Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(28)

Six.

The Archbishop cleared his throat. “Let us begin.” He turned to me. “Will thou, Reid Florin Diggory, have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

My vision narrowed to a speck of white amidst the pigeons—a dove. My head spun. They all stared at me, waiting for me to speak, but my throat constricted. Choking me.

I couldn’t marry this woman. I couldn’t. Once acknowledged, the thought latched deep, sinking its claws into every fiber of my being. There had to be another way—any other way—

Small, warm fingers squeezed my own. My eyes darted up and met piercing blue-green. No—more blue than green now. Steely. Reflecting the iron water of the Doleur behind her. She swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly.

In that brief movement, I understood. The doubt, the hesitation, the mourning of a future I’d never have—it belonged to her as well. Gone was the spitting hellcat. Now, there was only a woman. And she was small. And she was frightened. And she was strong.

And she was asking me to be the same.

I didn’t know why I did it. She was a thief, a criminal, and I owed her nothing. She’d ruined my life when she dragged me on that stage. If I agreed, I was certain she’d do her best to continue doing so.

But I returned the pressure anyway. Felt the two small words rise to my lips, unbidden. “I will.”

The Archbishop turned to her. I maintained the pressure between our hands, careful of her broken fingers. “What’s your name?” he asked abruptly. “Your full name?”

“Louise Margaux Larue.”

I frowned. Larue. It was a common enough surname among the criminals in East End, but usually a pseudonym. It literally meant the streets.

“Larue?” The Archbishop eyed her suspiciously, echoing my own doubts. “You should know if this name proves false, your marriage to Captain Diggory will be annulled. I need not remind you of your fate should this happen.”

“I know the law.”

“Fine.” He waved a hand. “Will thou, Louise Margaux Larue, have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

I could see the snort rising to her face, but she resisted, kicking a clump of sand at the birds instead. They scattered with cries of alarm. A lump rose in my throat as the dove took flight.

“I will.”

The Archbishop continued without pausing. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” He paused, and every muscle in my body tensed, waiting for the next line. As if reading my thoughts, he cast me a scathing look. My cheeks flamed once more.

“For as the Lord God says”—he clasped his hands and bowed his head—“‘two are better than one . . . For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him up. And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him. A threefold cord is not quickly broken.’”

He straightened with a grim smile. “It is done. What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. We shall sign the certificate of marriage upon our return, and the matter shall be settled.”

He moved toward the waiting carriage but stopped short, turning to scowl at me. “Of course, the marriage must be consummated to be legally binding.”

She stiffened beside me, staring resolutely at the Archbishop—her mouth tight, her eyes tense. Heat washed over me. Hotter and fiercer than before. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

He nodded, satisfied, and stepped into the carriage. Jean Luc climbed in after him, winking. If possible, my humiliation fanned and spread.

“Good.” The Archbishop snapped the carriage door shut. “See that it’s executed quickly. A witness shall visit your room later to confirm.”

My stomach plummeted as he disappeared down the street.





Part II


Petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid.

Little by little, the bird makes its nest.

—French proverb





Consummation


Lou


Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine rose up before me, a sinister specter of spires and towers and flying buttresses. Jewel-toned windows leered in the sunlight. Rosewood doors—carved and embedded in white stone—gaped open as we climbed the steps, and a handful of Chasseurs spilled out.

“Behave yourself,” my new husband muttered. I smirked but said nothing.

A Chasseur stopped in front of me. “Identification.”

“Er—”

My husband dipped his head stiffly. “This is my wife, Louise.”

I stared at him, amazed the words had managed to escape through his clenched teeth. As usual, he ignored me.

The Chasseur in front of me blinked. Blinked again. “Your—your wife, Captain Diggory?”

He offered a barely perceptible nod, and I truly feared for his poor teeth. They’d surely chip if he kept gnashing them together. “Yes.”