Winter's Bride - Candace Wondrak Page 0,5
other villages around us were faring when he got word.
Everyone quieted, those who shuffled their feet and fidgeted their fingers stopped; the mayor was not alone on the platform.
Another man stood beside him. Wearing silver armor, a long cloak fixed to his shoulder plates, you could only tell he was a man based on the way he walked and how he stood. His head was completely covered with a silver helmet, nothing but shadows where his eyes gazed out at us, judging, mentally choosing which one he would drag back with him to the castle that was nothing more than a spiky mirage in the distance from here.
The mayor appeared uncomfortable, and he ran a hand along his beard, clearing his throat before he spoke, and even though we should all listen to what he was saying, I was fairly certain every single set of eyes rested on the messenger. The stranger was almost ethereal, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Winter himself was like that, too.
I supposed he would be, since he was, you know, Winter.
“Thank you all for coming in a timely manner,” the mayor spoke, taking a moment to glance at the man standing beside him. Though he was just a man in a shiny steel suit, he put all of us to shame. “Winter’s messenger has chosen our fine and fair village to choose a bride for Winter. I understand this might shock some of you, for even I never anticipated being witness to a tradition as ancient as this.” He smiled beneath his beard, but his jubilance was fake. It was all fake. He just wanted the messenger out of here; we all did.
But, in order for that to happen, he would have to choose someone to take with him. One of us.
“Now,” the mayor went on, “would all the young maidens please step forward from their families?”
No one wanted to, but we had no choice. One by one, every girl stepped out from the shrouds of their families. The other town members, the ones who had nothing to lose in this little choosing ceremony, had gathered on the outskirts of the marketplace, watching in silence, waiting to see which one of us would be chosen to leave this village behind and be given a new life.
At least for twenty-five years. We must age too much for Winter, who must be immortal, so after twenty-five years he tosses us aside in favor of youth. I guess I couldn’t blame Winter for that; if I was an immortal, why would I wish to stare at an old, wrinkling face?
I glanced at the other girls, all done up in their best. No one looked particularly eager for this choosing; no one wanted to marry Winter, to go off and leave their families, never to return, toward a life they couldn’t imagine.
I did wonder what it would be like, to be chosen. Sure, being the eccentric old lady at the edge of town was a promising future for me, but to see the castle up close instead of having it merely be a mirage in the distance… to meet Winter himself—it must be something out of a dream.
Out of all of the girls here, I was the oldest. They ranged from fifteen and up, and I spotted Sorsha standing with her family a way down. She and Ember were busy trying not to stare at each other. As the messenger in silver armor stepped down off the platform to get a better look at us, I did my best not to roll my eyes. Could my sister be any more obvious? It was a wonder my parents hadn’t discovered their little affair already.
Honestly, I assumed the messenger would choose one of the younger girls. Winter would get a few more young years out of them. I wasn’t worried about myself.
The man in armor took his time in sizing us up. He went from girl to girl, pausing as he circled us like a vulture. When he got to Ember, I felt my back straighten. I watched him study her, and though I could not tell what his face looked like, I knew he lingered a bit too long on her.
The man lifted an armored hand, taking a step back from Ember and pointing at her, saying in a low voice, “You. You will become Winter’s bride.”
The other girls appeared relieved, all of them but Sorsha. And Ember, of course. And me, because seeing my sister go off