Page 69 of A Game of Monsters
There was no use of please. No room for niceties or manners.
“It will have to wait until after the ceremony,” the Nephilim replied, shrugging off Erix’s hand.
“Now,” Erix growled, fervour pitched in his gravel tone.
The Nephilim regarded him, up and down, sizing the berserker up. Before either could make a scene before the adoring crowds of fey and humans watching, I took Erix’s hand in mine, diverting his focus back to me.
“Not now, nothere.”
Erix snapped out of his trance-like state, following the tilt of my head to the hundreds of people watching.
He calmed down, enough to leave the Nephilim and stay by my side.
As we departed the carriage, I had no choice but to drink in my surroundings. I looked around at the adoring crowd, people I recognised from my childhood. They didn’t cheer when they saw me, not like those we’d passed during the day of travel. Early afternoon was upon us, and with it the gleam of bright sunlight. A few clouds had built over the sky, foreshadowing the ominous feeling I harboured inside.
A path had been made for us to walk through, leading directly toward an old church which, in previous years, had been used as a school rather than a place of worship. It was the very place I’d had my education, limited though it may have been. And now it looked refreshed, the walls draped in the splendour of the Creator’s emblem, angelic warriors standing guard, wings used as barriers to keep the humans separated from us.
Discomfort seeded deep in my gut. If I had the ability to turn away, I would have. But I needed to see Cassial, I needed to speak with him, understand the need for mirrors.
The church was overflowing with humans, sitting around sharing excited whispers at our arrival. There was barely a space to spare, the room crammed full of life. There was also an overwhelming presence of Nephilim. I searched for fey nobility, hoping to find them amongst the crowds. I spotted one fey, his face familiar with sky-blue eyes. For a moment I thought Doran Oakstorm had rose from the dead, until the stranger fixed his eyes on me and I noticed the subtle differences.
A name came to my mind, spoken by Elinor days ago. Ailon Oakstorm, Doran’s brother and the thorn in Elinor’s side. He kept to the corner, head bowed once again as though he didn’t want to be seen. Perhaps his discomfort came from being the only fey here amongst a hoard of humans.
Erix and I entered last, the doors closing behind us. We were submerged in a blanket of dim light. Candles danced with flames across every surface, offering the only source of light. Any and all windows had been covered with banners, as had the walls. Each one displaying the symbol of the Creator in elegant gold stitching.
“Cassial isn’t here,” I muttered, catching eyes with Althea and Gyah, who stood before a dais. Elinor had been seated in a chair of dark stone, her arms naturally laid out across the arm rests. Zarrel was there – looming over her, the golden hammer in his hands, not strapped to his shoulders.
In fact, one quick glance around and I saw that all the Nephilim had weapons.
Silence fell upon the room as the clang of the great doors settled. The excited murmurings of the crowd settled to whispers as they anticipated the ceremony to begin.
But nothing happened. No announcement, no grand display that would start the wedding. Only silence, thick and heavy.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Althea’s voice called out, echoing up the stone walls, bringing with it the heat boiling inside of her. She was swallowed in a dress of pure white. Whoever made her outfit had made the layers of material look like pale tongues of flame. Her bodice was tight, her heels higher than anything I’d seen her wear before. Red hair had been gathered in a bun atop her head, the strands of hair pulled taut across her scalp. Not a detail was out of place. She looked stunning, but that was the exact thing that unsettled me.
This wasn’t the Althea I knew.
“Patience, Queen Althea Cedarfall,” Zarrel replied, candlelight glinting off his weapon of truth. “Our ceremony will begin shortly. There is a final matter that must be secured before we can begin.”
I drank in the rest of the room, seeing doors barricaded by the broad bodies of Nephilim, never a gauntleted hand straying from a weapon. My fingers itched, tingling as though preparing themselves for something I could not yet name.
“Whatmatteris this you speak of?” Gyah demanded, the trained eyes of a solider noticing the unbalanced nature of the room. Her suit was form-fitting, a cape clasped to her shoulders, dragging out on the floor behind her. She, like the rest of us, had no weapons to note.
Elinor was the same. I searched for the Elmdew representative then, wondering if they too looked as uncomfortable in their worry. But I couldn’t find them, not amongst the crowd. I searched the room three times, and still didn’t locate them.
Outside the church, the crowd roared with cheers, reminding us that this was a celebratory day, although it felt nothing of the sort.
“Perhaps you would like to take a seat for the time being,” Zarrel commanded, gesturing to the spare stone thrones that had been erected on the dais. A fourth waited for me, opposite where Elinor Oakstorm sat. “Cassial will join us soon. I apologise for the delay, this was not how we planned for this.”
Cassial was many things, but lacking in detail was not one of them. Everyone up until now had praised his planning, and yet there seemed to be a problem on the single most important day he had arranged.
Something about that didn’t sit right with me.
“Answer the question,” Gyah snapped, baring teeth toward Zarrel. A few muffled gasps filled the room, spreading in a wave across the humans who watched from the pews.
Fear, sharp and sudden, filled the air.
“Please, calm down,” Zarrel said, but spoke directly to the humans, a sickly sweet kindness spoiling his tone.
