Orin Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Marina reached for the ring box. Orin watched her fingers trace the edge of the wood, then lift the lid. The star diamond sat in white velvet, catching morning light the way it had for three days in his pocket. But Marina wasn't looking at the ring. Her hand moved to the inside of the lid where he'd pressed a folded square of paper. He'd forgotten about that. Or maybe he'd tried to forget. She unfolded it and read aloud. "Witnessed at the stone cottage with the red dragon roof, under full moon, seventh day of spring." She looked up at him. "You already scheduled it." Not a question. Her voice was level, but he heard the edge underneath. "You were so worried I wouldn't understand what I was agreeing to, but you already picked the date and the place." Orin felt his stomach drop. "I wanted to be ready," he said. "I wasn't going to use it unless you—" But the words sounded hollow even to him. He'd walked to that cottage three times. Spoken to the keeper. Put down a deposit on a ceremony he hadn't asked her about yet. "You're right. That was dishonest." Marina set the paper on the table between them. She lifted the ring from the box — the swamp ring with its spirals of color that seemed to move in the light — and held it up. "My grandmother wore one of these," she said quietly. "She told me once that the ceremony doesn't break when you die. It pulls you back together, whether you want it or not. Forever is the easy part. It's the no choice after that scares people." She looked at him. "I already know what I'm agreeing to, Orin. The question is whether you trust me to mean it." Orin took the ring from her hand and set it back in the box. He pulled out the folded paper, the one with the date and cottage name, and tore it in half. "Then we start over," he said. "No date until you ask for one. No ceremony until you tell me you want it." Marina picked up one half of the torn paper and smoothed it flat against the table. She didn't smile, but something in her face softened. The shift between them was small but permanent. He'd let go of control. She'd claimed her part of the choice.