a jumbled mess in her mind. Weren’t they supposed to exchange names first and make small talk before she made tea?
Perhaps her groom hadn’t been informed.
She raised her gaze to look upon the man who would become her husband and offer him some guidance, but was met with the cold, predatory stare of a hunter.
Her stomach dropped.
Her suitor wasn’t ignorant. From the hard expression on his face, she could tell that he simply couldn’t care less about traditions and ceremonies.
“What are you waiting for?” One of his fists clenched, imbuing his words with an underlying threat. She narrowed her eyes. Her intended husband expected obedience and if she didn’t comply, there would be consequences.
Unsure what to make of the situation, Katell nodded, then shifted a few inches towards the low table. She cast a subtle glance at Elder Moskon. The old man didn’t seem concerned in the slightest and gave her a reassuring smile.
You must learn to act like a wife.
Exhaling a breath, she grasped the teapot and began preparing the leaves as she’d been taught. Her palms were unusuallyclammy and sweat beaded down her back. The dim candlelight, supposed to create an intimate atmosphere, became suffocating.
