“Yes,” said Xu. “The Exalted you served was so distressed by the ruin of his people, he poured out his lifeblood in sacrifice to honor them, and beg the gods for mercy. His younger sister now sits upon his throne, she has appointed me as her right hand, and she has sent me to settle this feud.”
So that was that. Vai went to fetch the Catresou leaders—Romeo would not let go of Juliet’s hand, would not leave her side for an instant—and they held their negotiations in his study that night.
This was the agreement that they made, under Xu’s watchful eyes: that all the necromancers were dead. That there was to be peace among the four houses—because Vai’s followers were numerous and unified enough now to be considered one of them. That, to make sure Juliet’s power would not drive her to kill again and restart the feud, the Mahyanai and Catresou were to be considered allies.
And to seal that alliance, Juliet would be given to Romeo in a Catresou wedding, so that both clans would recognize the marriage.
After it was all over—after Romeo had finally left with the Catresou, so that he could give them his own account of what had happened—Lord Ineo looked at Juliet and said, “You’ve won yourself a very great concession.”
Anger shuddered at the pit of her stomach. “I wasn’t forced to kill your son,” she said. “That’s what you call a concession?”
“Do you want revenge for that?” he asked flatly. “Because you won’t find it easy.”
Juliet stared at him and thought wearily, for the thousandth time, of Catresou blood spilling under her blade, her father’s neck snapping between her hands.
But she thought also of Arajo smiling, and the silence in the family shrine where the names of all the Mahyanai dead were written.
“I was made for revenge,” she said. “But the world is very small now. Too small, I think, for me to take it.”
“You were made for obedience,” he said bitterly. “Or so I was told.”
And Juliet could not hold back her weary, triumphant smile.
“I was born under obedience,” she said. “Did you think I wouldn’t know how to use it?”
27
THEY WEREN’T MARRIED FOR ANOTHER three days.
A year ago, that would have been a foolishly short time to prepare for a wedding. Now it seemed to Romeo like an outrageous delay. There was no such thing as a proper ceremony anymore, not when all the Lower City was dead and filled with revenants, and the walls around the Upper City had only barely survived.
But the wedding was still part of the peace between the clans. Lord Ineo wanted it to be celebrated as well as the desperate circumstances would allow, and so did Lord Indarus, who had become the new Lord Catresou. And that took time to arrange.
“We’re already married,” Romeo had muttered rebelliously when he heard the news.
Gavarin had given him a hard look before saying, “So far as you’re a Catresou, you’re not. Take the time to restore the girl’s honor the right way.”
“She lacks nothing of honor,” Romeo had said hotly, but he didn’t complain any more. He knew that this wedding was for the clans as much as it was for him and Juliet.
And even though the Catresou had been granted their old rights and homes again, there was still much to be done. In some parts of the compound, there was still blood dried onto the floor.
The day before the wedding, Romeo realized that he had been so busy with preparations, he still didn’t know exactly what the ceremony would entail. He meant to simply ask Gavarin about it, but he hadn’t found him yet when he ran into Ilurio, and let slip why he was looking.
Ilurio’s explanation was delivered in extremely smug tones, but it was easy enough to understand, and it sounded much simpler and less exotic than Romeo had feared. For one thing, there were no organs in jars.
“Is that all?” he asked when Ilurio finished.
“Well,” said Ilurio, “then you have to bed her—”
Romeo glared at him. “I know about that.”
“—in front of witnesses.”
“What?”
“Ancient custom,” said Ilurio. “To ensure that the marriage is properly consummated.”
“She is already my wife,” Romeo snarled, his face hot and cold at once, because he couldn’t imagine asking Juliet to undergo that—but if this was her people’s tradition then she must expect it—
“What’s this?” asked Gavarin, who walked into the room, looked at the pair of them, and then slapped the back of Ilurio’s head.
“I was just telling him what to expect,” Ilurio muttered. “With the bedding.”
Gavarin sighed and turned to Romeo. “The wedding party takes you to the bed and witnesses you unmask each other, to be sure there’s been no trickery. Then we lock the door on you.”
“Oh.” Romeo relaxed. “Do people really try to switch places?”
Gavarin shrugged. “There are stories of it.”
“It’s more to make sure nobody can dispute the dowry by claiming the marriage wasn’t consummated,” said Ilurio. “Though I suppose you don’t have to worry about that.”
There wasn’t nearly the same scorn or venom in Ilurio’s voice as there used to be, but the words still rankled. Romeo opened his mouth to protest—
“Ignore him,” said Gavarin. “He’s jealous because he’s never yet kissed a girl.” And while Ilurio sputtered, he went on, “We’ve got more important things to discuss.”
“Yes?” said Romeo. Gavarin was looking at him with a grim concentration that he hadn’t seen since he was threatening Romeo with death at the start of their raid.
“Listen, I know marriage isn’t the same thing among your people,” said Gavarin.
“I would never take a concubine,” Romeo said earnestly. “I promised her that already.” And no matter how many people he’d heard say that the heart needed room to roam, he couldn’t imagine loving any woman but Juliet.
“Good,” said Gavarin, “but that isn’t what I meant to tell you. I know the Mahyanai like to send their women into the Guard, but that isn’t our way. You’re a Catresou now, and that means you protect your wife.”
Romeo thought of the way that Juliet’s sword had danced through the air when they dueled, and he almost laughed. But then he looked at the grim set of Gavarin’s face. He thought of how lonely Juliet had been when he had met her, the girl without a name, reverenced by all her people and befriended by none.
He had thought, I can save her, and he’d been terribly wrong in every way. He’d broken her heart and left her alone and nearly destroyed her.
Except . . . he had made her less lonely, for a little while. And after everything went wrong and they were parted, she had found Runajo—and it hadn’t been any of his doing, but it wouldn’t have happened if he had never seen a girl alone in a garden, practicing her sword work, and wanted to talk to her. If he hadn’t asked her to marry him, one sunlit afternoon as they sat on the rooftops of the Lower City.
He thought, Maybe I can protect her now.
This time, maybe I can give her happiness that lasts.
“I don’t care what the Mahyanai have done to her,” said Gavarin. “The Juliet is still one of us. So you take care to do right by her.”
“I will,” said Romeo.
It was not unknown for Juliets to marry. But it was rare. Few men wanted wives who were living weapons. Though Juliet had attended several weddings in her childhood, she had never dreamed she would be at the center of one herself.
“That’s an ugly mask,” said Arajo, puckering her mouth at the wedding mask resting on the table. It was a full-face mask, gilded all over, with curling red designs painted around the eyes.
“It’s traditional,” said Juliet.
“Well,” said Arajo, “you belong to us now, so you can at least wear a proper wedding dress.”
“I didn’t know your people cared so much about weddings,” said Juliet.
“Just because we don’t lock up our women before they’re wed, doesn’t mean we don’t care,” said Arajo. “My mother has found a dress you can borrow.”