by Eileen Wilks
Gan pointed. “That woman in blue with the big breasts. She has a good laugh. I can hear it all the way over here.”
Gan had been a hermaphrodite and a demon for most of her life before waking up fully female one morning when they were in hell. She was now the chancellor in Edge—an extremely important position, as she enjoyed pointing out—but she still had a great appreciation for breasts. Abel Karonski’s wife could handle Gan’s conversational style, Rule decided, unlike many of his other guests. Everyone had hung back when he started talking to the small orange person who’d stopped being a demon when she started growing a soul. Because of Lily, her first friend. “Come on, then. You’ll like Margarita.”
Rule deposited Gan with Abel and Margarita and started making his way toward the small grove where his attendants should be waiting. It might take awhile. Everyone wanted to speak to him.
Rule had wanted a traditional wedding. For the most part, it would be. He’d wanted to underscore that this was a true marriage, and for all that the size and cost of their celebration had flustered Lily, deep down she, too, felt the pull of rites that went back centuries. And many of the human traditions were lovely, a pleasure to adopt, but he did not like the custom of the groom hiding away from his guests until the ceremony began. Rule couldn’t ignore guests that way.
Besides, greeting people had kept him busy. Waiting was difficult.
“Ha! Rule!” A hearty clap on the back didn’t quite send Rule staggering. “You’re looking very James Bond in your tux. Smooth and sophisticated. Hiding those nerves well, at least from all these humans.”
Rule turned to grin at the slim man with the sledgehammer punch. “What, Andor, can’t you smell the difference between nerves and eagerness for the hunt?”
Andor laughed. “You’re comparing a wedding to a hunt? Maybe you’re not so far off, but are you sure you’re hunter, not prey?”
Rule smiled. “I think Lily and I hunted each other, without knowing it. And now we hunt together.”
“Hunt partners?” Andor pursed his lips. “Well, Lucas has seen your Chosen on the hunt. She impressed him, and my son is not easily impressed, so I won’t argue with you. Tell me about this fight with Friar that you think sent him underground.”
Lily had worried that not many lupi would attend, given how controversial their union was among his people. In the end, forty-one Nokolai had accepted their invitations. That had surprised and pleased Rule and angered Lily, who thought the others were being—as she put it—dicks. Many of his Leidolf were here, too, but as guards. They were needed for security, but he’d made that decision for other reasons. Leidolf was a very conservative clan. His Leidolf were more comfortable in their usual role than as guests to a wedding that appalled, angered, or confused most of them.
Very few from outside the two clans had come. Two of the Rhejes were here—Etorri’s and Leidolf’s—as well as an old friend from Kyffin, and of course Ruben, who was now Rho of Wythe as well as being Lily’s boss. But no one would take Ruben’s presence as a political statement. As a former human, Ruben was married himself and saw nothing controversial about Rule becoming a husband. Another Rho, Tony Romano of Laban, had offered to come, if Rule thought it would help . . . “But I don’t know if it would. People will think you ordered it, and Laban isn’t used to me being Rho yet. If I go, it will cause problems. I haven’t had to kill anyone yet, but there are a few who . . . but I’ll come if it will help.”
All of which was true. Not only was Laban subordinate to Nokolai, but when Tony became Rho, he’d submitted plene et simpliciter. Without reservations. Rule had excused him from attending.
So there were four present from other clans—four plus the man currently questioning him about recent events. Andor Demeny was Rho of Szós. His presence was a mark of distinct honor as well as a strong political statement. Rule had rather hoped Andor’s Lu Nuncio, Lucas, might attend; Lucas was a friend. For Andor to accept the invitation himself had been a huge surprise. “But she’s your Chosen,” Andor had said when Rule called to thank him. “That’s different. Doesn’t affect the rest of us. I don’t see why we haven’t let mates marry all along, if they wanted to. Seems obvious. Married or not, you won’t be spreading your seed anymore.”
“. . . so while we’re staying alert,” Rule finished, “it’s unlikely that Friar can muster any kind of effective strike force this quickly. He may not even be in this realm.”
“Your Rhej couldn’t be sure she banished him?”
“No, she said—”
“There you are.” The voice was warm and slightly exasperated.
Rule turned, smiling. “Jasper. Aren’t you supposed to be—”
“Yes, and so are you. Your father sent me to fetch you.”
“Clearly I must obey.” Rule turned to Andor. “Andor, this is my brother Jasper Machek. Jasper, this is Andor Demeny, Szós Rho.”
Andor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Jasper was human, the son of Rule’s mother with a human man. Rule should have named him alius kin, or perhaps ospi—clan friend. Not “brother,” which was reserved for a lupus sibling. Andor politely forbore commenting on Rule’s unconventional choice. “Good to meet you, Jasper.”
“I’m pleased to meet you as well, and chagrined that I have no time to further our acquaintance. Rule?”
“Please excuse me, Andor. As you heard, I’m ordered to my place.”
Rule headed toward the small grove at the west side of the lawn with Jasper. He glanced at his watch. “I’m not late.”
“Not yet, but you’re pushing it. And I, uh . . . I wanted a chance to give you my news.” There was suppressed excitement in his voice.
