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Following a number of reports of theft from many different sorcerers, each claiming that their lost item held great magical significance to themselves or families, the High Sanctuary’s Repository had been ransacked.
These two events were similar enough to feel connected, though the latter was of greater importance considering some of the missing items. Some cloaking spheres, old books on older magic, an amulet of unspecified value - and the wooden box built by Conor Delaney in 2012. Valkyrie and Skulduggery were to get right on it, let nothing else divert their attention, no matter how important it seemed or claimed to--
“A wedding?” A younger Valkyrie would have said it in an offended hiss, but Valkyrie in her current form is satisfied enough with a dejected stance and one hand over one eye. “Don’t we have more important things to do?”
“It’s not every day two Grand Mages marry one another,” says Skulduggery. “Although, perhaps I should save that line for the next time it happens, since this is the first.”
Midday in Roarhaven, midnight in the Northern Territory. Six hours until the dawn wedding, which is to take place out in the middle of, for Valkyrie to borrow a geographically relevant expression, bumfuck nowhere. Fletcher teleports her and Skulduggery to a mortal hotel closest to Uluru, where a car is already waiting to take them to another hotel, closer to the venue and where most of the others guests are staying.
The fact that their driver is a Cleaver doesn’t stop Valkyrie from keeping her voice somewhat lowered.
“Alright, then - give me the lowdown. I don’t even know their names.”
Skulduggery looks very uncomfortable being bundled into a back seat. His hat rests on his knees, a two duffel bags on the middle seat separating him from Valkyrie, and his cringe flows away as he deactivates his façade to fill Valkyrie in.
“Ernest Pye, British Sanctuary, and Kastor Logue, Australian Sanctuary. Six years ago neither of them meant much, but a lot of ranks were climbed by a lot of people while you were away. As I understand it, they actively avoided one another during the war between the Sanctuaries and got engaged during the aftermath.”
“Long engagement.”
“I’ve seen longer. I’d say gaining their political positions had something to do with the delay, considering what it could mean. Communications between their Sanctuaries will presumably stay the same, but there have been concerns from the Australian side. They fear that British mages may attempt to abuse Australia’s status as a Cradle of Magic. This is ground our society has not yet tread upon, Valkyrie.”
More history-making events that they’ll be present for. Something new to add to the list.
The small town has clearly taken after Roarhaven in using cloaking sigils and technology - ones that are less sophisticated, considering that Valkyrie can see flickers as the car approaches - and unveils itself in front of them. The streets don’t seem prepared to handle the many vehicles that line it up and down, so it’s clear that no sorcerer living here ever considered the possibility of one of their own becoming important one day, let alone coming back if it were to happen.
Skulduggery and Valkyrie get their bags and exit the car. The Cleaver doesn’t park it with the others, rather turns around and disappears back the way they came. One last person to pick up, Valkyrie supposes. Probably China.
The hotel isn’t shiny or new, but it has a nice feel to it all the same. Homey, that’s the word. They show their IDs to the sorcerer in the lobby and get a key in return.
“Do you know what they’re like? Are they nice?”
“They’re Grand Mages.”
She laughs, then tenses and stops herself, aware that they’re passing by rooms containing people who might be trying to sleep.
“No, but please. For real.” Valkyrie follows him into their room and throws herself down straight away on the closest bed. Skulduggery patiently shuts the door and picks her bag up from where she dumped it, puts it next to his on a dresser and goes to sit down. “Do I need to be worried about how they’re going to talk to me? I feel like I’m getting better at handling everyday people wanting me dead, but a Grand Mage…”
Skulduggery angles his chair to face her and crosses one leg over the other. “We were specifically asked to come, Valkyrie. That could be taken as a sign that you’re wanted.”
“Right. And why would they want us to go?”
“Why wouldn’t they? We’re delightful.”
Valkyrie doesn’t have anything to say to that, just gazes for a little while at the gecko-patterned wallpaper before closing her eyes. She hears Skulduggery get back up, open his bag and rustle papers around.
“Get a rest in. Once the reception is over we’ll be going right back to where Fletcher left us, and then at last we’ll be on the case.”
