Look Beyond What You See

“Oh, Aerys,” Juniper sighs dreamily as she drops my veil into place. It’s the big day, the day my life changes forever, the day I exchange my family name for the name of a family I did not know existed a year ago.

The day that, if everything goes according to plan, changes everything for my grandmother, as well.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, and it has very little to do with the wedding. I couldn’t care less how I look right now. I’m more worried about tonight, and dealing with Xenia de Poitiers, and how this will affect the war.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Juniper continues, trying to shake me out of my reverie. Kyla, Malina, and Torcuil’s sisters stand nearby, voicing their agreement while making the last minute adjustments to their own dresses. Kyla comes up to me with tears in her eyes and crushes me in a hug.

“I’m so glad I get to be here to see this,” she whispers in my ear.

“I wish I could have been present for yours, to return the favour.” Maybe I’ll get to do it the second time around, if everything goes according to plan.

“Don’t worry about that now. Today is your day.” I smile at her, trying to act like this makes sense to me. But really, nothing has ever been all about me. This is as much Dmitri’s day as it is mine, and really, more than anyone else’s, this is Xenia de Poitiers’s day. After all, she arranged the whole thing, even my very existence. This arranged marriage is perhaps her greatest triumph. A pity it has been undertaken with such haste to foil her other plans. I dare not say that she won’t see it. Although we did not invite her, I am certain that she has her own ways of seeing with more than just her eyes; if she wants to be present, she will be, no matter what anyone says or does.

“All right, ladies. It’s time,” Juniper announces. We’ve been getting ready in a special room next to the chapel, which is quite large for a family chapel and actually holds all of our guests comfortably. All that’s left to do is to go out the door and await the music that will accompany our trek down the aisle, which has been transformed into a glorious fabric river with fresh foliage and fiery flowers along its banks.

Juniper opens the door and gasps as though she has seen a ghost. I rush to her side as quickly as I can without damaging my dress. A shocking chill runs through me. Xenia de Poitiers herself stands outside the door.

“Glad to see that you are complying with my wishes, Granddaughter,” she says in an icy, calculating tone. “I hope this portends that you and your family have seen the wisdom in complying with my other wishes, as well.”

“Welcome, Grandmother,” I greet her with a curtsey. Kyla, Malina, and Torcuil’s sisters follow suit. “Perhaps this is a better topic for discussion after the ceremony, when we can speak with Dmitri and his parents, as well?”

“As you wish. Is there any particular reason why you did not see fit to invite your grandfather and me to this most sacred event?”

“Only that I thought you would be far too engrossed in your preparations for the war at hand to bother with ceremonial doings of any sort. Forgive me for my wrongful assumption. I truly did think to have your best interests at heart.” I hate this evil creature more than ever at this moment, but I hide it well beneath a veneer of submissive repentance as she eyes me sceptically, trying to determine whether or not I speak truthfully. I do not believe she will do anything terrible to me, not now. I’m still too important to her schemes, and the wedding has not happened yet. Behind me, I know Kyla is frightened beyond all measure and trying desperately to hide it, perhaps supported by the more fearless twins; Malina will be trying to reassure Juniper, who is no doubt white with fear and trembling violently.

“Next time, perhaps you should ask, instead of assuming. But no matter. We are both here now, and we are very happy for you on your special day. Congratulations on your good fortune.” Her smile is cold and malicious. She believes there is no ‘good fortune’ about this, only her own scheming. If Dmitri and I did not (love) care deeply for each other, she would be right.

“You are most gracious, Grandmother.” The words taste like poison but sound like treacle. “Please, go into the chapel and take a seat. I believe that the ceremony is about to start, and I would hate for you to miss any of it, now that you are here.”

To my surprise, she does as I have requested without comment or delay. The room breathes a collective sigh of relief. Next door, in the chapel that Xenia de Poitiers has just entered, I can feel negative tension where anticipation had been mere moments before. Please, everyone, hold it together. This isn’t what we wanted, but reacting poorly can only lead to misfortune for everyone.

The music we’ve been waiting for begins. Kyla pulls herself together in moments, the way only she can, and begins the procession into the chapel. Malina glances at me meaningfully before she follows Kyla and I shoot her a bright smile: The show must go on. Fortunately, she understands me and knows the role to take.

“Is there anything we can do to help you?” one of the MacKenna twins asks in a rapid whisper.

“We know you don’t want that witch here, and no one likes her,” the other adds. “We’d be happy to help you get rid of her.”

My mind flashes to the genealogy book in the library about our family. I read a little about her and Grandfather late last night. I know why she keeps him around now. She hasn’t any choice in the matter.

