Desperate survival provoked eternal ties.
Clara continued. “The doctor shall also be missed. His genetic knowledge is now held within the keen mind of his son, Roe.”
Roe stepped forward, coming to stand beside Clara at her left. Matthew, to her right, placed his hand at the small of her back, warming her through and through.
Clara nodded. “I think Sarah would have wanted something meaningful to come from her death, especially given how senseless it was.”
Clara paused, struggling against the tide of her emotions.
The urns that held the bodies of the sphere doctor and Sarah were placed on a long narrow table of pink marble in front of the royal dais.
Clara inhaled deeply. “That is why I have come to a difficult but joyous decision. It breaks every protocol, every social convention, every sense of propriety that has existed within these walls.”
She swept a hand at the sphere walls.
Steam lent weight to fabric that cloaked false windows.
Matthew pressed his fingertips against her, offering his silent encouragement.
Clara dropped her hand. The cleverest of her people's faces moved in her direction, perhaps anticipating her words or no.
“That is why I have decided to include the entire kingdom in attendance for my Wedded Joining.”
Whispers rose in excitement, and Clara smiled. They would see past the recent horrible occurrences and prevail with renewed hope.
Olive stood not too far from the Band, Daniel at her elbow. He wore a vague, self-satisfied grin. Clara gave him a half smile, for she knew he had neatly figured out her mystery before everyone.
“Your majesty!” a young voice yelled over the din of hushed whispers. The boy's mother cuffed him for interrupting.
Clara stayed the discipline with a raised hand.
“Let him speak.”
The red-faced mother folded into a small curtsy and glared at her willful offspring.
“It be too early, Queen Clara!” the boy said.
Clara could not hide her smile as a swell of joy rose inside her. She swore she could feel the answering heat of happiness at her back.
Matthew stood stoically behind her, but inwardly, he was bursting with thrumming energy, and beyond that, the first taste of contentment he had ever experienced. Having both their peoples inside the security of the sphere and mating with Clara was more than a male of the Band could ever hope for.
He gazed down at her, his eyes caressing her flat belly.
Clara nodded. “You are correct, young sir. However, I have chosen life over death, and I wish for this to be a celebration of such. The important lives of Sarah and the Doctor.”
She drew Matthew from slightly behind her to tower alongside her. “And to offer my choice of king early.”
Clara swept her eyes over the stunned crowd. “These are perilous times. I do not feel, after all that has occurred, that waiting another two months hence will afford us the best protection.”
“The best unity,” Matthew added.
She gave him a shy smile and nodded.
“Our greatest strength lies in our sense of belonging,” Clara said. “We must begin to rule as one people, in the present.”
The crowd was so silent Clara could hear the heat escape the porous ceiling of the sphere, the steamed air releasing to Outside. What if my people do not approve?
A lone subject began to clap. The sound echoed within the Gathering Hall.
Then another joined the first, broad smiles on the pair that held court in opposite ends of the hall.
A smattering of applause turned into a roar.
The tension slid out of Clara, and she melted at their acceptance.
Their love.
Queen Clara Williamson wore purple for her Wedded Joining.
She cried no more for death.
Her tears were for a life she would finally live.
The music of her people's happiness filled her ears as Matthew escorted her to the gardens where they would join.
CHAPTER 22
The Band flanked Clara and Matthew.
Staying true to both sphere and Clan customs had been interesting.
Clara's long velvet dress swept only three feet behind her. Her premature nuptials would not have been the surprise she planned had she donned a conspicuous bridal train of the required twelve feet in length.
The purple had been a dead giveaway. Though Ada had worn purple often enough because of its connotation of royalty alone, so perhaps it was not obvious enough.
Clara had never worn any shade of violet before that moment. And though records indicated that white had been the bridal color from before the time of spheres, that custom had never stuck.
Purple was the color for weddings. Jewel-like in winter and an icy lavender in summer—women married their intended in the royal color.
Rich in love, but not in money, King Raymond had oft said.
A sharp pang of sadness pierced Clara over her father's absence for this most important milestone of her life. Though they had not been blood, they had been bound by something far deeper—a commitment that had transcended time, culture, and selfishness.
Matthew had agreed to wear a tunic of such a deep violet it was almost black. His eyes were a riot of pale blue against his dusky skin. His golden hair was tied neatly at his nape with a tether of gold twine. The edging of his tunic was a perfect match of braided gold that shone like polished butter.
Supple leather breeches of the deepest shade of chocolate were tucked into boots that laced up the sides of his calves and knotted below the knee.
Matthew met her frank appraisal with a boldness he had only dreamed of in the past. With the event upon them, he could scarcely allow himself to appreciate the moment.
His heart hammered a discordant rhythm in a chest gone tight with his contained emotions.
One custom that remained from before was the exchange of rings.
There was a curious and utterly clear stone that was so popular from before, but it was no longer mined in the spheres. However, the Kingdom of Illinois mined the semi-precious tourmaline in many different colors, and a selection had been brought for Clara's inspection.
