Iron and Magic

4

The void had finally caught him. Hugh stood at the window while it pierced him with needle teeth and shredded him, skinning one thin layer at a time. He’d known pain before. He’d been shot, cut, burned, broken, tortured, but this was different. This was the same pain he felt when Roland had sent him into exile.

He was on the fifth floor of the keep. It was midafternoon, three or four, he wasn’t sure. The sky was blue, without a shred of a cloud. The wind cooled his skin. The sunshine played on the stone walls. Below him a sheer drop promised a speedy trip to the stone bailey. If he jumped now, even if he lived for a few seconds and reached for his magic in desperation, it wouldn’t save him. Besides, the tech was up. His ability to heal was barely there.

It would solve all his problems. A brief flash of pain, almost an afterthought compared to what he felt now, and everything would be over.

If Hugh turned, opened the reinforced wood and steel door and strode down the long hallway, he would arrive at his bride’s bedroom. She was in there, getting ready. They were going to be married today. Neither of them had wanted to delay. They’d been at each other’s throats for the past week, but one thing they both agreed on: they had to marry fast and it had to be a real wedding, with a cake, flowers, gowns, and a reception afterward. They hired a wedding photographer and a videographer, because they planned to plaster the pictures everywhere they could. Which was why the wedding had to take place today, while tech held. The marriage had to appear real, because without it their alliance wasn’t worth the forty some pieces of paper they had signed once their advisers finished bargaining with each other over the exact terms of it.

Hugh leaned on the windowsill. He never expected to get married. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. The need for marriage came when a man realized he was getting older and wanted to start a family or when he wanted to prove a commitment to a woman or get one from her. During his decades as a Warlord, Roland’s magic had sustained him. He didn’t age. Back then, Hugh had centuries ahead of him. Hugh would stay at his peak, and if he wanted a woman, he got one. There had been a few that had resisted at first, but he had patience and experience, he knew how to listen and what to say, when he chose to do it, and power was one hell of an aphrodisiac. He was Roland’s Warlord, the Preceptor of the Iron Dogs. Eventually, he won them over and they ended up in his bed.

He’d thought sex would get old, but it never did. A new day, a new interesting woman. Eventually, he ran out of new things to try and realized that the difference between good sex and great sex was passion. Great sex was less frequent, but he had no problem settling for good sex.

Marriage wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

Still, if Hugh ever got married, he would’ve expected the woman to be eager. Excited even.

The harpy at the other end of the hallway acted as if he were some revolting creature that crawled out from under a damp rock. The woman drove him nuts. Hugh alternated between wanting to strangle her and trying not to laugh as she fought off his verbal jabs. Making her snarl in frustration was the only thing that made the situation tolerable.

He was mortal now. Eventually he would age. He would die. The thought turned Hugh’s blood to ice. He couldn’t even remember how old he was. He would die, and soon. His magic would keep him alive for a while, but he wouldn’t last much more than another eighty years. Maybe a hundred.

Voron’s ghost congealed from his memories. When Hugh was a child, Voron was larger than life. Tall, powerful, unstoppable. A different man looked at him now, old, gray, somehow less, as if age leached the color from his hair and skin. The ghost raised his sword.

Go away, old man.

Hugh pushed the memory aside. This hay ride had a definite end. He no longer had forever.

The stones of the bailey turned even more inviting. Instead of thinking about what do to with his meager lifespan, he could just stop both, his life and his thinking.

“Mmm,” came a low feminine noise from the bed.

He turned. Caitlyn from the kitchen was too worried about what “the White Lady” would think, so he’d moved on to Vanessa. A brunette, with big boobs, long legs, a small butt, and lots of enthusiasm, she worked in the castle as a paralegal. She was also low maintenance.

Vanessa turned on her side and rested her head on her bent elbow, popping her chest to offer him a better view. He’d set the ground rules from the start, although he doubted she would stick to them. She was an opportunist.

She measured him with her gaze, pausing on his bare crotch. “Are we gonna keep doing this after you’re married?”

“Scared of Elara?”

She shook her head. “If the Lady didn’t want me here, she would tell me. The Lady knows everything. She knows what I’m saying right now.”

Interesting. Hugh leaned against the windowsill, studying her. “How?”

