Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

right. How odd, she thought, to see yourself through someone else’s view and discover a stranger.
    “You fight to have no bonds to anyone,” he continued, an odd hesitation in his rough voice. “You don’t even come to visit your family because you fear the pain of those ties. But you would tie yourself to me anyway. Because you love me.”
    She felt stripped naked and bewildered. “Yes,” she said, when he seemed to be waiting for some response.
    “If you wish to marry me,” he said, “I am most honored.”
    Tilda cleared her throat awkwardly. “Uhm. I’m not actually certain that I can marry someone to a wolf.”
    Aralorn gathered her tattered defenses together and managed a grin. “I agree. Wolf?”
    Wolf could no more have resisted putting on a show for the priestess than a child could resist a sweet.
    Black mist swirled up to engulf him until he was merely a darker shadow in the blackness. Gradually, the mist rose to the height of a man before falling away to reveal Wolf’s human shape, complete with his usual silver mask.
    Aralorn turned to Tilda, who had recovered from her initial surprise, and indicated Wolf. “May I introduce you to Cain, son of Geoffrey ae’Magi. But I call him Wolf, for obvious reasons.”
    “Cain the Black,” whispered Tilda, horrified. She drew a sign in the air that glowed silver and green.
    Wolf shook his head in disgust. “You can hardly think, whatever tales you have heard, that I would attack a priestess in her own temple. Not the brightest of moves.”
    “Don’t mind him,” offered Aralorn. “He always responds to other people’s fear this way—not that the fear is always unwarranted, mind you, but, generally speaking, he’s harmless enough.”
    “You want me to wed you to Cain the Black?” asked Tilda, sounding like she’d had one too many shocks.
    “Look,” said Aralorn, stifling her impatience. “I’m not asking you to marry him. Do this for me . . . ask the goddess what She thinks of Wolf . . . Cain. Then decide what you would do.”
    Tilda spared Wolf another wary glance. “I’ll do that. Wait a moment.”
    She sat on the middle stair and bowed her head—without removing the sign she’d drawn. It hung in the air, powered by human magic rather than anything of the goddess’s. Tilda was mageborn. Aralorn wondered if she should add the priestess’s name to the list of mages Kisrah had requested.
    “You’ve taken quite a risk,” murmured Wolf in a voice that went no farther than Aralorn’s ears. “What if the goddess decides I am so tainted by my early deeds that I should die to pay for them?”
    Aralorn shook her head, not bothering to lower her voice. “I know my stories. The goddess has always had a weakness for rogues and reprobates—just like me.”
    “You’re right,” agreed Tilda quietly, visibly calmer. Her sign faded quickly, without a motion on Tilda’s part. “She likes you—very much. If you would like to stand before me, the goddess of death will bind you tighter than the threads of life.”
    “Take off the mask, please,” Aralorn asked him.
    He slanted a glance at the priestess and flicked his fingers toward his face. The mask disappeared and left his face bare of scars. Aralorn touched his cheek.
    The priestess stood on the middle step, and Wolf took Aralorn’s hand formally on his forearm. They faced Tilda together: Aralorn in her riding leathers, doubtless, she thought, smelling of horses; Wolf in his customary sartorial splendor, not a hair out of place.
    “Who stands before me?” asked Tilda formally.
    “Wolf of Sianim, who once was Cain ae’Magison.”
    “Aralorn of Sianim, once of Lambshold.”
    “To what purpose would you come?”
    “To wed.” They answered together.
    “For all things to come, either good or evil? Desiring no other mate?”
    “Yes,” said Wolf.
    “Yes,” agreed Aralorn.
    Tilda took out a small copper knife and pricked her thumb so that a drop of blood formed. She pressed it to the hollow of Aralorn’s throat, then to Wolf’s.
    “Life to life entwined as the goddess wills, so be it. Kiss now, and by this shall the deed be sealed.”
    Wolf bent and touched his lips to Aralorn’s.
    “Done!” The priestess’s word rang with a power that had nothing to do with magic.
    “It shall be recorded,” said Tilda, “that Wolf of Sianim married Aralorn of Sianim on this date before Tilda, priestess of Ridane.”
    “Thank you.” Wolf bowed his head.
    From her perch on the