“As Aer is my witness,” I said. “I can’t see the path forward there.”
Bolt followed my gaze to where Mark and Elieve stood. “I overheard Ellias considering the probability that the gift would come to each of them by chance. After the first fifteen minutes of his explanation I lost interest.”
“He shouldn’t have bothered,” I said. “There was no chance. None at all, but how are they supposed to be members of the Vigil when they’re not even aware of the world around them?”
“You worry too much, Willet,” Rory said. “If Aer can arrange for the gift to go to them, He can tell you how to train and use them. You know what we say in the urchins.”
I sighed. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
He laughed. “‘Each day has enough trouble of its own,’ yah?”
I laughed. “You little thief. That’s not yours. You lifted it right out of the liturgy.”
He eyes went wide. “That’s in the liturgy?”
I nodded, and he grew thoughtful.
“I’ll have to make it a point to read it then. Maybe there’s something to all this religious stuff after all.”
I was sure he was bluffing me. Almost.
Custos performed the wedding, eschewing the tradition in Collum for the priest to charge a silver crown for joining members of the nobility, opting instead for the memories I’d gathered since we were parted.
And a packet of figs, of course.
“We are gathered here in the presence of Aer to cord these two together,” he intoned, his voice surprisingly strong. “And tradition dictates that we offer praises and prayers for a long and bountiful union, for in the blessing of children we find that renewal in physical form that Aer promises our spirits if we join in union with Him.”
Gael cocked her head at me, her eyes filled with surprise. “He’s a poet.”
I found his delivery more impressive than his prose. Custos probably had a dozen books of wedding speeches tucked away inside his head. “I bet he’s quoting,” I whispered. “Where do you want to live?”
“Someplace warm.” The smallest catch in her voice told me she thought of Kera. “I will age, Willet. Even with my gift, time will exact its price and at the last, I will grow old and infirm while you remain young.” She swallowed, and I saw fear in her eyes. “Will you love me for the rest of my life, Willet?”
We turned to face each other across a narrow bench to partake of haeling, and as Custos recited the liturgy and fed us bread and wine, I couldn’t help but search the shadows of the buttresses for my friend Ealdor. He never appeared. I would have asked him what he’d found on the other side of eternity, but that question would have to wait.
Gael looked at me, waiting for an answer, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.
While Custos waxed eloquent, I found myself tallying the questions that remained and the tasks to be completed before the world would be normal or safe again, if it could ever be. When the time finally came for Custos to cord our hands, I held out my left and Gael her right and he tied them together with seven loops of purple braid.
At the touch of her skin, I fell through her eyes and found her waiting for me within her mind, tall and lithe and glorious. There, in the time between heartbeats, I took her into my arms. “I will do more than love you for the rest of your life,” I said. “I will love you for the rest of mine and past its end as well.” I smiled. “And here, you may picture yourself however you wish. You can be forever young. I am, and always will be, yours.”
There in the privacy of her thoughts and memories, I taught her how to construct a room within her mind. With a smile that set my blood on fire, she created a wedding bower, complete with a canopy of delicate purple flowers entwined over a broad bed on a raised dais.
If we were lucky, very lucky, we would have decades together, and I intended to make the most of every moment. But outside the delve, in the world of Bunard’s throne room, we faced each other, motionless while the crowd of witnesses looked on. “You do know that time is passing, however slowly, in the throne room while we tarry here?” I asked.
Even in her thoughts, her physical gift made her strong, though I wouldn’t have tried to resist anyway. Her laughter caressed its way over my ear, my lips, my throat.
“Let them wait.”
Acknowledgments
The Wounded Shadow is complete and THE DARKWATER SAGA has drawn to a close (at least for now). One of the things that may not be apparent (and it shouldn’t be since it would defeat the purpose of the story) is the difficulty of creating and maintaining consistent world-building with a series this long. To say it’s difficult is a vast understatement at best. Put in another way, the task is so far beyond the capability of one person (as far as I’m concerned anyway) as to be laughable. I had a ton of help along the way.
Steve Laube is my agent. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s calmly listened to me and my complaints and given me the benefit of the experience and peace he carries with him.
Dave Long is my interface at Bethany House and a friend. I’m not sure what he heard in that very first pitch that made him decide to take a look at my work (I was too stressed with nervousness and caffeine to remember the conversation), but I’m so thankful he gave me a shot.
Karen Schurrer is my editor, and her ability to spy inconsistencies in plot and characterization is amazing. I don’t know how she does it, but I’m glad she’s willing to do it for me.
Mary