Vanessa waved her fingers at him. “Magic.”

“The tech is up.”

“It doesn’t matter. She knows.”

“Why do you call her the Lady?”

Vanessa shrugged one shoulder. “That’s just what she is. She isn’t like the rest of us.”

“What makes her special?”

“If you wait long enough, she’ll show you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“She protects us,” Vanessa said.

“From whom?”

“From everyone. The undead. The Remaining.”

He leaned forward. “Who are the Remaining?”

“We started out together, then we split,” Vanessa said. “We call those who stayed behind the Remaining. They call us the Departed.”

“Why did you split?”

Vanessa yawned. “It’s long and complicated.”

“You are afraid of Elara.”

“No, I’m just not stupid.”

Hugh moved toward the bed, leaned over her, and fixed her with his stare. She shrank back. Alarm flared in her eyes.

He glanced at the door, then back at her. She slid off the bed, grabbed her clothes, yanked her dress on, and hurried out, almost at a run, her underwear in her hands.

She would be back. He had her.

Vanessa was a born flunky. She feared Elara but she also felt some contempt for his future bride, or she wouldn’t have climbed into his bed to test her leash. Elara must’ve been kind to her. That was a mistake.

He’d seen Vanessa’s type enough over the years to recognize it instantly. Her kind of people understood strength and overt shows of power. They loudly proclaimed their support for the overzealous cops, local tyrants, and anyone willing to show brute strength. Vanessa respected authority that made her fear. As long as he terrified her, she would obey him and try to please, but she could never be trusted. If Elara scared her enough, Vanessa would spill his secrets. If she ever got a taste of real power, she would be petty and cruel.

Hugh turned to the window. The day was peaceful and quiet. He supposed he should shower and get dressed. He was getting married, after all. And he would buy food and safety for the Dogs with his marriage. And get a castle as a dowry. Once the moat was done…

The moat. The tech was up, it was midafternoon, and he’d ordered the construction to start this morning. Where were the fucking bulldozers?

“It’s a beautiful dress,” Nadia said.

“Very beautiful,” Beth agreed, brushing her hair.

Elara hid a sigh. They were doing their best to make her feel better. This wasn’t the way she imagined the day of her wedding. This was some hellish caricature of it.

She was doing it for the right reasons. She promised to protect her people and d’Ambray’s troops would protect them. The Iron Dogs seemed barely human, but they’d been inside the walls for a week and she couldn’t fault them. They’d taken over patrols. They ran and did endless amounts of push-ups. They were unerringly polite to her people. The castle had come with the barracks, but there weren’t enough spaces for all of them in the building, so she had to relegate them to tents in the bailey while the left wing was renovated. There wasn’t a whisper of complaint.

They had almost no supplies, except for what they could carry and a covered wagon. They brought the wagon in and unloaded two dozen sealed plastic drums, which they dragged inside and locked in a room in the barracks. None of the spying and scrying her people had done had managed to shed any light on what was in the barrels. It wasn’t money. D’Ambray was broke, so broke, that the contract they’d signed specified a week’s worth of clothes for every Iron Dog. They didn’t even have spare underwear.

Tonight she would have to marry that insufferable ass.

Some girls dreamed about getting married and planned their wedding. Elara never had. But when she thought about it occasionally, she always imagined getting married to someone who loved her.

“Have you decided what to do about the hair, my lady?” Eve asked from the back.

She’d given up on trying to get them to stop calling her that. At least when she was in earshot, they’d stopped referring to her as the White Lady. Having people pretend she was some medieval queen was better than the actual worship, Elara reminded herself. Worship had to be avoided at all costs.

“I don’t know.”

Her hair, the mark of her curse, fell around her face in soft waves after being twisted at the nape of her neck for the whole day. If she straightened it, the long white strands would reach past her butt. The hair was a pain. Elara had wanted to cut it for years, but it became a symbol of her magic, and she’d learned long ago that symbols were important.

“We could do a full updo,” Beth offered. “Something with flowers. We could do a very loose braid.”

“Or a waterfall braid,” Nadia said.

Elara bit down on another sigh. She almost told them she didn’t care, but it would hurt their feelings.

“We could leave it down,” Eve suggested. “You almost never wear it down.”

