Duskfall Read Free Page A

of fresh bread and cinnamon, smells that reminded her of her mother. Silly, that anything should remind her of a woman she had never known, but it was true all the same.
    The gifts Winter received were plain, but meaningful. A traditional tiellan
siara
of beautiful white wool, a small woodcarving of a man and woman standing close together, a black-stone necklace to bring out her dark eyes, and a swaddling cloth that made her cringe at the thought of having a child.
    Then, too soon, a knock came at the door. Three Cantic disciples in red and white robes stood outside. The women—humans, all three—made Winter nervous. Humans always did, though she tried to hide it. Winter looked down at her dress, coarse brown wool that covered her from to wrists to ankles, and the grey
siara
she wore, a long loop of fabric wrapped in folds around her neck and shoulders. A stark contrast to the sleeker, form-fitting dresses and exposed necklines of the human women before her.
    Winter felt a stab of disappointment that there were only three. Cantic tradition called for nine disciples of the Denomination to escort new brides to their Washing; nine to represent the original disciples of Canta. Winter wasn’t sure if there were only three because the town population had decreased so dramatically, or because she was tiellan and the disciples didn’t think she merited a full escort. Her disappointment surprised Winter. It was a detail she had never thought would mean much to her.
    She felt a sudden surge of panic, a great weight locked away within her chest threatening to break free. This wasn’t what she wanted.
    Then the feeling passed. She would do what was required.
    Winter said her goodbyes to her friends, the last time she would see them as Danica Winter Cordier, daughter of Bahc the fisherman. Whether she wanted it or not, change was coming.
    * * *
    “Can it be? My little girl is really getting married?”
    Winter smiled as her father walked into the Maiden’s Room. Fathers were the only males allowed in the area, and only right before the ceremony. Winter was alone; the three disciples had left to prepare the chapel.
    Despite her misgivings, Winter adored how handsome her father looked. He wore his only formal suit: loose, faded gray trousers and dark-blue overcoat in the old fashion. So different than his normal furs and wool—his fisherman’s clothing.
    “Hi, Papa.”
    She felt his arms around her, his tanned, smooth cheek against hers.
    They separated, and she let him look at her. Her raven-dark hair was tied with a bow behind her head, and the disciples had seen fit to place the black-stone necklace she had received around her neck, matching the deep blackness of her eyes.
    Winter had changed into a red dress, the only article of clothing her father had kept of her mother’s. It was simple dyed wool, but the fabric was fine and cascaded over Winter’s thin frame elegantly. The sleeves reached her wrists and the fabric covered her neck, but this dress actually fit her, hugging her hips and chest tightly. It was technically within tiellan standards, but at the same time whispered subversion. Winter imagined her mother wearing it years ago, and the outrage it must have caused the tiellan elders and matriarchs. The thought made her smile.
    She waited for her father to speak, wondering if he would. Her father was never much for words.
    “Your eyes are your mother’s,” he finally managed. “Dark as the sea at midnight.”
    She smiled, trying to keep the sadness from her face. “So you’ve told me, once or twice before.”
    “She would be proud of you, Winter.”
    Would she?
From what her father had told her, her mother had always been an independent woman. Winter wasn’t sure her mother would approve of her daughter giving up so easily.
    “I hope so.”
    Her father sighed, and waved a hand. “Bah. Enough, Winter. I know you’re not happy about this. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”
    Winter stared at her father.