“
What are we supposed to be doing?” Lonen
whispered, though High Priestess Febe had left the room.
“Meditating,” she hissed back.
“Yes, I heard that part. What in Arill does that mean?”
“Like… praying to your goddess. Silently,” she emphasized.
He was quiet for a few breaths, no more. “Now
what?”
She tried to suppress the laugh, but failed
so it choked out in a most unladylike sound. Lonen flashed a grin at her and she shook her head. “Keep doing it. And be quiet—she could come back at any time.”
“Why would I keep doing something I already
did?”
“You’re supposed to be contemplating!” She
tried to sound stern, but his complaints so closely echoed hers through the years that she couldn’t manage it.
“Contemplate what?” he groused. “I already
made the decision about the step I’m about to take. There’s no sense revisiting it.”
“Then pretend. It won’t be that much longer.”
He stayed quiet for a bit more, though he
shifted restlessly, looking around the room and studying the various representations of the moons, looking at her from time to time. That insatiable curiosity of his built, feeding into her sgath, slowly intensifying. She was so keenly aware of him, she
knew he’d speak the moment before he did.
“You don’t mind?” he asked.
“You talking when we’re supposed to be
meditating?”
“Do you always do what the temple tells you
to do?”
“Hardly ever,” she admitted. “But appearances
are critical. Especially now.”
He sighed and was quiet for a while. But his
question remained between them, tugging at her like Chuffta pulling her braids when he wanted attention. And it might be some time before Febe returned. She reached out with her sgath to keep tabs on the high priestess, who was indeed still in one of the inner sanctums, no doubt also meditating and preparing herself for the ritual.
“We have a little time and I’ll give us
warning,” she relented. “Do I mind what?”
“Not having a special dress, a big celebration. I don’t have a beah for you.”
“What is a beah ?”
“A Destrye gifts his bride with a beah and she wears it as a symbol of their marriage. I thought I’d have
time to find something to stand in place of it until I can give you a proper one. And that we’d have time to change clothes.”
“You look fine—I told you before.”
“I look like a Báran,” he grumped, then glared, annoyance sparking when she giggled. “It’s not funny.”
“Báran clothes look good on you,” she
soothed, much as she would Chuffta’s offended dignity. Perhaps males of all species were the same.
“Hey!”
She ignored Chuffta’s indignant response.
Lonen did look appealing in the silk pants and short-sleeved shirt, even though her sgath mainly showed her his exuberant masculine presence.
“Well, you deserve something better than that robe,” he replied. “And more than this hasty ceremony. Arill knows, Natly went on enough about the details of planning…” He trailed off, chagrin coloring his thoughts.
“Yeah,” she drawled. “Maybe better to not
bring up your fiancée during our actual wedding ceremony.”
“Former fiancée,” he corrected. “Really not even that. And this isn’t the ceremony yet—this is waiting around for it to start. My knees are getting sore.”
“And here I thought you were the big, bad warrior.”
“I am. Big, bad warriors don’t kneel. We charge about, swinging our weapons.”
She laughed, shaking her head at him. That
good humor of his flickered bright, charming her, banishing his perpetual anger to the shadowed corners of his aura. In the back of her mind, Febe moved. “She’s coming back. Not much longer. Try to
school your thoughts.
”
”