She didn’t wear it down, because she hated it. She still remembered her real hair, the dark, chocolate-brown curls. Three years ago, just after they left West Virginia, she got two bottles of hair dye and soaked the white strands in it. She kept it on until her scalp began to itch. When she walked out of the shower, her hair was still pristine white. Not a single strand took the dye.

“Let me think about it.”

“There are only two hours left,” Eve murmured.

“It’s not like they can have a wedding without me.”

A soft knock echoed through the room. Rook.

Eve opened the door. “She is busy.”

“Let him in.”

Elara drew her thin white robe around herself, hiding the translucent white camisole she wore underneath.

The door swung open. The spy stepped inside, his hair hidden by the hoodie he always wore. She waited for a report, but he just stood there. He’d brought her something private.

“Give us a minute,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

The three women left the room, with Beth closing the door behind her. Rook approached and held out a piece of paper.

Vanessa and Hugh:

V: Are we gonna keep doing this after you’re married?

H: Scared of Elara?

V: If the Lady didn’t want me here, she would tell me.

Elara read the rest of the conversation. Hardly surprising. That was the one thing that always set her teeth on edge about Vanessa. The woman didn’t have an ounce of loyalty in her. Still, she was one of her people.

“Where is he now?”

He pulled on his pants and ran outside to the construction crew.

That meant he would be at her door in a minute.

“Thank you.”

Rook nodded and slipped outside the door. Elara barred it and sat at her vanity. She had to do something about her hair. She couldn’t care less about what it looked like, but the wedding had to appear genuine. She had to keep up appearances. She would manufacture the glow for the sake of her people.

Someone pounded on her door.

“Go away.” Elara dipped her fingers into a small tub of lotion.

“Open the door.”

There was something about his voice that made people want to obey. Some imperceptible quality. It was probably very handy in the middle of battle.

“Go away. I’m not dressed, and you can’t see me before the wedding.”

“Open the door.”

“No.” She dabbed the lotion on her face and in the hollow of her neck and worked it into her skin.

The door took a hit with a hard thud. It was a heavy wooden door, reinforced with steel, but the few days she’d spent with d’Ambray convinced her that he could be extremely single-minded.

“If you break it, the money for the replacement will come out of your discretionary budget.”

Elara raised her hair up in a semblance of an updo. Ugh.

“Do you really want to do this through the door?”

“I don’t want to do it at all.”

“You cut the gas for my bulldozers.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s expensive.”

A furious silence fell. She imagined him on the other side of the door steaming and smiled.

“I need it. I need the gas.”

“We all need things.”

“Elara! We need to stay alive. The moat will keep us alive.”

Moat, moat, moat… Moat? Moat. Moat! Ugh.

“You want to dig a trench that is ten feet deep and seventy-five feet wide. That’s ridiculously large.”

“It has to be that large to function.”

Elara sighed and picked up the eyeshadow. Maybe rose gold?

“How are you planning to fill it up?”

“With water from the lake.”

“Are you planning to make the water flow up the hill?”

“No, I’ll pump it in.”

She put down her eyeshadow. “You want to pump the water into that massive trench? Do you have any idea how much fuel that will take? So we’ll be paying for the gas for that too?”

“It’s necessary.”

“Won’t the water just seep into the ground?”

“We’ll line the bottom with concrete.”

“So magic can crack it.”

“No, the magic won’t crack it, because we’ll use Roman concrete mixed by hand.”

Rose gold was working out nicely. “Don’t you need volcanic ash for Roman concrete?”

Another silence. She’d had a detailed discussion with the Dog he assigned as foreman before she took away their gasoline. It wasn’t her first construction project.

“Where are you going to get volcanic ash?” she asked.

“I’ll have it shipped from Asheville.”

“I wasn’t aware Asheville had suddenly sprouted volcanoes.” She blended a darker shade of the eyeshadow into the crease of her eyes.

“Asheville had a Cherufe manifestation five years ago. They have an entire mountain of volcanic ash and we can buy it dirt cheap.”

“More money.”

“Elara,” he growled.

“You’re building a money pit, except it’s not a pit, it’s a moat. Why not just line it with money and set that on fire when the vampires come?”

