I feel like a stranger at my own celebration. Ironic, given that every gaze is fixed on me. The golden dress and the dozens of ornaments make me feel less like a person than a carefully crafted jewel… a decoration. A trophy.
In a last desperate attempt to preserve our dignity, my father covered me in the family jewels—treasures from an age long gone, long before the discord.
This year has been particularly cruel. The caravan is almost eleven months overdue. I was very young when I last saw it, but I remember the event as sacred, joyous, almost miraculous. I understand why its return stirs such anticipation.
No longer able to pay to ward off the creatures, my father surrendered more and more land to the mercenaries. That is what led me here.
I glance at my new husband. He roars with laughter as he drinks, his eyes fixed on the dancers. Stocky, but terrifying. One of my maids told me he is twenty years my senior, infamous for his violence and his lust. Born into a low caste, he rose by hoarding land and military might until he became a warlord neither my father nor his soldiers could resist.
I sip fruit wine, trying to conceal my face behind the glass, and search for my father among the crowd. I find him speaking with a representative of the caravan. For him, having my wedding coincide with its arrival was crucial—a gesture of faith and reverence. He even swore that my firstborn son would bear the name of one of the ancient gods, warriors, or prophets.
The city must be overflowing with newcomers, eager to trade and rest. The bazaar must be a spectacle tonight. Tomorrow the rite will take place in the central square. I wish I could be there.
A sigh escapes me before I can stop it. Karak notices and fixes me with a fierce look."Something troubles you? Perhaps I should order more food and wine.""No, it's nothing. I just… I can't find my father." He has not spoken a single word of joy this evening."Those caravan fools pushed him aside the moment they arrived. No doubt they'll demand a generous tribute of supplies. If only they knew how many died because of their delay… many of my brothers among them," he growls, chewing with vulgar abandon.
And yet he is not wrong. Even the palace was not spared the sudden transformations. Servants, soldiers—even livestock—turned into terrifying creatures. Those were months of horror, when I could not know whether I would become a monster myself, or whether someone beside me would slaughter everyone in the room. My father even sacrificed my cat, fearing it would turn into a Fallen.
Karak notices my frown and goes on:"With their relic in the city, we should be safe. But it rankles me that they look down on us, as though doing us a favour. They call themselves devout, say they serve the world or the goddess of fortune… yet I saw no joy among them. Many looked like beggars."
I let his words pass. All I care about is the hope of sleeping peacefully for another ten years. The misfortune is that now I must do so beside a stranger.
Suddenly, my father steps into the central courtyard, flanked by two figures: a tall, stooped Ash Priest, and a striking man with sharp eyes. He wears a fitted tunic and a cloak reminiscent of wealthy merchants.
The dance halts. The three stop beside the marble fountain. My father raises his voice:"Tonight, my beloved daughter Tamara becomes a woman, joining her soul with Karak, the great warrior of the plains. May the goddess of fortune wager on her happiness!"
The courtyard erupts in cheers. My father leans close and whispers in my ear:"Tonight, stay near Amir. Do not leave his side.""Amir? Why mention my guard, and not my husband? This is supposed to be our wedding night."
Before I can dwell on his words, Karak raises his cup, then follows my father and the two strangers into one of the palace halls.
I am swept up by friends offering compliments and congratulations. Amir materialises at my side and says with mockery,"That golden dress could be seen for miles. For a moment I mistook you for a statue."
After hours of forced revelry, Amir escorts me to the bedchamber. At last, I resign myself to my fate. I begin to clean up and prepare. But when I enter, I do not find Karak… but my Aunt Elia.
She is no longer in the formal attire she wore for the wedding. Instead, she wears a hood and a simple, earth-coloured dress like a peasant woman. A dagger hangs at her waist."We don't have much time, Tamara. Change," she orders, tossing clothes onto the bed.
"Aunt… I know you wish to rescue me from an unhappy marriage with Karak, but this was my father's will. Only I can bear it. Even if I am of low caste, the people need an army to defend them," I say, fighting back tears, touched by her courage.
But her reply chills me:
"I'm not here to rescue you from Karak. In fact, you should be grateful—he fought alongside your father today.""Today?" I ask, bewildered.
Amir, who had been watching from the doorway, slams it shut."It's almost time. Explanations will come later. For now—change."
Once dressed, I follow Amir and my aunt to the stables. Only hours ago the palace brimmed with revelry; now it lies silent, heavy with gloom. The air itself feels oppressive.
A sudden explosion echoes in the distance, followed by the guttural roars of monsters."That's impossible… they shouldn't appear while the relic is in the city," I whisper, panic rising in my voice."They're not fully born yet," Amir replies, his grim smile belying the desperation in his eyes.
My aunt kneels and pulls open a concealed trapdoor in the stable floor. We descend into a pitch-black cellar. Amir strikes flint to torch and, as the flame takes, murmurs a prayer:"Protect us with your warmth."
A plea to the god of fire.
With the torch held high, he leads us into the waiting passageway.