The ceremony of joining involved too many people and took too much time. Now that she'd made up her mind to go through with it, Mandy just wanted the deed done. She'd finally had a chance to take a shower and put on clean clothes. The skirt of her borrowed green silk dress fell to the floor and hid her bare feet. The dress was a little too long for her, and she had to use care not to trip on the hem and fall on her face. Someone had helped Greg bathe, too, and he wore a tunic and trousers that were also of hunter green silk. Green for the Goddess, Mandy thought, for a ceremony that should have been a moment of beauty and love rather than an act of desperation.
She wished her parents were here. But they were in New York where they'd been for the past month while a prestigious gallery hosted a display of her mother's paintings. None of the people here were her family. They were all courtiers and hangers-on of Boudicca's court. Mandy allowed herself a sullen glare around the room. It was better than succumbing to the tears that threatened her. Then her eyes caught Greg's, and she felt ashamed of herself when she saw the look of joy on his face. Did he love her after all? Or was this still all about power?
Greg stood waiting for her at the end of the main receiving room, the throne room really, although Queen Boudicca sat on a simple wingback chair. The blue and green mosaic covering the pillars that held up the vaulted ceiling looked like what Mandy had imagined an undersea grotto would look like before she'd wound up actually being imprisoned in one. Vines made of gold and decorated with pearls wound around the pillars, while hand blown glass chandeliers sparkled like fish swimming near a sunlit surface. Except for the queen's chair and an antique altar table, there was no furniture. Everyone stood in an irregular mass, straining to see the action.
A dozen drummers stood behind the queen's chair pounding out a primitive rhythm with rawhide drums and handmade rattles. It was driving music, meant to open the doorways of the spirit world. The same drumbeat that had sounded in the caves of the mammoth hunters now echoed from the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. A fire burned in the great fireplace behind the drummers. The opening was five feet high and ten feet wide and filled with flaming logs that released aromatic smoke and far too much heat into the room. But the flames were a symbol of life, and no one would think of damping them, no matter how warm the weather.
Greg stood next to Boudicca with the Prince Consort next to him, lending discrete support to his shaky grandson. Greg was pale and swaying on his feet, but he looked happy. Boudicca had told Mandy that performing the ceremony would completely restore Greg's health. If he could survive the next few hours, he would be fine.
Still, it was hard to remember that when she saw him stagger slightly, and only his grandfather's hold on his arm steadied him. Boudicca rose. It was time. Mandy raised her arms, holding up her long skirt with her left hand, and danced toward the altar slowly, in time to the beat of the drums and the high-pitched sound of the rattles. The tiles were cool under her bare feet, but her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Blinking back tears, she danced toward her destruction.