“It wouldn’t burn long enough. You will give me this moat. I’m trying to keep you and everyone in this place alive. Can you put a price on the safety of your people?”

“Yes, I can. The total operating cost of a single bulldozer is two hundred and thirty-seven dollars per hour. We have to factor in heavy use in soil that has been undisturbed for at least ten years; gasoline; lubricant; undercarriage adjustment for impact, abrasiveness and so on; repair reserve, parts and labor; and operator cost, since people do not work for free. Now we have to calculate the number of cubic yards of soil we must remove and transport somewhere else. Based on the dimensions of your trench—"

“Give me the moat or the wedding is off.”

For a moment, she literally saw red. Elara jumped to her feet and jerked the door open. He stood on the other side, wearing nothing except jeans and boots.

“I can’t believe you! You would endanger this wedding for your stupid moat?”

Hugh towered over her, his blue eyes dark. “Here is some math for you. Your settlement holds four thousand and forty-seven people, of which five hundred and three are children under the age of eighteen. When Nez comes, and he will, you will have three choices. You can evacuate, which means Nez will chase us down and slaughter everyone. You can hole up in the castle with the adults and send the children off, serving Nez a herd of hostages on a silver platter. Or you can hide everyone in the castle, which is the only real option you have.”

He leaned closer, his face vicious. “This place was designed for a staff of three hundred. It can comfortably hold five hundred in a pinch. You’ll have to pack four thousand terrified people, half of them parents with children, in here like sardines. Sanitation will go first. Sewage will start backing up. Water will be next. Your well will run dry. You’ll try to conserve it, while Nez lobs chunks of corpses his plague spreaders have seeded with diseases over your wall, but it won’t matter. The well will run dry anyway within a few weeks. Your people will start dying. Children and the infirm will be at the front of the line. You will watch them go one by one.”

She blinked.

“We can’t withstand a siege. We have to hit Nez so hard and so fast on his first charge, that he’ll decide besieging us is too expensive. To do that, we need defenses that work against undead. The moat is such a defense. Without it, this place is a death trap. I realize you don’t understand it, but you’re not in charge of our defenses. I am.”

White ice exploded inside Elara. “You have some nerve,” she snarled. “Your moat will cut my budget by a third!”

“Our budget.”

“Not yet, it’s not! I have to fund the school for this year. I have to feed three hundred extra people who earn no money. It doesn’t grow on trees. Did Roland not explain to you the concept of money when he doled out your allowance?”

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if you’re too thick to see it or if you’re on a power trip, so I’ll make it real simple for you: give me the moat or I’ll take my people and leave. I’m not dying here because you’re an idiot.”

“Arrogant dickhead!”

“Screeching harpy.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

The hunger clawed at her from the inside. It took every drop of her will to keep it from ripping out. She actually trembled with rage.

“You want to leave? Do it.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned.

“Take your people and leave.”

A stomp made them turn toward the hallway.

Johanna handshaped the letter E and moved it down her hair, indicating length. “Elara.”

Johanna didn’t use the name sign she invented for her often, and normally that would’ve stopped Elara in her tracks, but she was too irritated.

“What?” she snarled.

“Important fighting moment,” Johanna said. “But heads of the Lexington Red Guard and Louisville Mage College are downstairs.” She pointed to the floor.

Hugh turned to her. “Why?”

Johanna brushed back her blond hair. “We invited them for the wedding to build good relations and to have witnesses. Don’t be dumb.”

She moved her fingers, her gestures brisk.

“We need witnesses. Many, many witnesses. Wrap it up. Slap each other if you need to. Get dressed. Don’t mind me.” She took a step back. “I will wait. Five minutes.”

Hugh was looking at her. Elara realized her robe was hanging open, showing off the thin white camisole that left most of her breasts bare and barely covered half of her butt. Suddenly she was sharply aware that he was half-naked and standing too close. Elara pulled the robe closed and glared back at him.

He no longer exhaled rage. Clearly, he’d changed his strategy.

“Compromise,” he said. “What is your biggest need as a settlement?”

“Metal,” she said. “We need iron and steel.”

“There are several smaller towns around here that were lost to the forest. There is metal there. Used cars, a factory in Brownsville, and so on.”