“There’s only one way to do that, from what I understand. So long as she makes no trouble during the ceremony, there will be no need for your intervention. But if there is trouble, target her husband first,” I instruct them in a voice like a breeze in the rushes by a river. The twins seem confused but nod and continue the bridal procession.

Now it is my turn. My father is not here to walk me down the aisle. There is no need for me to be given away at this juncture, anyway. That was already done at the betrothal ceremony, whenever that was and whatever it looked like. So today I make my grand entrance unaccompanied. I give myself into Dmitri’s arms, his family, and everything that comes with them.

I step into the chapel, into the river. The only sounds come from the orchestra and the crackling of flames in my fiancé’s eyes, burning only for me. I walk noiselessly on the water. I feel all eyes on me, but the only ones that matter are the ones straight ahead, the ones belonging to the man to whom I am giving myself.

The trip to the altar seems to take no time at all. Dmitri’s hand finds mine and we face the priest. It seems for the time being that only we three exist in the whole world, at least until the priest begins to speak.

“Mawwiage,” he begins, and a collective suppressed chuckle can be heard from the audience. “Mawwiage is the weason we awe gavewed hewe today....”

We chose him because his theological standings most closely align with ours, not because he is an excellent public speaker.

His words blend together, a description of marriage and all that it entails, the symbol of the rings (which are brought forth by a nephew of Nadezhda’s), and so on. We opted to say the traditional vows, because it is an arranged marriage and we wouldn’t want to give anyone (i.e., Xenia de Poitiers) the idea that we might actually (love) care deeply about each other. This ceremony is really just for show. It doesn’t put a label on our actual relationship and how we actually feel about each other.

“Now, if anyone has any objections to the sacwed, howy union of dese two souls, speak now owuh fowevew howd youw peace,” the priest intones, finally.

“I OBJECT!” a man shouts from the audience. I turn rapidly, unable to believe such folly, with Xenia de Poitiers present in the chapel.

“I cannot believe that you, as a man of God, would consent to the union of a demon of his caliber with any of God’s children, no matter how wayward,” Weston, the objector, continues, directing his scornful words and glance in the priest’s direction. “If no one else will stop this unholy, sinful glorification of evil--”

“Weston!” Kyla chides, stepping out of her place at the front of the chapel to go silence him.

“--I take it upon myself to do so.” Is that a gun?

CRACK!

The shot echoes through the chapel. I put up a water shield as quickly as I can. Then I hit the floor, shoved by hot hands, and a sickening thud of metal entering flesh followed by a groan of pain meet my ears soon after.

“DMITRI!” I cry, on my feet just in time to help ease his fall. Blood defaces the front of his tuxedo. He’s been hit, in spite of my shield. It wasn’t enough. Acionna, where are you?

“Here, my child, but I will not reveal myself now. There may be greater need later. You have the power to fix even this. Look beyond what you see,” the goddess’ voice echoes in my head. Torcuil is beside Dmitri and me now.

“We ’ave t’get the bullet out before it melts from ’is body heat. The lead will poison ’is blood if we don’t, and then we ’ave little hope of saving ’im,” he informs me tersely.

“How DARE you interfere with my plans?” Xenia de Poitiers demands, turning to Weston with fury. Purple clouds have begun to swirl in the chapel’s ceiling. I ignore them. How do I get the bullet out? Look beyond what you see. Blood is liquid, water-based. Can I, maybe...? Worth a try.

“Why did you do that? You didn’t have to do that,” I ask Dmitri as I focus on the blood in his chest, hoping to move the liquid part and use it to push the bullet out. His eyes open and meet mine, stunning me with the intensity of his emotion.

“I couldn’t let that lunatic hurt you,” he breathes laboriously.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry the shield wasn’t enough--”

“Shhhh. Don’t talk like that.” He coughs, grimacing from the pain. The cough makes a difference in my efforts. The bullet shifted a little, enough for me to find it with the liquid inside him I’m manipulating.

“What do you mean, interfere with your plans? What is it to you?” Weston demands boldly. “Unless, of course, you are another intractable sinner who sees nothing wrong in the union of demons with humans--”

“Ignorant fool!” Xenia thunders. “Do you not know who I am?”

“My wife’s grandmother, which I believe no small shame to my family, given your atrocious reputation. I’ve heard horrible things about you and your wretched lout of a husband, but no power of the devil shall prevail against the power of my God, and so I have nothing to fear from you--”

“Enough,” Xenia interrupts, her voice like a double-edged sword. Weston falls silent, frozen by Xenia’s magic.

The bullet pops out of Dmitri’s chest, propelled by a small stream of clearish fluid. I catch it and drop it on the ground, out of the way. Now, what can I do to fix this? Manipulating fluids won’t heal the wound. But something from that sorcery book might. Didn’t I read something recently...?

