“Take your hair down, miss?” she asks.
I meet her eye in the mirror’s reflection. “Do you think Henry would have a preference?”
She smiles warmly, pleased by my interest in her opinion. “I think most men of the fort like to see their wives with their hair down. We’re normally all pinned up.”
I nod, and she goes to work, plucking the flowers from the elaborate loose braid that took more than an hour to weave earlier. She unravels the plait a section at a time until my hair is free, the loose waves hanging down my back.
“What’s your name?” I ask as she grabs a roll of linen from the dresser beside us.
“Cora,” she says, holding up the roll and blushing. “This is for after—for the bleeding.”
“Oh, I won’t bleed. It’s not my first time. I was married once before?—”
“No.” Cora’s cheeks turn bright red. “I thought they’d told you. There’s a blood bind in the ceremony where you’ll cut your palm. I’m sure Henry will heal it, but you don’t want to get anything on your slip. This silk is very fine.”
“The book I read wasn’t very explicit about what a blood bind means,” I say tentatively. I don’t know if the omission of detail was intentional or not.
Cora’s eyes flit to the door and back to me. “It’s all for Divine Kennymyra, for pleasure and vitality. Most ceremonies involve pleasure of the flesh, which is measured in how much vitality is in the blood after. You’ll press your palm to Kennymyra’s sigil in the headboard—there’s asharp point at the center of it, and you just hold your bloody palm there. If she’s pleased by your offering, it will glow golden.”
“I see.” I don’t really see at all. Things here are much more ritualistic than I’m used to, but what’s a little blood between two enemies?
“Do you know Henry well?” I ask.
Cora flushes again and looks away. She seems a bit too shy to be his type, but someone like Henry must have lovers here. He’s attractive in the wild mountain-man way that seems to be popular, and I’ve certainly noticed the way he turns women’s heads.
“Just in passing. He’s respectful but quiet,” she says.
“Am I in competition for his affections?”
Cora smiles faintly. “I wouldn’t worry about Miriam, miss.”
I smile tightly, like I know who she’s talking about.
“His eyes follow you wherever you go.”
Yes, because he doesn’t trust me.
“Obviously we all know it’s a political marriage, but you really seem to have won him over. A lot of the women here are wondering how you did it,” Cora says. It’s as if one question uncorked all of the words inside her. “Howdidyou do it?”
“I tried to kill him,” I say. “Sadly, it didn’t take.”
Cora freezes for a moment and then bursts into laughter.
I smile and pretend to laugh along with her as if this is a joke and not the most honest thing I’ve said since arriving at Mountain Haven.
“You have a quick wit,” Cora says. “No wonder he looks so smitten.”
A knock sounds on the door.
Cora stands a little straighter. “That means they’re ready for you.”
I nod and stand as she hands me a red silk robe that matches my slip.
Cora sweeps my hair over my shoulders and smiles brightly. “May Divine Kennymyra bless your union.”
I nod and cross the room. Gaven is waiting for me when I push open the door to the small antechamber that connects to the ceremony room. He immediately averts his gaze, placing a hand over the silver mask on his face for emphasis.
“I know you wanted me elsewhere, but I was apprehensive about being away so long,” Gaven says. He hesitates, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him look so uncomfortable. “It’s not as if I want to be in the room, but I think I should. What if they lock me out?”
