Chapter 36 | The Last Royal Mistress

Wedding Rings for a Wedding Night

Two things marred Fen Wallek’s happiness on his wedding day. One was a big thing. Only Arta’s aunt was among the witnesses, and none of his family were there. The one member of his family who lived in the capital was still in the Healer’s House, and Fen didn’t think it would be wise for Bern to come to the Keep anyway. What if Bern took it into his head to storm the Residence Wing in an attempt to talk to His Majesty? What if one of the guards recognized him? No, it wouldn’t have worked out.

The second was a small thing. An itch at the side of Fen’s nose would not stop. He sacrificed his new-found secretarial dignity and rubbed it. Why did it take women so long to do anything? He looked up at the freshly-tonsured Father behind the lectern, calmly paging through the Law. Was he old enough to be a Father? What if they found out years later they weren’t really married? What then! He wouldn’t have that shame on Arta for the world.

Worry got the better of him. “Excuse me,” said Fen, “how long have you been a Father?”

“I beg your pardon?” said the Father--down his nose, Fen thought. Then again, the Father was quite tall.

“You’re not a Postulant still, is all I’m wondering.”

The Father raised his eyebrows. “And what makes you think the Temple of Pagg would send a Postulant to perform a wedding?”

“I don’t know!” said Fen. “You’re just a little--young.”

“I assure you I am a Father. I admit it’s recent, but I am a Father.”

“How many weddings have you performed, Father...?”

“Father Nino. Actually,” said the Father, “this is my first.”

Wonderful, thought Fen. “You do know the right words and everything, don’t you?”

“Strangely,” said Father Nino, “they’re written down in this enormous book in front of me. Are you having second thoughts about this?”

“No!” said Fen. “I’ve loved this girl since we were children!”

“Oh, a whole four spokes, then,” said Father Nino. “Now, don’t get aggravated, it’s your wedding day. Look, here she comes.”

Fen turned. Mr Affton led Arta down the aisle in lieu of her father, her arm tucked through his. Her long corkscrews fell down her back, held by a band of tiny white flowers. Fen had always loved her hair, but it faintly registered; he saw only her eyes, large and bright, looking into his. He took her hand from Mr Affton; the butler smiled at him for the first time since Fen had arrived at the Keep, and he smiled back in happy surprise before facing the priest.

The Father loosely wrapped the marriage cord around the couple’s joined hands and intoned the service--he was all right, thought Fen, listening only for the part that mattered. Pagg’s approval, guide the wife, bless with children, we entreat you, yes, yes, get on with it.

“Arta,” Father Nino finally said, “do you give yourself to this man as wife, to serve for the rest of your life?”

“Yes!” she said, never looking away from Fen.

“Fen, do you accept this woman’s service as your wife, to care for her the rest of her life?”

“Yes,” he said. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I want nothing more, Arta,” he whispered.

The Father took the marriage cord and transferred it to Arta’s wrist. He took a long time tying the first knot; the very end of Father Nino’s tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he awkwardly fiddled with the cord. “Obedience,” he finally said with relief. The second knot--”humility”--and the third knot--”fidelity”--went more quickly, and the Father handed Fen the cord’s end. “She is yours.”

They turned to face the gathering. Fen held up Arta’s hand, and shouted “She is mine!” The onlookers roared their approval; he put his free arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her while the other servants hooted and clapped. With Mr Winmer on one side, Mr Affton on the other, the couple went down to the marriage breakfast--why was it called the “marriage breakfast,” thought Fen, when it was always in the afternoon?

At first Fen wasn’t hungry; knowing Arta was now his wife filled him up. By the time they’d gone round to all the tables, receiving congratulations and exchanging kisses and handshakes, he was starving.

They sat down at the head table between Mr Affton and Mr Winmer, and fed each other with their free hands as the onlookers toasted them. Before Fen had gotten much inside him, a new wave of well-wishers arrived, released from duty as the old ones returned to their jobs; the rounds of greetings began again.

They sat down a second time, but then the band started playing the dobla; the happy couple must dance the first dance, and then of course his Arta couldn’t help but dance a whole set. Since he had to keep hold of the marriage cord, that meant he had to dance the whole set, too. She loved to dance so much, and got to dance so little, that he could not deny her. By the time it was dark enough for torches to be lit, Fen thought he might gnaw his foot off.

Mr Winmer took him aside. “Now, young Wallek,” he said, “here is a present for you and your lady. I know you haven’t had either chance or money to buy your wedding rings.”

“No,” said Fen. “We just saved enough for our promise rings.” --that Temmin ended up buying for us, thanks to Bern and his medical bills, he added to himself. “I am hoping to have enough saved for our rings by the end of the year, and just move our promise rings to the left hand for now.”

“You must have a ring to give her tonight when you’re alone. Custom requires it.” The dapper little man produced a red leather ring case. “These are--family heirlooms,” he said. “You are welcome to use them until you can buy your own.”