“That’s not a friendly forest. A lot of those places are infested with magic creatures. It’s too dangerous.”

“Not for my people. I’ll start making salvage runs. You will authorize the gas for the moat.”

Elara shut her eyes. “Fine. You’ll get enough gas for three days. More when you bring in your first load of salvage, and our smiths sign off on it.”

“There may be hope for you yet.”

“Rot in hell, d’Ambray.”

“I love you too, darling.”

Elara turned to Johanna and signed. “We are fine.”

Johanna gave them both a bright smile. “Good job.”

She turned and went down the stairwell.

Elara didn’t slam the door. She closed it very carefully, walked to her vanity, sat down, and shut her eyes, trying to control her fury. And there he was, coming out of the darkness. She knew exactly why Vanessa had climbed into his bed. Up close, Hugh was overwhelming. The size, the breadth of his shoulders, the muscle, the hard stomach. Power. So much male, brutal power and strength. And she hated every inch of him. If she could’ve pushed him out of the hallway window, she would’ve. He’d splatter on the stones below, and she would smile when he did.

That was the wrong thought. She checked herself.

A hesitant knock came.

“Come in,” she said without turning. “I decided what to do with my hair.”

“Yes, my lady?” Beth asked.

“We’ll leave it down,” Elara said.

Hugh stood at the altar under an arched trellis dripping with white clematis flowers. A gentle fragrance spiced the air. The castle rose behind him and slightly to the left. The hill leveled here before rolling down, and beautiful Kentucky countryside spread in front of him: the blue-green hills and pastures, with dense forests encroaching on them like waves from a rising tide, and in the distance, more hills, each lighter than the next, fading into the beginnings of what promised to be a hell of a sunset.

He turned slightly. Benches had been set up in front of the altar, with a path between them, and they were filled. On Elara’s side were women in pastels and men in suits or jeans, whatever qualified as their best. His side was black. The Dogs wore their uniforms, just as he wore the black of the Preceptor. It was the only formal clothes they had. They’d stowed their weapons under their seats, grim faced and quiet. He wasn’t taking any chances on Nez crashing the wedding.

Hugh surveyed the Iron Dog ranks. All the family he would ever need.

“Where is he?” Bale growled next to him.

“He’ll be here,” Lamar said quietly.

“He better,” Bale said.

The townspeople ran out of seats and formed a loose group, standing to one side of the benches. They waited, murmuring and shifting. Children chased each other. There were flowers everywhere. Looking down the center aisle, he could see the large white tent to the right where Elara hid, probably surrounded by her women, fussing over every inch of her hair and dress. Past the tent, tables had been set up with a three-tier black-and-white cake towering in the center.

Stoyan shouldered his way through the crowd. A fresh narrow scar crossed his neck.

“Speak of the devil,” Lamar murmured.

Stoyan ran down the aisle to them, reached into his pocket, and offered a small black box to Hugh.

“Any trouble?” Lamar asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Hugh opened the box. A white gold ring lay inside, a half-eternity band of glittering pale-blue aquamarines between two rows of small diamonds. That was more or less what he’d described to Stoyan. A jeweler in Lexington had owed him a favor for over twenty years. He’d remembered it three days ago during one of his moments of clarity between trying to get his people settled, fighting with Elara, and fucking Vanessa to keep the void at bay.

A year ago, if he’d chosen a wedding ring, it would’ve been a work of art shining with diamonds, steeped in magic, and costing a fortune. This one couldn’t be worth more than three grand, but the metal was white like her hair and something about the pure fire of aquamarines and diamonds reminded him of her. It showed some thought, which women valued. An olive branch.

They hated each other’s guts, but there was no reason they couldn’t coexist, at least until the threat passed. Hugh had no desire to battle to the death with her over every little thing. And Elara would fight to the bitter end. Although if she insisted on fighting with him half-dressed again, he was reasonably sure he could tolerate it for a couple of minutes. She wasn’t the worst-looking woman in the castle, and, for a brief moment, he’d enjoyed the show.

She’d also confirmed something he’d suspected when she discussed the arrangements for the wedding. Elara didn’t want him to see her in the wedding dress. It was a stupid tradition, but she clung to it. It was her first wedding, Hugh was sure, and like most women, she likely planned it since childhood, complete with sappy music and the release of doves.

