She watches me and finally blinks, lowers her gaze. She makes the sign of the cross as Father John brings the crucifix to her lips.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Will she be so calm in the moments that will follow this ceremony to the next one?
The priest clears his throat and we both look up at him. Time for the vows to be said. The promise to love, honor and obey. It’s a sacrilege, this sham.
Love. Useless.
Honor. I could give a fuck.
It’s only her obedience I’m interested in, and I listen to her repeat the words. Do they have any meaning to her? Her eyes give nothing away.
When it’s my turn, I say my part, then take her hand and slip a simple gold band onto her finger. She looks down at it as if surprised. Did she expect diamonds? A big, fat ring?
I hold the band she’ll slide onto my finger out to her.
She glances at the ring of gold on my palm then at the small gathering of people she doesn’t know. None will help her out of this one.
I wait for her to look back at me and gesture for her to go on.
She takes the ring and pushes it onto my finger and a few moments later, the priest declares us husband and wife and gives me permission to kiss my bride.
I close my hand over the back of her bare neck to pull her to me and, eyes open, I kiss my bride. A symbolic gesture. And then it’s over.
I rise to my feet, thank Father John, and help my bride stand. I keep hold of her hand as we turn to the company gathered, the only women my mother and daughter. Even they shouldn’t be here according to custom.
Angelique slips her hand free of my mother’s and runs toward us. She’s the only one in this whole room who is smiling. I scoop her up with one arm to hold her and think about how her life depends on mine. Of how much she needs me.
“Daddy!” she hugs my neck and leans her slight weight toward Isabelle so I have no choice but to let her hug Isabelle into our little circle that has been two for all her life. Now made three.
I consider this as I feel her little arms squeeze us tight. What will she expect now? What does she think this makes Isabelle?
I hadn’t wanted to bring Angelique tonight. Hadn’t wanted to mention a wedding at all. It has nothing to do with her. This marriage is a means to an end. And when that end comes…
I look at Isabelle once Angelique releases us.
When that end comes, I’ll deal with the consequences. I’ll rearrange the pieces for Angelique then.
I set Angelique down as my mother steps toward us and, after kissing her on the top of her head, I hand her over to my mother.
“You’ll come home. You promised,” she says to Isabelle.
Isabelle crouches down to kiss her cheek. “I promised and I always keep my promises.”
My mother takes her as Isabelle straightens and the two of them exchange a look. Two generations of women given to Society men. One knows what is coming. The other is still innocent. But not for long.
My mother gives Isabelle an almost imperceptible nod. I’m confused by this and glance at Isabelle whose expression is unreadable.
Courage I think she’s saying.
I won’t use the irons. My mother suffered more than Isabelle will.
Isabelle gazes softly down once more to my daughter but when her eyes land on me, she adjusts her features as if putting on armor. I’ve done that, I remind myself. Made her terrified of me within a few days of knowing me.
I tug her toward me. “What did you promise Angelique?”
“Only to kiss her goodnight,” she says.
“Take care with your promises to my daughter.”
Her eyes search mine as she takes this in.
The procession of guests makes their way toward us, and I turn my attention to them. I paste a neutral look on my face as the men, all upper echelon members who, I’m sure would rather not have been in attendance considering I’m not like them. Not blood. They line up to congratulate me. I shake hands as the thought circles. I am not one of them. I will never be one of them. My father may have bought our entry tickets, but you can’t fake blood.
I don’t give a fuck, though. My father used to, and I saw what it did to him, that wanting to belong where you don’t belong. Wanting to be where you’re simply not wanted.
Once that majority of witnesses has gone, the only men left are Zeke, Santiago De La Rosa, Judge and Hildebrand along with his two personal guards.
Isabelle moves closer to me as Santiago approaches, and I realize it’s her first time seeing the man with the half-skull face tattoo. Judge, no less menacing with his height and build, stands at his side. Judge acknowledges Isabelle with a nod while Santiago studies her a moment longer.
“Congratulations,” he says to her.
“Thank you,” she mutters. I think it’s automatic. And I am not sure she’s blinked as she tries hard not to stare at death staring back at her. He enjoys this, I think. Relishes the discomfort people must feel at the sight of him. I respect him more for it.
“Shall we move downstairs, gentlemen? I believe this is our entourage,” Hildebrand mutters.
“What’s downstairs?” Isabelle asks once everyone files out toward a door at the opposite end of the one that leads to the courtyard.
It’s not really downstairs. More a space between the chapel and the Tribunal building carved from stone that leads to a tunnel connecting chapel, Tribunal and the main compound buildings. It also leads to the cells housed beneath the Councilors chambers. It is said this was done because due to the design, sound carries up to their quarters. And the Councilors of The Tribunal have a bloody history.
“It’s where the marking ceremony will take place.”
“Marking?” she asks, not moving when I mean to follow the others as Hildebrand’s guards hold the door open.
I turn to face her. “I told you last night. You’ll wear my mark.”
“What does that mean exactly?” she asks, pulling back.
“You’ll see in a minute.”
“I don’t want to see,” she says when I take a step. I look back at her and see her tremble. See her wrap her free arm around her stomach.
“We could do it in the courtyard with all the gawkers. Would you prefer that?”
“I just want to know what you’re going to do to me.”
“Your brother really hasn’t educated you in the ways of The Society, has he? I’m going to tattoo my mark onto your neck and back.”
“You… What?”
“Or alternatively I could brand you with it.”
Her face loses all color.
“Your preference?” I’m running out of patience. Bishop showing up saying those things, Zeke bringing my daughter, it’s all fucked with me. “My preference is ink. Less…screaming.”
A choked sound comes from her throat, and I tug her forward, moving her toward the heavy door and through the windowless passages lit only by torches of fire.
“Jericho?” she starts, stumbling, arms wrapping around me in an effort to stop our progress as I half-carry her through. We just need to get through this next part. And as much as I wish it were just she and I, there are rules that we all have to abide by and this is one. Witnesses are necessary. At least it’s just the handful I’ve chosen.
The cavern where the ceremony will take place is large, the ceilings low, this circular room also lit by fire, with a single barred window letting in fresh air, the night a cooler one than we’ve had.