Rule cocked his head. “Good news?”
“You’ll be getting an invitation to my wedding soon. We haven’t set a date yet, but—”
Rule stopped. “But this is marvelous! Congratulations, Jasper. I take it the Supreme Court decision—”
“Yes.” Jasper was flushed and happy. “I wish everyone could have this chance, but now Adam and I do, and we’re by damn taking it.”
“I’m glad.”
Adam was waiting with the others in the small grove of white alders. Rule made a point of shaking his hand and congratulating him, though he had just about run out of patience with all this waiting.
Isen had been talking to Benedict. He turned, his eyebrows lifting. “You’re on time, but just barely.”
“Andor wanted to speak with me.”
“Ah. Can’t offend there.” Isen looked as smug as if he’d arranged for Andor’s presence.
Maybe he had, in his own sneaky way. Rule looked past his father, out across the lawn . . . and felt her. Lily was coming out of the building, heading along the path that led to the small copse of trees opposite this one. Her trees, though, were gold medallions instead of alders . . . and they were blooming. Which they generally didn’t do in March. Rule wondered if one of their friends or relatives had tinkered with the trees. “She’s almost there.” His heartbeat kicked into high gear. His mouth went dry.
“Then we’d best get in position,” Isen said.
Rule walked to the path at the front of the grove. His family arranged themselves behind him.
He and Lily had wanted a mostly traditional wedding . . . but not entirely. Neither of them liked the symbolism of the bride being handed over to the groom like a parcel, but they didn’t want to leave family out, either. They’d decided that instead of the usual processional of the bride, they would both walk forward to meet in the middle, accompanied by their attendants. Their families. She had her father, her mother, her sisters, her brother-in-law, and Cynna. He had his father, his brother Benedict, and Nettie, plus his newly found brother Jasper and Jasper’s new fiancé, Adam.
It had been harder to come up with the answer to another question. Who did they want to officiate? Neither of them were traditionally religious.
In the end, though, there had been only one person who was exactly right. Fortunately, California made it easy for nonclergy to officiate at a wedding.
Cullen waited for them now, standing on the small, arched bridge in the middle of the lawn, wearing the flowing white tunic and trousers he’d worn for his own wedding.
The string quartet, positioned slightly east of and behind the bridge, started playing. The crowd—all five hundred of them—began to quiet.
“You forgot your mike,” Benedict said.
“Oh. Right.” Rule couldn’t look away from the spot where . . . and then there she was. Lily. Standing opposite him in a long shimmer of satin silk.
Benedict chuckled and fastened the small microphone to Rule’s collar. “Don’t forget to turn it on.”
“Right,” Rule said again.
“Or I can,” Benedict murmured and moved back behind him again.
The violins soared into the crescendo of “Gypsy Airs” . . . and Rule stepped out into the sunshine.
He walked slowly. That was what they’d planned, but now he cursed himself for an idiot. Slow was hard when he wanted to be there now. But he was a Lu Nuncio and a Rho and he understood control. He forced himself to hold to the pace they’d practiced.
He stopped on his side of the bridge. Lily stopped on her side. He could barely see her, what with the arch of the bridge and Cullen standing right in the middle of it.
“Friends,” Cullen called. His voice was picked up by the mike he wore and carried through speakers along both sides of the lawn. “We are here to witness the union of two people, who today will blend two families—and two sets of customs. This ceremony is a human custom, but in keeping with the lupi belief that important public observations are most complete when they are kept simple, the rite itself will be short. Rule Turner, Lily Yu, come forward and marry.”
Rule stepped up onto the bridge. Across from him, Lily did the same. And now at last he saw her face clearly, and gods, but she shone so brightly . . . his heart hurt with love and joy.
As planned, they met in the middle. They’d flipped a coin to see who would go first. Rule had won. He started to reach for her hands—and remembered the mike. Hastily he fumbled with it. Lily laughed at him with her eyes. Finally he got it turned on. This time, when he reached for her hands they were held out, ready for him. “I, Rule Turner, take you, Lily, for my mate, my partner, my lover, and my wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, cleaving only unto you.”
“And I, Lily Yu, take you, Rule, for my mate, my partner, my lover, and my husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, cleaving only unto you.” Lily pulled her right hand free. Cullen placed a ring in it. Lily’s hand shook ever so slightly as she slid the ring onto the third finger of Rule’s left hand. “With this ring I thee wed.”
Rule held out his right hand. Cullen supplied the other ring. He concentrated hard and managed not to drop it before he could slide it on Lily’s finger. “With this ring I thee wed.” And then he just looked into her eyes, a smile starting from his toes and spreading all over him. Mine.
“And I,” Cullen said, seizing their joined hands and holding them high, “declare the two of you well and truly married!”
Fire burst out on their joined hands—fire as green and joyous as spring, a warm, laughing fire that didn’t burn—the ardor iunctio, the joining fire, used in the ceremony when a newly adult lupus was brought fully into the clan. Cullen danced that happy fire down their arms, then washed them in it, head to toe. Together they turned, hands still upraised and both of them bathed in green fire, and greeted their guests as husband and wife.