The void bit at him. He blocked it off.

The castle harpy wanted a special moment. The ring would demonstrate that he took it seriously. For all he knew, she’d throw it in his face. His gaze snagged on the videographer filming the crowd. Maybe not in front of the cameras.

Stoyan took his place on his right. Bale handed him Hugh’s sword, and Stoyan held it in front of him, point down. A long-standing tradition among the Iron Dogs, established by Voron, Roland’s previous Warlord, who’d begun the order. Another void bite. Voron who had raised him.

The ghost stared at him from his memories.

I killed you because Roland willed it.

Hugh forced the memories down, concentrating on the weapon to keep them at bay. He missed his old sword, but the one Stoyan was holding for him now wasn’t bad. Thirty-three and three quarters of an inch-long blade with a simple cross guard and a four-and-a-half-inch grip wrapped with cord. At two and a half pounds, it was meant to be used from horseback, but it was lively enough for him until he found something better.

He glanced over at Elara’s side. Johanna stood in the Maid of Honor spot in a pastel-pink gown, holding a bouquet of pretty white flowers. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave with her free hand.

He shrugged.

Johanna tucked the bouquet under her arm. Her fingers moved. “Scared?”

He mimicked laughing.

The flaps of the tent opened. Music came from the speakers. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t the wedding march he’d expected. Hugh frowned. He’d heard it before…

Walking in My Shoes by Depeche Mode.

Lamar smiled.

“Your idea?” Hugh asked.

“It was a joint effort between me and Dugas. You said to pick something appropriate.”

Elara stepped out.

She wore a simple white gown that hugged her waist and cradled her breasts before flaring down into a wide skirt. Her white hair fell on her shoulders in loose waves. A silver circlet studded with shiny stones rode on her head.

He saw her face.

Wow.

Elara glided down the aisle, feminine and graceful. Regal. She walked alone, and he realized the significance of it. She was giving herself away of her own free will. There was no father. Nobody had the right to walk her down the aisle.

Every gaze followed her. As she moved between his people and hers, the unease vanished from the Dogs. They watched her the way they would watch a clear sunrise after a night storm. Elara smiled at them, and they smiled back.

That’s why her people followed her, Hugh realized. This was it, right here.

She walked up to the altar, beautiful like a vision. He was marrying a queen from a fairy tale.

Hugh held his hand out to her. She put her fingers into his and together they walked up three steps to the altar. She smiled at him, and something in his chest moved.

He had to break the illusion, so he made his mouth work. “Nobody to walk you down the aisle?”

Elara didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the pastor. “I don’t need anyone to give me away.”

He needed more. She was still too beautiful, too regal, too much.

“Aren’t you supposed to have some little kids running around throwing flowers? Or did you sacrifice them on the way?”

Her face jerked. “Yes, I did. And I devoured their souls.”

There she was. “Good to know. The photographer is snapping pictures. Say cheese, love.”

Elara gave him a brilliant happy smile. “Cheese, dickhead.”

He did his best to look the way a groom might if he was actually marrying this creature and imagining getting her out of that gown tonight. “Rabid harpy.”

“Bastard.”

The pastor, a man in his thirties with dark hair and glasses, stared at them, his mouth slack.

“Start the ceremony,” Hugh told him, putting some menace into his voice.

“Before we kill each other,” Elara said.

The pastor cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved…”

Elara turned to Hugh, her face glowing with happiness. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought it was real.

“…in matrimony commended to be honorable…”

Hugh reached deep, looked back at her with the same affection and saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Ha.

“…these two people decided to live their lives as one.”

Perish the thought, he mouthed.

Shut up, she mouthed back with that same dazzling smile.

“If any person knows of a just reason why these two should not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence. Good. Perhaps he would get through this without killing anyone.

“Hugh d’Ambray, do you, with your friends and family as witnesses, present yourself willingly and of your own accord to be joined in marriage?”

“I do.”

“Elara Harper, do you, with your friends and family as witnesses, present yourself willingly and of your own accord to be joined in marriage?”

There was the tiniest pause, then she said, “I do.”

“Hugh, repeat after me. I, Hugh d’Ambray, take you, Elara, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. I promise to love you, comfort you, and cherish you above all others.”