Fen opened the case. Inside were two intricately carved silver rings, “Mr Winmer--! I can’t accept these!” said Fen.

“You’re not accepting them,” smiled Winmer, closing the case and pressing it into Fen’s hands. “You are borrowing them.” Fen quarreled with himself. On the one hand, taking the rings felt like an imposition on his master, Mr Winmer. On the other, it deeply shamed him not to have a ring for his wife on her wedding night. Shame won out. Fen returned the smile and tucked the little case into his waistcoat pocket, but Mr Winmer turned away.

The remaining revelers, led by the increasingly merry Mistress Mannell, escorted them to Spring Cottage. The housekeeper was flushed, her usually smooth exterior cheerfully rumpled. “Here,” she said, placing a hamper at their feet. “Food left from the breakfast. You can’t have had time to eat.” She took their free hands and shook them tenderly. “Spring Cottage was mine, you know, back when Mannell was still alive. It is a fine place to start a life together, and I wish you every happiness!” She shooed the tipsy servants away from the door, carried the hamper in for them, and set it on the table. Someone had lit the lamps, and the housekeeper looked around, the amber light glittering in her suddenly young eyes. “A fine, fine place! We were so happy!” she said again. At the sight of the open door to what was once her own bedroom, her face crumpled, and the light swam rather than danced in her eyes. “I know you will be as happy here as we were.” She kissed Arta on her rosy cheek, and left them alone.

“Now, Mr Wallek,” said Arta, “will you let go the cord so I may set out the hamper?”

“I will never let go of this cord, Mistress Wallek, not even for the hamper,” he answered, wrapping the cord around his fist and tugging her nose-to-nose with him.

“So, starve to death, then?”

“Supper in bed.” He kissed her turned-up nose and brushed her lips lightly with his.

“I’d feel Mam hovering over our bed with her long spoon, come to beat me if I let crumbs in the sheets.”

“Can’t have a hovering Mam on a wedding night--or any night. I release you, on one condition. You’ll shuck that dress, and then your petticoats, and then your corset, and then your drawers, and then your chemise, and then your stockings and shoes. Then for the hamper.”

“And you left alone in your fine new suit? You’ll get crumbs in your waistcoat pockets.”

“We’ll see.” He dropped the cord.

She carefully removed the dress, folded it, and reverently placed it in a white box on the sideboard; for the first time, Fen noticed the dress was some sort of green, with little flowers. It suited her very well, but why was she treating it like a piece of Grandmam’s best porcelain?

Once the dress was gone, she fairly kicked off her petticoats. Off came the corset, hook by hook, and onto the pile of frilly white. The drawers and chemise joined them, leaving her in white stockings with green ribbon garters; she moved to untie them. “No,” Fen said, staying her. “I’d like to see that some more.” Arta laughed, her curls falling over her shoulders; he brushed them back, and kissed her.

So rare the kisses since they’d come to the Keep! They didn’t always have time off together, and then there were few places to go for privacy--a hurried grope in a dark hallway, a furtive meeting in the King’s Woods with just enough time to make love against a tree but no time for more. They hadn’t had the luxury of either time or a place of their own. Now, they had both. Fen cradled her face in his hands and kissed her nose, her eyes and her forehead. “I do love you,” he said. “And I am about to faint from hunger. Now for the hamper!” He gave her naked bottom a little smack, producing a very satisfying little squeak, and they opened the wicker lid and dove in.

Arta sat on his lap as they ate, popping bits of cake into his mouth and kissing away the crumbs “before they get in your pockets. Can you believe it?” she said, holding up a small cluster of blue-black grapes. “From the forcing houses!”

“You did your best, love, but Miss Ellika will have her way in some things.”

“She didn’t have her way in the most important one,” said Arta, kissing her husband again.

“Not jealous still!” he said.

She popped a grape into his mouth. “You never had a chance.”

“She never had a chance against you,” said Fen, taking the grapes from her hand. She pressed close against him, arms around his neck, and he scooped her up, carried her to the bedroom and set her on the bed.

Arta pulled herself to her knees and worked on the buttons of his waistcoat as he buried his head in her hair, whuffling. “Hold still!” she laughed. “What’s this?” she said, patting his waistcoat pocket.

“Oh!” He jumped on the bed next to her, pulled out the red ring case and opened it. The ring carvings showed dark against the bright silver.

“Fen, they’re beautiful!” said Arta. “But we can’t afford such as these--how did you come by them?”

“Never you mind, they’re just for now, but I can’t have you going without a wedding ring on your wedding night.”

“Let me go first.” She chose the larger of the two rings, and looked into his eyes. “My husband,” she said, and slipped it onto his left ring finger.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed onto the bed snoring, his freckled nose wrinkling.

“Fen!” she giggled. “Are you that drunk?” She shook him, but he slept on. She pursed her lips. “Ah, well.” She took the remaining ring, slipped it onto her own finger, and fell fast asleep beside him.

The mirror beside the wardrobe began to shimmer.