“I wish we were on the case now . I feel like a bunch of stolen items is a lot more important than this.” Valkyrie’s eyes open. “And I’m still on our time, I’m not tired. Can you put on the AC?”
He does as she asks and sits back down with a file in hand. “I’m with you on the matter, but there’s not much to be done. I tried all I can, and yet we’re still here.” Opens the file, starts to read. “Now. We have five hours. At least lie there for a while to make me feel about the fact that you don’t sleep.”
“I’d say that you don’t either, but I’m sure that excuse has gotten old.”
“I’m quite fond of it, actually.”
Valkyrie gets up on her elbows only to grab a pillow and pull it beneath her head. Lies back down, head turned his way. “What’s the ceremony going to be like? What do I have to do?”
“You’ve been to a wedding before.”
“Yeah, a mortal wedding. Don’t we do things differently at all?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
She looks at him. Skulduggery keeps his head turned down at the file, security reports in and around the time of the Repository break-in. A couple of Hollow Men found wandering in a back alley had been escorted by the entrance on their way to be examined, so that’s something to look into. Valkyrie keeps watching him, ignoring her headache to the best of her ability, avoiding long blinks in case she drifts off, hands clasped together over her stomach.
“Skulduggery?”
He makes a sound of acknowledgement.
“What was...what was your wedding like?”
It gets him to look up, though not at her - over at the sliding doors leading out to the balcony. “It was a different time,” he says thoughtfully, “and there was a war going on. I was home during a lull in the fighting, and I didn’t know if or when I’d be home again. Not a very wise decision to choose that time to make it so I had someone to leave behind, but it was what I wanted to do.”
“Where did you have it?”
“In a barn.”
Valkyrie wonders if her younger self would have laughed at that. It doesn’t matter - what matters is she doesn’t now. In fact, the idea is endearing rather than amusing. She can even kind of imagine it, though she’s sure it’s full of anachronisms. Skulduggery found his style in the 1940s, and that must have been an unimaginable time back then. Valkyrie has a view from a wall of a straw-floored room, where he stands with Ghastly - and for now they’re static, because she can’t decide on how they’re feeling. She makes Skulduggery pace a little, because that feels right. Pacing can be applied to all kinds of emotions.
He shouldn’t be a skeleton, she realises, and tries to think of a face. Can’t remember any past façades she feels would fit - thinks of the one from earlier today. Tonight. Bloody timezones.
She steps out from the wall and approaches. Ghastly - god, Ghastly, she misses him so much - sees her first and pats Skulduggery’s shoulder. He stops pacing and turns to look. Dotting the barn are guests, people she’s known in this life, most of whom are now dead. Valkyrie takes a moment to glance from side to side before settling back on Skulduggery. His eyes are wide and his smile is warm.
Valkyrie gets halfway through wondering where his wife is when she realises, feels ashamed - opens her eyes. Skulduggery is back to reading the file.
“Oh god. Was I asleep?”
“It’s been seven minutes.”
“Can I ask you one more thing about-- Can I ask you one more thing?”
“You can ask me anything.”
Valkyrie thought that she had settled on what to ask before he said that, but even if it’s just empty words - which is highly unlikely - she’s back to swimming in questions. Did you have suits back then? What did she look like? What did you look like? Will you ever tell me? “Was Ghastly there?”
Skulduggery lifts his head and looks at her now. “Yes,” he says.
She turns to look up at the ceiling. “Thanks.”
“Mm?”
“For telling me.”
“Anytime. Get some rest.”
From experience and hearing stories, Valkyrie can only ever picture a wedding taking place in the afternoon going into the evening, never early morning. It’s still dark out as Skulduggery drives them a short way from town, further into the dusty outback, behind cars headed the same way. They park in a temporary lot, and then have to walk a minute to finally reach where it’s all going down. Coming through a white fence that’s been set up, there’s seats and an archway arranged in a way that Valkyrie expected - there’s a small tent just outside the fenced area. And then there’s where she can tell the reception will be, because it’s the only grassy area to be seen for miles, and there’s more seats and tables, pillars mounted. Looks like there’s more things to be added while attention isn’t on it.
A Cleaver with an excellent memory ticks names off as he sees their owners arriving. Valkyrie wants to go sit down immediately, just start and finish it already, but it seems she’ll have to wait a few painful moments longer.