He repeated the words, infusing them with the same sincerity that let him convince people again and again to trust him despite their best judgement.

“With this ring, I give you my heart. From this day forward you will no longer walk alone. I will be your shelter in the storm of life.”

She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. Her eyes widened. That’s right. Surprise was good. She was off balance now.

“Elara, repeat after me…”

He heard her swear to love him. Then he held his hand out and she slid a ring on his finger, a white band with a braid of black and silver running along its length. It suited him. She’d thought about him too. For some odd reason, he liked that.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Hugh stepped toward her. “Try to make this look good.”

“I’ll do my best not to vomit in your mouth.”

Is that so? Okay. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, feeling the silky strands of her hair slip through his fingers, leaned forward, and kissed her. She gasped a little into his mouth, and he kissed her the way he would kiss a woman he was trying to seduce, enticing, promising, claiming her. She tasted fresh and sweet. What do you know? He had expected poison and ash.

People cheered. Elara dug her fingernails into his arm. He nipped her lip on the way out and let her go.

She looked like she would claw him bloody.

He turned toward the crowd, his hand in hers, grinned and waved. She turned with him, smiling like today was the happiest day of her life, and waved. He had to give it to her. The woman could control herself.

Magic flooded them as a magic wave hit. His breath caught in his throat, then power came pouring in.

A woman caught his eye. She stood completely still in the middle of the reception area, away from the crowd. Middle-aged, dishwater blond hair.

He heard the sharp intake of Elara’s breath.

The woman raised a knife with both hands and buried it in her own stomach, twisting the blade. Magic exploded in the middle of the reception area. Hugh couldn’t see it, but he felt the blast. He grabbed his sword out of Stoyan’s hand. By the time the blast of magic flared into a churning knot of darkness, Hugh was already moving.

The crowd surged in the opposite direction. Elara’s people grabbed the children and fled to the back, to the altar. He didn’t need to look to know that behind him the Dogs were breaking into a charge.

The darkness split. A beast spilled out. It towered above the reception, thirty feet tall, a hairy thing of long matted fur, hide, and bone. It hunched over on all fours, its limbs disproportionate and long, almost level with its head as it squatted. Its long skull ended in horse-like jaws holding a forest of crooked fangs. Above the teeth, two small black eyes stared at the world, and above them the fur flared into a dark mane between two wildebeest horns. The stench washed over Hugh, the sour acidic reek of rotting manure. A tikbalang. Not the modern shapeshifter version but the primordial ancient creature from Philippine nightmares.

The tikbalang’s magic drenched Hugh. It wasn’t his own brand of power, or Roland’s orderly manipulation. This was foul and wild, a sucker punch to the lizard brain. Witch magic gone corrupt.

The tikbalang screamed. Eight smaller versions of the beast popped into existence around it, each the size of a small sedan. They saw the fleeing crowd and gave chase.

The first leaped over the table toward Hugh. The wedding cake exploded, and the dark body hurtled toward him. He sidestepped and swung, putting the entire power of his momentum and weight into the swing. The sword cleaved through the tikbalang’s neck. The beast’s head rolled off. Thick red blood gushed from the stump in a torrent, as if the creature were a canteen filled with it. The stench turned his stomach.

Hugh vaulted over the table. Another beast sprinted at him from the side. He sidestepped and carved a gash across the creature’s shoulder as it tore past.

The Dogs charged past him, aiming at the bigger beast.

His smaller tikbalang whipped around and bore down on him. Hugh dodged and sliced a gash across its right legs, severing the tendons.

The massive beast screeched again and slapped a body in black. A woman flew past Hugh. Gina. He snapped his magic, healing her broken ribs before she landed, dodged again, spinning, and buried his blade between the beast’s ribs. He felt the brief resistance as the sword slid into the tough muscle of the creature’s heart, then the muscle released, and he jerked his sword free. Blood splashed him. The tikbalang fell at his feet with a moan.

All around Hugh battle raged. The training kicked in, the way it always did, and the battlefield turned crystal clear. He saw them all, his mind cataloging where every one of his people was on the field.