She had finally chosen a pearl from her grandfather's field of Samuel Pearls. The goldsmith had kept the secret of the setting from Clara, and Matthew was most pleased at the outcome. The pearl was set in a cluster of pink square-cut stones from their neighboring sphere, so fine and without inclusions they appeared like pink ice floating around the great black pearl, which was the size of a pea.
The ring shone darkly against Clara's pale skin as Matthew slid it on her narrow finger. Clara gathered Matthew’s ring from a tiny boy who held a purple quilted pillow with a ribbon at its center.
Matthew’s ring had been fashioned by the same metal smith, and it shone like captured stars. Three bands of twisted metal came together—sterling, brass, and copper—a glaze covering them all.
Matthew read the inscription before Clara slid the band on the ring finger of his left hand.
Agape
Matthew knew that was the greatest love of all, a love without conditions, and derived of pure intentions.
He was overwhelmed that Clara chose to bestow it on him.
He had an almost irresistible urge to rush things along, so he gave the Justice of the Peace a dark look.
The man's hands shook as he pronounced the last words that would join Clara and Matthew forever.
When the man finished, Matthew did not wait for permission. He scooped Clara up, bending her backward over his arm. The raucous cheers of the Band boomed above the shocked murmurs of the people of the sphere.
Daniel, Bracus, Philip, Edwin, and Maddoc did not tease Matthew when a lone tear could be seen after the pair turned and faced the people of both clan and sphere.
Matthew was not embarrassed for they were tears of joy. After so much sorrow, he could only rejoice.
The males of the Band moved aside and
unsheathed their longswords. The tips made a soft musical clang as they touched, and a bridge of weaponry was made.
Matthew and Clara bent their heads and ran under the swords. Clan men and warriors alike formed the bridge of metal all the way to the gated entrance to the garden. The scent of gardenias followed them, even as winter raged Outside.
They crossed the threshold, and Matthew swung Clara around, her velvet skirt wrapping around his strong legs, their bodies pressed together as one.
Clara's heart raced as she looked down into her husband's eyes. His throat slits were open wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a happiness she knew he felt he would never own.
“I love you, Matthew.” Clara bit her lip, wanting to say more… wanting to do more.
Matthew saw it all on her expression and let her slide down the front of him.
He cradled her face, so much smaller than his own. “Nay, not so much as I.”
When Matthew's lips met hers, they could no longer hear for the shouts and whistles from the diverse people who witnessed their happiness.
The couple broke apart, and with a nod, Matthew turned to the waiting carriage, tugging his new bride behind him. He helped her into the conveyance.
Clara paused and turned, the instep of her high-heeled violet boot on the running board of brass.
She looked at the faces of their subjects, free of cruel monarchy, more varied for the inclusion of the Band, and blew a kiss.
Daniel caught it in his fist, and Clara grinned.
A collective sigh rushed through the crowd.
She climbed inside, followed by her husband. Even as the carriage pulled away, Matthew's lips were on hers, his hands on her body.
It was the finest moment of her life.
CHAPTER 23
Adahy and Elise stayed toward the back of the crowd. Adahy was vaguely frustrated, having understood perhaps half of the ceremony. He grasped more of the English than before, but the learning was slow. Not having spoken it for two decades, he had forgotten how difficult and complex a language it was.
What was clear was that the ruler of this place had married one of his kin of the Band, as they called themselves.
Adahy had been inside the sphere for not even two weeks, and already he longed for Outside.
His blood burned with the wild that could not be found in this beautiful steamy dome.
Sedate and civilized. Or not, Adahy mused, thinking of the dead the members of the Band had hung by the limbs of the great tree.
Adahy had felt a savage burst of joy when the traitor was handled with such deft severity. It made his heart glad.
The soft sphere was not for Adahy. The small band of Iroquois who had accompanied him, including Chief Chasing Hawk, felt as he did. They were warriors and restless to be reunited with their tribe.
Adahy was uneasy with his new role as kin of the Band. He felt the thing they spoke of: kinship recognition. Yet it had been explained that it was a distant blood tie, and that when Adahy found his actual blooded Clan, he would have a powerful response to those related more closely.
His eyes roved the form of Elise, who stood in the shadow of his large body. He sighed softly in frustration.
Adahy had loved his wife. They had been mated well.
But it was an echo of what he felt for the fragile woman by his side. Adahy smiled, thinking of his word to describe Elise. She was so much more than what she first appeared. She looked to be breakable but was not.
The Fragment had tried.
It made Adahy seethe with rage every time his thoughts touched on the little she had said about her treatment there. She did not have to, for the marks of the abuse said much, as did the ones that Calia, the female warrior of the Band, bore.
Elise was a Healer, a rare and inexplicable talent. She was also terrified of returning Outside. Adahy could not blame her. The Fragment would wish to reacquire someone who could heal mild to severe injuries with their hands alone. And she was female.