“Wound acquired for the sake of another/Caused by the hands of wrong intent/Be thou mended, let him full recover/To live the life for which he was meant,” I murmur, pressing my right hand to Dmitri’s injury. He gasps as his flesh begins to mend itself beneath my fingers. I forgot to put in something about the pain. I dare not say anything else. It might mess things up.

“Go to blazes!” Torcuil whispers, unable to believe what he’s seeing. I can’t believe it, either.

“Did you not think that if I arranged your marriage to Aerys’s sister, I might arrange other marriages for others in your wife’s family? You are a fool, a violator of my supreme will, and a hypocrite, besides. Your rash behaviour merits a punishment fitting to a cold, overzealous soul such as yours,” Xenia continues. Kyla, white with fear and frozen with indecision since the shot was fired, now crumples to the floor, her face in her hands. She has given her husband up for lost, with good reason. Malina goes to comfort Kyla. The MacKenna twins stand resolute, no doubt waiting for an ideal time to follow through on what we discussed outside the chapel.

“I have just the thing,” the wicked sorceress announces after a long pause for effect. Her voice takes on the same spooky tone she used when pronouncing Yekaterina’s curse. “For souls to save had you zeal and pride;/now lust for blood shall be what satisfies/Holiness now for damnation exchange/Between life and death, soul forever estranged./No longer bound by matrimony;/your blameless wife is now set free/But you shall roam forever alone/Til from unsated blood-thirst you turn to stone.”

SNAP!

The necklaces around Kyla’s and Weston’s necks shatter into pieces and fall to floor, trailing purple smoke before

SNAP!

vanishing entirely. Simultaneously, Weston lets out an unearthly shriek. I glance up just in time to see a ghostly, outraged shadow-figure of Weston being dragged out of his body by tongues of angry purple cloud. The shadow-figure is swept up into the swarm of purple clouds still congregated on the ceiling. Weston’s body remains upright, however, and animate, although ghastly pale. His face seems to have changed, somewhat, and it’s not until he bares his teeth and hisses at Xenia that I realise he has fangs. She changed him into a vampire? Fitting, indeed.

“Stop that. You are a servant of darkness now, and therefore must do as I tell you,” Xenia orders him. His features obediently drop into sullenness; his eyes reveal that he wants nothing more than to rip her throat out, but it seems that he is powerless to do so.

“How did you do that?” Dmitri asks me, recalling my attention to him. Beneath my right hand, his chest is as though it was never pierced by a bullet. His eyes are filled with wonder, admiration, and something more. I shake my head and fling my arms around him.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re okay,” I reply. “Does anything still hurt?”

“Just my brain, trying to figure out how your magic works.”

I smile. “We’ll worry about that later. More important things to worry about now.” Now that I’m sure he’s all right, I dart to Kyla’s side and just hold her while she cries from shock and loss.

“I suppose I ought not let you stay here, with all of the warm, blood-filled bodies in this room. It will take you some time to get control over your bloodlust,” Xenia muses, staring at Weston, who is literally twitching from his inability to cause the sorceress any kind of harm. She snaps her fingers, and Weston disappears. “Chicago ought to be a lovely location for you to cause chaos in. Now, as for you all of the Berkeley and Saltikov clans.... You have seen a small sampling of what I can do. You know, no doubt, that I desire you to fight on my side in the war at hand. I demand to know now whether or not you will choose to comply with my wishes.”

No one says anything. The room is unbearably still. We are all still, on some level, trying to figure out everything that has just happened.

Then another scream echoes through the room, this one more croaky and aged but just as agonized. Grandfather? Flames have completely engulfed the chair next to Xenia’s empty one. Within the flames, I can make out a dark, humanoid shape writhing in agony. A glance at the MacKenna sisters earns me a simultaneous wink from the redheaded pair. Thank you.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Xenia shrieks. “WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!” Although she is not on fire, her skin is blackening and peeling and charring as though she is. The clouds on the ceiling begin to melt into nothingness. Acionna steps out of the shadows at the back of the room and points at the flaming chair. A ring-shaped rainstorm forms, its rainless centre conveniently centred over the chair once occupied by my grandfather. She has effectively created a sort of moat to prevent anyone or anything else from catching fire.

Fortunately, the agonized shrieking and smell of burning flesh only fill the room for a few minutes. The MacKenna sisters know their business and kept the flames unusually hot. Soon nothing remains of either of the hated de Poitiers but two small piles of ash, which Nadezhda sweeps out an open window with a gust of wind.

With that, my necklace begins to shudder violently. A few moments later, it falls from my neck, vaporising before it hits the ground.

***~O~***