The Dogs had broken into teams, covering the six remaining beasts. At the far right, Bale was beating one to a pulp with his mace, while his team stabbed it. On the left, Barkowsky clapped his hands together and shot lightning at another creature, while Beth, one of Elara’s women, circled it, a bloody katana in her hand. On the edge, Savannah stood, her hands raised, chanting something under her breath. Thick vines had sprung from the ground under her feet and wound around the nearest beast, keeping it still as his Dogs hacked at it. Stoyan and about thirty Iron Dogs were attacking the largest creature. It bled, drenching the grass, but it didn’t slow down. It was too big and not easily panicked. They couldn’t take it down with one blow, so they would cut it to pieces, methodically and carefully, until it bled out.

Hugh ran at the giant, snapping magic around the field to spot-heal those nearest to him.

The Dogs sliced and ducked, darting close to the beast to land cuts to the legs and arms, and running away. The tikbalang raked the ground with its claws, trying to grab them.

Hugh got there just as the massive monster went in for another pass. The Dogs scattered out of the way. To his left, Sam slipped on the blood. Clawed fingers closed over him. This required precision. Hugh lunged at the hand and sliced at the rough flesh of the furry forearm. The hand fell open, clawed fingers limp. He’d severed the flexors.

The tikbalang screeched.

Sam landed on the ground. Hugh grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him backward, out of the way.

The tikbalang backhanded him. Hugh flew, tucking himself into a ball, and hit the grass. The impact rattled his ribs. Blood from the puddle on the grass splashed on his face. Hugh rolled to his feet.

Four of the remaining six creatures were dead. The reception lawn was a hellish mess of blood and corpses, and when he saw the figure in the white dress, it almost didn’t register. Elara was walking toward the tikbalang. Blood, bright, alarming crimson, drenched the hem of her bridal gown, climbing up the white fabric as it soaked through.

Hugh sprinted to her.

She walked between his people and stopped in front of the massive beast.

The tikbalang dove at her, jaws open.

Magic snapped out of Elara, lashing Hugh’s senses, a focused torrent unlike anything he’d felt before.

The beast tried to abort its attack, but it was too late. Her power touched it. The colossal creature reared, as if hit, swayed, and collapsed on its side, motionless. The two remaining tikbalang dropped dead.

Hugh halted in front of her. Elara turned, her face unreadable, picked up her blood-soaked skirt with her right hand, and waded through the gore out of the battlefield to her tent.

Silence reigned.

Elara ducked into her tent. All around them Elara’s people were staring at the carnage. He saw pain on some of the faces, fear, sadness. He didn’t see surprise.

“Start the cleanup,” Hugh ordered. “Keep whatever we can scavenge from the beast, take blood and tissue samples, burn the solid remains, salt the blood, and hose this mess down. And get us another damn cake. We’ll have the reception at the castle.”

His voice snapped them out of their inaction, and by the time he reached the tent, everyone was moving.

Hugh walked inside. The tent stood empty. A red-stained gown lay on the ground. He caught a hint of movement behind a screen to his right and crossed over to it.

“Were your people hurt?” Elara asked from behind the screen.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed. Want to tell me about this?”

“What do you want to know?” She sounded tired.

“Who did this, why, and will it happen again.”

“The Remaining. They think it’s a real marriage.”

“And?”

“They’re afraid I might have a child.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “They will do everything they can to stop it. So, yes, it will happen again, and when it does, I’ll handle it. We both have baggage. You have Nez and I have them.”

Elara fell silent. Hugh stood by the screen, feeling something he couldn’t quite identify. A new troublesome feeling that pulled on him. He felt an urge to fix things somehow, and it irritated him that he couldn’t. He looked at her bloody dress and that irritated him even more.

A few years ago, he would’ve enjoyed the fight. Something fun to break up a boring ceremony. Right now, he would be celebrating a win, halfway into his first drink with a girl on his lap. Instead he was standing here, feeling whatever the hell he was feeling.

The void carved a path through his bones.

“It was a nice wedding.”

“Was it?” she asked quietly.

“It was.”

He walked out of the tent. She was a fucking harpy, but she just married a man she hated and had to walk through blood and kill instead of cutting the cake at her reception. She needed a few moments of privacy, and he would give them to her. Even he wasn’t that much of a bastard.