Adahy had shared many soft kisses with her.
Though when pressed, she had said she would want no more from him, that she desired no relationship beyond the maddening friendship that circled and teased at the edges of something more.
Adahy did not have the throat slits that would identify him as Band, but when he neared Elise, a pleasant burning began. It was not unlike the vague kinship recognition he had experienced on those rare occasions he had encountered the Band.
It was an unstoppable pull.
He had made acquaintance with Daniel, another mixed-blood Band. Daniel spoke the white words strangely—as a chameleon. One minute he spoke as Fragment, as if he were Outside, and the next, he slipped into the evolved vernacular of the sphere-dweller.
The mixed-blood also knew passable Iroquois, though it was grating to listen to Daniel butcher their beautiful tongue. But Daniel had made efforts and was much more affable than the other males of the Band.
Daniel had explained what it meant to be a select female of the Clan. Blood of the Band need be present for Adahy to respond as he did.
He had noted how great the pull was to the young queen, Calia, and even the slightly older Rowenna, who he had met fifteen years past.
So Adahy knew something critical about Elise that she did not.
She may look Indian-kissed with her raven hair and coal-black eyes, but somewhere in her blood, she bore enough Band to make his blood pull like a magnet to hers.
Adahy reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. He was rewarded when she did not flinch at his touch but turned and encircled his waist with her arms.
Adahy did not speak frivolously. But soon he would speak seriously of one thing—leaving.
Though Elise would not like it, he would leave and take her with him.
“No hurt,” he said softly into her hair, both arms wound around her much smaller body just shy of what he knew would be painful.
She said nothing for a long moment.
“I know,” Elise whispered against his chest.
Adahy smiled against the top of her head.
Waiting.
*
Philip raised Calia's hand, kissed her knuckles, and chuckled when a soft whip of color struck her cheekbones and spread into her neckline.
She wore a simple gown of pale gold that showed off her skin, which was still colored from the late Indian summer.
There were also new scars from the trials she had survived.
But her eyes softened when she looked upon him, and though Philip was a man of little words, he had spoken of his intentions.
And she had not yet said no.
Calia had not exonerated herself of the blame she held for taking Evie Outside, nor over the things that had transpired because of that.
Every haunted look Evie held was a lash against Calia's conscience, a mar against the progression Philip wished to see for her happiness.
Their happiness.
Neither could bear the notion that the Clan of Ohio had been razed. Homes that had stood for well over a century were lost to the ashes.
Yet Philip knew that the life of the sphere was too tame for his blood. And as he looked at Calia, he knew she was of a similar mind.
Their path was unknown, but Philip wanted it to be theirs. Mayhap they would confer with President Bowen, and another Band could be amassed where it was needed.
“Calia,” a voice called from behind.
Philip scowled, watching Calia's flushed and happy face fall into a neutral, guarded expression. He did not turn but exhaled in an exasperated rush. Humor seeped into Calia's face when she gazed at Philip.
Edwin would be the biggest obstacle to their union.
The obligatory journey would commence to her home Clan.
And there, the Rite of the Select would take place. That was the cloud that covered the sun of his joy.
Philip would do much to regain that sunlit life he dreamed of sharing with Calia. So he took her hand and swung around to face Edwin.
Edwin held a rucksack in one hand, and Philip's expression darkened. It was not wise to travel in the heart of winter in the open central part of these lands. The mountains were not sufficient to dampen the winds that tore through the prairies with frigid intent, strangling the warmth from anything that lived. Certainly they could travel, but it was not ideal timing.
“Ready?” Edwin asked.
Philip nodded slowly. “Calia will need to change and gather her things.”
“We cannot convince you to wait for spring?” Calia asked. She had braved the seasons and knew what the sojourn entailed during winter.
Edwin shook his head. “The homing pigeon has gone and returned. Mother is out of her mind with the joyous news that her daughter thought long dead is miraculously alive and well.”
Calia sighed. “Very well.”
Edwin frowned, his gaze the identical striking gold of Calia's as it narrowed upon her.
“This is important.”
Calia's eyes blazed back at him. “I am well aware, brother.”
Edwin raked a hand through his black hair. He stared at Calia a moment longer then pivoted and strode toward the tunnel.
Only when he was out of sight did Calia's shoulders drop. “I know he means well, but he is so terribly obstinate about it.” She folded her arms in a huff.
“That is not the only thing,” Philip muttered, clearly clamping down his temper.
Calia cocked an eyebrow. A short laugh burst out of her.
“Indeed.”
Philip kissed her hand again, not politely but with heat. He was satisfied to note her breath catch at the press of his lips against her skin.
He took his time to kiss the calluses of a hand that had held so many weapons her palms were no longer smooth.
Philip minded not.
They grinned like fools as they left to collect their rucksacks.
They had a long journey ahead.
*
Evie and Calia had made their awkward goodbyes before the memorial service turned wedding.
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