Wren Ashvale's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

The court accepted the plan as true, but Wren's relief did not last. Elderwen warned him that Dax would strike before the wedding. Alora warned him of something else. "You have never seen a fae rite," she said that night. "One wrong word at the shrine, and the lords throw your claim out. Dax would not need to lift a hand." Wren had crossed a border and burned his old life. He would not lose Alora to a ritual he did not understand. Alora took him to the retired rite-keeper. Aldric Venmoor lived alone near the castle in a hut of packed mud. He had married kings and buried them. When Wren knocked, the old fae did not rise. He sat in torn robes, a tarnished medal on his chest, and looked Wren over like spoiled meat. "A human," Aldric said. "You want the shrine rite. You'll ruin it. They always do." He spat into the fire. "Go home, messenger." Wren did not move. "Teach me anyway. If I fail, that is my shame, not yours." The old fae studied him. Then he grunted and pointed at the floor. Wren sat. For three days Aldric drilled him. The rite happened at the silver-root shrine, and nowhere else. The groom entered first, from the east. He spoke the binding words in the old tongue. He offered a living gift at the altar, then set it free. If the gift died in his hands, the match died with it. "Say the words," Aldric snapped. Wren said them. "Wrong. You asked to own her. You must ask to walk beside her." Wren said them again. His tongue caught on the hard sounds. Alora sat in the corner, silent, her hand pressed flat to her hollow chest. She watched him fail and try and fail. On the third night Wren said every word clean. Aldric said nothing for a long moment. "The gift," the old fae said. "What will you bring?" Wren had thought of this. He set the little cart on the floor. Inside its silver cage sat a songbird, bright and alive, the same gift he had once offered the court to win the right to court Alora. Its wings brushed the bars. "You keep it caged," Aldric said. "The rite says free it." "I will," Wren said. "At the altar. That is the whole point." Aldric leaned back. For the first time, the sneer left his face. "You listened," he said, surprised. "Most of your kind never do." He touched the medal at his chest. "I will stand at the shrine and speak for you. My word still carries there." Alora's breath caught. She reached out and gripped Wren's hand hard. Wren had the rite now, and a rite-keeper to vouch for him. His claim would hold at the shrine. But Aldric's face had gone grim. "The rite is safe," he said. "The road to it is not. Dax knows the wedding day now. He will meet you before you ever reach those roots."