“Oh, Valkyrie, don’t you look lovely?”
Hearing that from the most beautiful woman in the world, it can’t help but feel a little insincere. But when China steps away from her bodyguards to hug her, it starts to feel all the more real. In what’s left of the dark, her white pantsuit has a sort of glow about it. Maybe she has a sigil for that. Valkyrie thanks her and returns the compliment somewhat uncertainly, like it’s a wonder whether it’s even worth telling China that she’s gorgeous. Part of her feels like she’s just fallen out of a tree, with her pale blue dress that’s supposed to be fashionably bunched-up but probably comes across as unironed, and her hair meant to be tousled and tied high but she thinks looks windswept.
Standing next to two of the best-dressed people she’s ever met in her whole life isn’t helping. Skulduggery’s navy colours are both familiar and special at the same time.
“I take it you two will be the first to leave, then,” says China.
“If her highness will allow it,” Skulduggery replies, sharper than maybe even he expected.
Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes like it does when it’s directed at Valkyrie. “As much as I want them back, the world won’t fall into disrepair over a collection of missing trinkets. You know I found a way to deactivate the box. Try to enjoy yourselves.”
She and her bodyguards disappear into the stream of guests. Skulduggery looks at Valkyrie and she feels like he’s about to speak when a bell calls for the guests to take their seats, and Grand Mage Kastor Logue appears beneath the archway with one of his Elders. One from each Council is present, the other off temporarily running the Sanctuary they belong to.
When the sun comes up, Valkyrie no longer wonders why the wedding is happening at dawn. Blazing orange lights up the red plains like lifting a curtain, and when the sun is higher on the edge of the horizon, it’s a halo backdrop to Kastor and Pye standing hand in hand. Valkyrie has never spoken to either of them, never even seen them before until now, but they both look so happy, happy to be there and looking at the person they love, that the fact that she doesn't know them is irrelevant. The looks they give one another is enough to speak volumes - and Valkyrie realises no one has ever looked at her that way. And with her face, the face of a worldbreaker, no one ever will.
She doesn't cry or even feel all that sorry for herself, she just sits there with her face getting hotter. It's fine. That can be explained away by the climate.
The newlyweds are absent for the first twenty minutes of the reception. Valkyrie tries a kangaroo meat canopy - canapé , she hears in Gordon's voice, and decides to not try anything else. She shakes the hands of sorcerers who offer them to her, hears the story of Logue and Pye’s first meeting from three different people with three different stories, and keeps herself glued to Skulduggery the whole time.
And when Logue and Pye finally emerge from the tent they've been hiding out in, they ignore all the other guests and go to them first.
“Skulduggery! How long’s it been? Thank you for coming.” Logue’s words all burst out at once like he’s been waiting years to say them.
“Two months, Grand Mage. Thank you for having us.”
“Oh, well, I had to have you two along. It would be the perfect opportunity to get us all to actually meet each other. Valkyrie Cain, I’m so glad to meet you. That’s a fantastic tattoo. Necromancer thing, isn’t it? Now, Ernest, look, at last you can lay eyes on the Skeleton Detective and his partner. Detective Cain - do you have a nickname? I’m sure you do, it just hasn’t gotten around to me yet. Do tell me if you have one.”
Valkyrie isn’t sure. Just - in general, isn’t sure. Pye shakes Skulduggery’s hand, then hers, and takes over for his new husband.
“What a pleasure it is to meet you both.” Much more subdued. Valkyrie feels like she can breathe again. “I understand that you’re busy, so your appearance is very much appreciated. It may have been better to meet under more professional circumstances, however. You travelled well, I hope?”
“Very little turbulence to be had with a teleporter,” says Skulduggery.
“Ah, Mr Renn, you mean. How kind of him. Certainly makes me proud to be an Englishman.”
“Have you met him before?” asks Valkyrie.
“Yes, once, shortly after becoming Grand Mage. Delightful young man, though I’m sure I don’t need to tell you two that.”
“He’s grown on us.”
