by Jean Johnson
“I am,” Evanor whispered, grimacing. “I just wish we’d had another mirror ready.”
No one could disagree with that. Alys cleared her throat. “So . . . uh . . . what happened to my uncle, exactly?”
“The Netherworlds accepted his rotten soul to torment for all eternity, in exchange for letting the weakness in the Veil Between Worlds heal,” Morganen explained. “His death was a just one, and the bargain accepted by the Heavens as well as by the Hells; you saw how the charred marks where the runes had been seared were restored without blemish. Which would have happened if a high-ranked priest or priestess had cast a blessing on that spot, instead.”
“So let me get this straight,” Kelly interjected, frowning. “This . . . gate-thing that Broger the Idiot cast . . . almost opened up a portal to Hell? On my dock? On my island?”
“Yes. But it’s all healed, now,” Morganen reassured her. “He’s not coming back, and the demons aren’t going to invade.”
“Which is a very good thing,” Trevan muttered.
Kelly rolled her eyes, then looked over at her husband. “Do all the rulers on this world have to put up with these kinds of headaches?”
“Thinking of abdicating?” Saber quipped.
She mulled it over for a moment. Her gaze met Alys’, aquamarine to gray. A sigh escaped the freckled redhead. “No. I’m still the best woman for the job, and it’s a job that needs doing. So I’ll do it.
We need to try and get a Healer out here to at least look at Evanor, which means we need to either work around or work through this Council of Mages that runs Katan, and in the meantime, we need to pray to Whoever’s listening upstairs that Dominor survives his kidnapping and comes back home with a wife really soon, so that Evanor can be healed. Am I missing anything in our list of the monumental tasks ahead of us?”
“Um . . .” Saber hesitated as the others looked at him. He grimaced and mumbled, “I forgot to feed the chickens, today.”
Kelly flung up her hands, one bandaged, one uninjured. “I am so not doing that chore!”
That made the others laugh. Wolfer cleared his throat. “Alys and I also need to finish arranging our wedding. We are getting married soon.”
The smile Alys gave him was as sweet as the one she had given him as a knee-scraped child, after he had let her down from his back the day they had first met. “Don’t worry, Wolfer. I’d brave even a Netherworld to marry you. If I absolutely had to. Just, um, make sure I don’t have to, all right?”
He lifted his hand to cup her face. As he did so, his gaze fell on the bracelet made from a braided lock of her hair. “You bound me to you years ago, Alys, with this little bit of hair. Where you go, I will go. Make sure I don’t have to go into a Netherhell looking for you.”
“Deal!”
“And thus the Wolf is tamed by a chain of Silk,” Morganen murmured.
Wolfer frowned at him. “There’s no silk in this braid, Morganen. It’s just a metaphor.”
“Um . . . actually, there is silk in the braid,” Alys found herself confessing, blushing. “I crocheted a tiny thread of it into an enchanted chain and attached it to the hair behind my ear before I met with you that day. It got braided in with the rest of my hair when I cut it and gave it to you.”
His brow arched, and a growl rumbled in his throat. Not a truly angry one, but the confessed manipulation did irk him a little.
“It was Morganen’s idea!” she protested.
“Morganen!”
“What? The two of you were perfect for each other!” the youngest of them protested. “Anyone with half a brain and a functional eye could’ve seen that much.”
“Just for that, you’re taking over Evanor’s chore of helping me sew their wedding clothes!” Kelly ordered Morganen. “Presuming we don’t have any more Disasters showing up, we should be ready for their marriage in about a week.”
“I’m almost afraid to wait that long, in case there are any,” Wolfer muttered, holding his Alys a little closer. “Must we have fancy clothes?”
“Cari says that when a woman gets married, she should make sure she gets the right man for the task the first time around,” Alys interjected, returning his attention to her. “She said that I should make absolutely sure you’re still the man I thought you were, when I came out here looking for you.”
Wolfer remembered that “Cari” was the name of the wench Alys had encountered on the mainland, during her journey to Nightfall. He considered her words, ready to release her if that was what she needed to be able to think clearly. “Do you want to wait longer than a week? I would wait as long as it takes, so long as you do eventually say ‘yes.’ ”
“I’m saying ‘yes’ right now,” Alys told him, squeezing him around the ribs. “Everything I’ve seen about you through all of this has only proved you’re still the man I fell in love with while we were still growing up. But I also did only come here with the clothes on my back. I’d like to look nice for our wedding, and for that . . . I don’t want to wear cast-offs and borrowed garments. I, um, I want to get it right, the first time around.”
Warmed by her shy smile—and driven a little crazy by it as she ducked her blushing cheeks into his chest, this woman who had bravely and boldly disparaged her insane uncle to his face just that afternoon—Wolfer dropped a kiss on her curls. “Anything you want, Alys, anything within my power, and I will give it to you. Even if I have to pick up needle and thread to finish your dress myself.”
A wild gesture from the mage on the stool caught their attention. Shaking his head, Evanor hissed as loudly as he could, “Oh, no—no no no! The last time he tried to use a needle, he bled all over my best shirt!”
If Evanor said anything else, it was lost in the snickers of the others.
Song of the Sons of Destiny
The Eldest Son shall bear this
weight:
If ever true love he should feel
Disaster shall come at her heel
And Katan will fail to aid
When Sword in sheath is claimed by
Maid
The Second Son shall know this
fate:
He who hunts is not alone
When claw would strike and cut to
bone
A chain of Silk shall bind his hand
So Wolf is caught in marriage-band
The Third of Sons shall meet his
match:
Strong of will and strong of mind
You seek she who is your kind
Set your trap and be your fate
When Lady is the Master’s mate
The Fourth of Sons shall find his
catch:
The purest note shall turn to sour
And weep in silence for the hour
But listen to the lonely Heart
And Song shall bind the two apart
The Fifth Son shall seek the sign:
Prowl the woods and through the
trees
Before you in the woods she flees
Catch her quick and hold her fast
The Cat will find his Home at last
The Sixth Son shall draw the line:
Shun the day and rule the night
Your reign’s end shall come at light
When Dawn steals into your hall
Bride of Storm shall be your fall
The Seventh Son shall he decree:
Burning bright and searing hot
You shall seek that which is not
Mastered by desire’s name
Water shall control the Flame
The Eighth Son shall set them free:
Act in Hope and act in love
Draw down your powers from above
Set your Brothers to their call
When Mage has wed, you will be
all
—THE SEER DRAGANNA
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