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In a very romantic rainstorm that hadn’t let up for hours.
And I made her look like an angel.
Great.
“I see you’re catching up.” Bishop laughed to himself. “Now you understand why you need my help.” He motioned for me to come closer. “Let’s crack on. We have two others that you won’t need because they are passed between soldiers. The Imbuement of Mortal Courage.” Bishop made a fist and crossed it against his chest as he dropped to his knee. Head tilted toward the floor, he said, “And the Conjuration of Divine Fury, but,” his head tilted back up, one eye squinted, “it requires a sword and cleric, and I’m afraid I’m out of both.”
He had to be kidding, and yet, his expression remained serious which was unusual for him. He rose to his feet again, rubbing his palm over his mouth. “The Dishonor of the Arcane is completed by crossing both wrists at the heart center,” he made an X with his arms over his heart, “and then breaking them apart with force and fury, as though to dispel evil spirits on behalf of the ones you love.”
“And that’s common around here?” I asked slowly, unable to hide my skepticism.
“Evil spirits, sure, but usually they’re merely members of the royal court, not demons, and last I checked, this doesn’t work on mortals, so it’s more for ceremony than reality.” He grinned. “As a child, I was determined my uncle, the king, was possessed so I trailed after him for an entire summer repeating the motion over and over to no avail.”
“Why would you do that?” I tried to imagine a small child running after the king trying to cast out evil spirits, but it only left me laughing at the thought. To anyone who knew ASL, he would have looked like he was signing love over and over again. Though, perhaps with a little more force than normal.
“He was acting… strangely. Erratic. A bit like he is now, I suppose.” Bishop became lost in thought. “I’ve wanted to find a reason for his behavior, his sickness. I guess I’m still that child who refuses to believe the king could become ill.” Bishop shook off his somber mood. “The Consecration of Light is bestowed on new mothers by their grandmothers by touching her fingers to her forehead and then swiping them in an arc over her granddaughter’s forehead and then mouth, creating light for her mind and sunshine for her words.”
“That’s pretty. Do they still do that?”
He nodded. “It’s one of the few rituals that has remained in full practice. Which brings us to the most obscure of them all.” He reached for my hand. “Devotion of the Heart.”
I didn’t give my hand so easily, fearing a trap. For all I knew, it was some secret Nolcovian wedding tradition and was the equivalent to waking up in Vegas with a new last name. Sorry, no. I didn’t plan on making my life into a country song.
“Give me your hand,” Bishop instructed. “I swear, it’s innocent and I mean no pledge.”
My hand slipped into his and he sank to his knee in front of me. Eyes wide, I watched him bow forward. The angle of his grip changed as he pulled our joined grip closer to his chest. Much like when Sadie had brought her and Fitz’s hands to her forehead, Bishop pressed our hands against his chest and then rose to his feet. With a slow nod, he said, “If I meant it, I’d be giving you my heart, my loyalty, and my love. It’s not something Nolcovians take lightly.” He dropped my hand. “Not even me. And certainly not my cousin.”
My mind flashed back to that moment when I had asked Fitz to teach me all of these rituals. He’d stiffened as if I’d asked too much of him. I’d assumed I’d crossed some cultural divide, but maybe it was more than that. It was easy enough for Bishop to walk me through it when he didn’t have feelings for me, but if Fitz was more clouded, maybe something like this would make it all too real?
“And the final one?” Fitz told me there were seven. I’d only counted six so far. “What does that look like?”
Bishop straightened, face serious. “It’s the most sacred and not to be used without real feeling and commitment.”
“So, you can’t show me?”
“I can show you, but you must swear to take it seriously.”
It wasn’t like I’d mocked anything yet. “Of course.”
He watched me for a moment, mouth tight, dark eyes narrowed and looking too much like Fitz when he suspected I was up to something. Finally, Bishop relented.
“The final ritual pledge is the Eternal Kiss; it’s also called the Devotion of the Soul.” He reached for my hand again. This time I gave it without hesitation. “You do it by bowing,” Bishop sank on one knee, “then touching their hand to your forehead,” the back of my hand grazed his skin, “your chest,” the warmth of his chest glowed against my hand, “and then your lips.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my knuckles before he stared up at me. “The difference here is that the gift can be accepted or rejected.”
“What do you mean?”
“If,” his tongue ran over his bottom lip as if to wet it, “you accept it… that is, if you accept him offering you his mind, body, and soul as gifts to be yours for eternity, you seal it with a kiss to his lips.” The air crackled with anticipation. “If you do not, then you remove your hand from his grip and the ritual is unfinished.”
“That’s cold.”
“That’s love,” he corrected me. Our hands broke apart as he dropped his grip, severing the connection between us. “It’s either there or it’s not.”
The bitter edge in his voice hinted at personal experience with all of this. Was there a reason Bishop wasn’t looking for commitment? Who hurt him in the past?
“We should run through the Nazzle Reel dance, though we need at least twenty people, so you’ll need to pretend a bit.” He brushed off whatever ghosts had returned to plague him. “Center of the room, here.” He tapped the floor with his foot. “Arm up above your head.” He raised an arm to display what I should do, but promptly dropped it to his side. “You don’t get easily discombobulated, do you? Dizzy, I mean?”
“Not really,” I found myself hesitant to answer, unsure, as usual, of what would come next.
“Splendid.” His arm went overhead again. “Basically, you’re constantly turning. Here in the center, the womenfolk make a maypole of sorts, arms up together, and the men sweep them away by their waists. If a man is pleased with his choice, he will guard you, but it’s not uncommon for another man to sweep in and steal you away.” He chuckled to himself. “It’s all a bit of fun. Like a ball match, but with beautiful women.”