Logue’s face has turned uncomfortably red, and hurriedly steps back into the conversation with, “Now I do hate to get overly sappy, but I’m sorry, I can’t keep it in. Thanks for all those times you two, y’know, saved the world. Can’t thank you enough, actually. It’s people like you that inspires people like us to be better. Alright, I’ve made a fool out of myself enough for about the next ten years, so we’ll be off,” and then leaves it again, Pye in tow.
Skulduggery explains that Logue’s Adept discipline makes it so that he experiences time at a decelerated rate. With about a hundred years under his belt physically, it could be much, much longer than that in his mind. When it comes to making decisions or dealing with a difficult situation, all the extra time is extremely useful. Everything else, from what Skulduggery can gather just by interacting with him, gets old very quickly.
Valkyrie can’t imagine it being much better than a form of torture. She thinks again of the look on his face as he watched Pye coming down the aisle at him, holding his hand and saying his vows, and how not for a moment she would have considered that he was sick of experiencing it. So, not entirely a loss, she supposes.
There are some guests who pretend Valkyrie isn’t there while they talk to Skulduggery, but that’s easy to handle. Pye’s younger brother introduces himself to her as Pond, tells her practically his life’s story with barely any input on her end - the way he talks gives her the impression that he thinks he’s great - and asks when she’ll be in London next. Valkyrie already misses being ignored.
Skulduggery gives her a signal from a table away, and she gets up.
“Look, I’m only trying to be nice,” Pond says.
“Huh? Oh, yeah - I’m sure you are. But I’m going.”
“Going?”
“Yeah.”
Pond stands. “You do know who I am, right?”
He had probably hoped that standing up would help his argument, but Valkyrie is taller than him. All the same, the fact that he tried to pull that card brings up a lump in her throat that can only be pushed back down with half a scowl.
“Do you know who I am?” Her voice is quieter than expected, which is good, because she’s not sure if she really needs the people here who hate her to hear her say that.
The effect is the same. Pond sits back down and Valkyrie waves goodbye to Pye across the way before following Skulduggery on the walk back to the car. She’d hoped that the black in her shoes would override the red dust of the ground, but it seems she had been wrong. A small red cloud puffs up when she slumps into her seat. Right. These are not to be worn in the Bentley.
“Now because I am usually so modest, what I’m about to say may come as a bit of a shock,” says Skulduggery, “but you and I definitely are the only two people in the whole world who can properly pull off that line.”
“There’s no way you heard me.”
“Lip-reading is an extremely useful skill. Did you have a good time?”
“I don’t know. Sort of. I liked Logue and Pye.” Valkyrie watches the hotel they spent half the night in pass by as they continue on the way to the one they arrived at. “Did you?”
“It was invigorating. Positively inspiring,” Skulduggery says chirpily. “Our first order of business will be to contact our old friend Hansard Kray.”
“Oh god, why?”
“We’ll need to get a record of recent Hollow Men deliveries.”
“You think those two that were wandering around Roarhaven are related to the robbery?”
“Possibly. Something to consider.”
As they join a proper road, currently uninhabited, Skulduggery activates his façade. Still some time before they reach their destination. Valkyrie is pretty sure she’s glimpsed a snake a few minutes ago, but the longer the thinks about it the less she’s sure, and the longer she doesn’t mention it will make it sound all the stranger and more pointless if she does. So she says nothing.
Skulduggery leaves the car in a spot where a Cleaver will come and get it. Fletcher reports that he has some extra things to take care of at Corrival before he can come get them, so they get Valkyrie a coffee at the hotel cafe. They’re extremely overdressed and people try at every opportunity to sneak a glimpse, but bewildered and somewhat envious stares are much easier to swallow than hateful ones.
Valkyrie is aware that she’s hungry, but if the coffee here isn’t great then she’s not about to put her faith into a sandwich. She unpins her hair and lets it fall how it wants to, looks across the small table at Skulduggery. He’s looking blankly into the middle distance, thinking away, apparently not noticing the girls chattering about him at a nearby table.
The terrible coffee possesses her to ask, “Do you think you’d ever do it again? Walk the aisle?”
“In order to do something again, you must do it a first time. I told you, I was married in a barn.”
“You’re deliberately taking the question literally to avoid answering it.”
“You know me well.” Pause. Narrows his fake eyes at her. “ Too well.”
And he knows her well enough to know that that will make her smile.