“Yes, my love.” Her lips trembled as she bent to give him a long and lasting kiss.
It was a glorious day, with sunlight filling the crisp air of autumn and the leaves a riot of color. The choir sang a song of triumph that sounded suspiciously like a hymn as the bride and groom mounted the platform to stand before the Chairman of the Council of Reeves to exchange their vows. Then, as the crowd filling the square cheered wildly, Miles led his bride to the great doorway of the palace, picked her up, and carried her over the threshold.
The doors closed behind him, but he didn’t put Ciletha down—he was too busy kissing her. Finally, she broke the embrace and said softly, “Your arms are trembling, my love.”
“Only with desire,” Miles said stoutly.
“Nonetheless, please put me down,” Ciletha said, “for we have farewells to make.”
With great reluctance (even though his arms were aching), Miles put her down and turned to his closest guests. He clasped Dirk’s hand, then Gar’s, as he said, “I thank you, my friends. Ciletha and I would never have married if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Of course, there’s also the minor issue of a government overthrown and freedom won,” Dirk said dryly, “not to mention your still being alive to achieve them. But what does that matter against finding your mate, eh?”
“Exactly!” both said at once.
“We were glad to do all that we could,” Gar said, “and gladder still that it worked for the best. May you have long and happy lives.”
“May all your sorrows be small, and your joys great,” Dirk said.
Miles turned somber for a minute. “Will we see you again?”
“Probably not,” Dirk said, and,
“Only if you wake up very early tomorrow,” Gar said. “It doesn’t matter, though. You don’t need us anymore.”
“We will always long to see you again, though,” Ciletha said, extending her hand.
“Perhaps fate will bring us together again,” Gar said, but the gaunt longing flickered over his face for an instant, and was gone.
They climbed the hill outside Milton in the predawn light and stood waiting for the first sun-ray to reflect off something high up. As they waited, Dirk mused, “They might have waked up early, and be looking out the window watching us.”
“More likely that they haven’t slept yet,” Gar said, “but if you’ll pardon my mentioning it, they have far more important considerations just now than two departing friends.”
“You mean each other? Yes, they have.” Dirk cast a shrewd glance at his huge companion, saw the longing in his face, and felt its echo within him, which he sternly put down. To distract Gar, he said, “You know, for a man committed to self-determination, you seem to be leaving an awful lot of newborn democracies in your wake.”
The naked longing disappeared under Gar’s rueful smile. “I’m afraid that’s true, Dulaine. I’ll reason out why someday.”
“Not just now, though, okay?” Dirk pointed upward. “Here comes our ride.”
Gar looked up and smiled with relief as the great golden disk spun down.