Chapter 2 A Joke with Witnesses

The envoy's words hung in the trading post like smoke from a bad fire. Darius stood behind the counter, hands resting lightly on the wood, while six imperial soldiers shifted their weight and gripped their spears tighter.

"Marriage," Darius repeated. "To Mara. The Plague Goddess. Walk me through how that works."

The envoy let out a sharp laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't need to understand, scribe. You only need to stand there and die like a good sacrifice. The empire sends its weakest blood to the First Calamity. It's tradition."

"Tradition?" Darius asked. He tilted his head, studying the man's face. "Funny tradition. Most marriages I read about in the old ledgers involve alliances or land. Not... this."

Old Mira clutched her rag so hard her knuckles went white. "Gods below. They're really doing it. No one's ever survived her touch. Not once in three thousand years."

Garr the mercenary, suddenly sober, muttered from his table, "They picked the perfect fool. Weakest prince for the deadliest bitch alive."

One soldier snickered. Another elbowed him to shut up, but the sound carried.

The envoy stepped closer, enjoying himself now. "Think of it as an honor, Darius Valeborn. Your family failed every test. This is your chance to serve. The ceremony happens at dusk. You'll be presented to Mara at the border shrine. She'll lay a hand on you, and... well. Nature takes its course."

Darius nodded slowly, as if they were discussing grain prices. "Dusk. That's soon. Do I get any preparation? Clothes? A bath? Or do I go as I am?"

A couple of soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. The envoy's smirk faltered for half a second.

"You mock the decree?" the envoy snapped.

"No," Darius said. "I'm asking practical questions. Does she prefer gifts? I have some decent tea from the last caravan. Might as well bring something. And the legal side. Does this marriage make me... what? Widower by morning? Or does the paperwork end when I do?"

Mira made a choked sound. "Boy, stop talking. Just... stop."

But Darius kept his eyes on the envoy. "I'm serious. If it's a political move, someone must have signed papers. Who gains from my death? Eldrath? Or one of the other empires watching? And what happens to my records here? Someone needs to log the caravans after I'm gone."

The room had gone dead quiet except for the crackle of the hearth. The soldiers looked at each other. This wasn't how sacrifices behaved. Sacrifices begged. They cried. They ran.

Garr pushed to his feet. "He's cracked. The curse finally ate his brain."

"Quiet," the envoy hissed. Then louder, for the crowd, "Behold the empire's generosity! Even the lowest prince may touch greatness. Or die trying." He forced a smile that showed too many teeth. "The people will sing of your... bravery."

Darius rubbed his jaw. "Singing. Nice touch. But if I'm dead by morning, who hears the songs out here in the Threshold? Seems wasteful."

One of the younger soldiers shifted his feet. "Sir, maybe we should just chain him and go."

The envoy waved a hand. "No need for chains. Where would he run? The whole continent knows what Mara does to men. Touch her and your blood turns black. Your skin rots while you still breathe. They say she doesn't even have to try anymore."

Darius picked up his worn cloak from the hook and slung it over his shoulders. "Black blood. Rotting skin. Noted. Anything else I should know before we leave? Her favorite topics? Does she speak, or just... end things?"

The envoy stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You truly don't understand, do you? This isn't a real marriage. It's a message. To your useless family. To every minor house that dreams above its station. You go there, she kills you, and we all move on."

"Message received," Darius said. He stepped around the counter. "Lead the way then. I'd rather not keep a goddess waiting. Bad manners."

As the soldiers formed up around him, Mira grabbed his sleeve. Her voice cracked. "Darius... you were always kind to the traders. Fair with the books. You don't deserve this joke."

"It's not a joke to everyone," he replied softly. "Just to them."

The group moved out into the cooling evening air. Torches flickered along the path toward the border shrine. The soldiers marched in tight formation, but their eyes kept darting to him.

Halfway down the dusty road, one guard on his left muttered under his breath, "You won't survive the night."

Darius kept walking at the same steady pace. Without turning his head, he answered, "That depends on what survives me."

The guard stumbled a step. The entire escort went silent again.