Promise the Sky

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Kiara

 

 

 

As soon as I step outside I am hit by sunlight, strong and bright. Martha disappears almost instantly, greeting the friends that wait outside, dancing through the floating confetti. Melissa saunters away not long after, integrating herself easily within a willing circle of groomsmen.

But I do not move. I have found something, something I had almost forgotten, something that I needed, that slowly wakes me up.

Sun on her skin, Kiara, brings her to life.

And as the rain brings my spirits down, there is something about sunlight that lifts me. I am weak, that I can be so easily affected by something small, there is no denying it. But right now, beneath a noontime sky? I do not care. Beneath this sun, I wonder if I have become something different.

I stretch out an arm and relish the way the rays seem to settle on my fingertips, warming my blood, waking bones from stiff slumber. It has been a wet spring this year, it has been a while since last I was content.

"Happy, Kiara, dare we say it?"

I flinch, turning guiltily from my sunning. The movement is greeted by laughter and I discover Jamison, standing too close as usual.

"No, please," he says, "continue. You left in quite a hurry this morning, I was worried."

"Your money's safe." I reply easily as golden pleasure seeps around my shoulders. I sigh, breathing in warmth and fresh life. I sigh, breathing out summer.

"Ah, good that." The cook replies, taking my arm in preparation for the procession, "Because I traded my wife off to some young whippet, just in case you had changed your mind."

I turn over my shoulder, watching Jamison's Harriet tentatively take the bony arm of a blemish-riddled youth. The cook's metaphor is worryingly accurate... but not as worrying as the enthusiastic boy's weight. He is nothing but skin and bone.

"Is she alright over there?" I ask.

"Oh, of course she is!" Jamison replies, ever blasé. "She needs to taste the young blood, every once in a while, to remind her what she's missing."

"You are a cruel man, Jami." I reply. If this is what she is missing, Harriet is certainly missing no looks and, considering his original partner was myself, that boy has  to be pretty low in the pecking order of life as well. I could not imagine many members of Callum's entourage to be too thrilled with my hand, despite my position of honour.

"Come, first maiden." Jamison declares, almost reading my mind. "We have a procession to lead. It is your job to guide the bride to the hall, is it not?" He raises an eyebrow, teasing, knowing there is no way I could have forgotten a single aspect of my duty.

"It is."

We push our way to the front and everybody settles in behind. The guests line the streets, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow; grinning, cheering, throwing petals. I am not nervous. I am used to society's stare. Besides, the sun has set my blood to bubbling and attention is focused on the bride at my back.

The priest waits at the door and as we pass, I avert my eyes. He will not call me an abomination today, but still I will not risk anything . The whole wedding has been moved to the town hall so that he would not have to tolerate my presence in church, it is a volatile truce that we have.