“That’s enough,” Nirakina said to the agitated servants. “Leave us.” With much bowing and flourishing, the mob funneled out the doors of the Hall of Balif. “All of you,” said the speaker’s wife. The regular palace servants withdrew, closing the doors behind them.
“So much work for such a brief ceremony,” Hermathya said. She turned ever so slowly, so as not to disturb her hair or gown. “Is this as great as your wedding, Lady?”
“Greater. Sithel and I were married during the Second Dragon War, when there was no time or gold to spare on fancy things. We didn’t know then if we’d be alive in a year, much less know if we’d have an heir to see married.”
“I have heard stories of those times. It must have been terrible.”
“The times make those who live in them,” Nirakina said evenly. Her own dress, as the speaker’s wife and mother of the groom, was quite conservative—white silk embroidered in silver and gold with the arms of House Royal. But with her honey-brown hair and liquid eyes she had a serene beauty all her own.
There was a loud, very masculine knock at the door. Nirakina said calmly, “Come in.”
A splendidly attired warrior entered the hall. His armor was burnished until it was almost painful to look at. Scarlet plumes rose from his helmet. His scabbard was empty—the ceremony was one of peace, so no weapons were allowed—but his fierce martial splendor was no less imposing.
“My ladies,” announced the warrior, “I am Kencathedrus, chosen by Lord Sithas to escort you to the Tower of the Stars.”
“I know you, Kencathedrus,” replied Nirakina. “You trained Prince Kith-Kanan in the warrior arts, did you not?”
“I did, my lady.”
Hermathya was glad she was facing away. Mention of Kith-Kanan brought a rush of color to her powdered face. It wasn’t so much that she still loved him, she decided. No, she was over that, if she ever did truly love him. But she knew that Kencathedrus, a mere soldier, was performing the duty Kith-Kanan should be doing. To escort the bride was a duty brother owed to brother.
Hermathya composed herself. This was the moment. She turned. “I am ready.”
In the corridor outside the Hall of Balif an honor guard of twenty warriors was drawn up, and farther down the hall twenty young elf girls chosen from the families of the guild masters stood ready to precede the honor guard. And beyond them, filling the other end of the corridor, were twenty elf boys dressed in long, trailing white robes and carrying sistrums. The size of the escort took Hermathya back for a moment. She looked out at the sea of expectant faces. It was rather overwhelming. All these people, and thousands more outside, awaited her. She called upon the core of strength that had carried her through troubles before, put on her most serene expression, and held out her hand. Kencathedrus rested her hand on his armored forearm, and the procession to the Tower of the Stars began.
Nirakina walked three steps behind them, and after her the honor guard fell in with the clank and rattle of armor and metal sandals. The boys led the procession in slow step, banging their sistrums against their hands. To this steady rhythm the elf girls followed, strewing flower petals in the path of the bride.
Outside, the sun was high and bright, and every spire in Silvanost boasted a streaming banner. When Hermathya appeared on the steps of the Palace of Quinari, the assembled crowd let out a shout of greeting.
“What do I do?” Hermathya murmured. “Do I wave?”
“No, that would be vulgar. You must be above it all,” said Nirakina softly.
A phalanx of pipers, clad in brilliant green, formed in front of the sistrum-bearing boys and played a bright fanfare. The music settled into a march as the procession wound around the Gardens of Astarin, following the circular road. According to ritual, the bride was first taken to the temple of Quenesti Pah, where she underwent a rite of purification. At the same time, the groom was receiving similar rites in the temple of E’li.
Then the two came together before the speaker in the Tower of the Stars, where they exchanged golden rings shaped to resemble twining branches and where their joining was finally accomplished.
The sun shone down from a spring sky unsullied by a single cloud, and the marble buildings glowed in the midst of velvety green foliage. The crowd cheered mightily for the spectacle. Perhaps, Hermathya thought idly, in time they will cheer so for me….
“Careful, Lady,” warned Kencathedrus. The flower petals were being trodden to mush, and the road was getting a bit treacherous. Hermathya’s golden sandals were stained with the crushed pulp. She lifted the hem of her diaphanous white gown out of the debris.
The squat, conical tower of the Temple of E’li appeared ahead on her right. Hermathya could see Sithas’s guard of honor—at least a hundred warriors—drawn up on the. Steps. Just as her own attendants were bedecked in gold and white, so Sithas’s attendants wore gold and green. She tried to keep her eyes straight ahead as they passed the temple, but she was drawn irresistibly to look in the open doors. It was dark inside the house of worship, and though she could see torches blazing on the wall, she could see neither Sithas nor anyone else within.
As the bride’s entourage rounded the curve, the press of the crowd became greater and the cheering intensified. The shadow cast by the Tower of the Stars fell across the street. It was thought to be good luck to stand in the structure’s shadow, so hundreds were crammed into the narrow space.
On a sudden impulse, Hermathya abandoned her distant, serene demeanor and smiled. The cheering increased. She raised her free hand and waved, once to the people of Silvanost. A roar went up such as the City had never heard, a roar that excited her.
In the Temple of E’li, Sithas heard the roar. He was kneeling before the high priest, about to be anointed with sacred oils. He raised his head slightly and turned one ear toward the sound. The warrior who knelt behind him whispered, “Shall I see what is the matter, Lord?”
“No” replied Sithas levelly. “I believe the people have just met the bride.”
The Temple of Quenesti Pah, goddess of health and fertility, was a light, airy vault with a roof of transparent tortoiseshell. There was no great central tower, as in most of the other temples. Instead, four thin spires rose from the comers of the roof, solid columns of rock that reached skyward. Though not as imposing as the House of E’li, or as somber as the Temple of Matheri, Hermathya thought the Temple of Quenesti Pah the prettiest building in Silvanost.
The pipers, sistrum players, and flower girls all turned aside and flanked the entrance to the temple. The honor guard halted at the foot of the steps.
Nirakina stepped up beside Hermathya. “If you have finished performing for the crowd, we will go in.” In her tone could be detected a sharpness, and Hermathya hid a smile. Without replying, Hermathya gave the crowd one last wave before she entered the temple.
Nirakina watched her ascend the steps. She was really trying to get along with the girl, but every passing moment added to her irritation. For Sithas’s sake, she wanted the marriage to be a success, but her overwhelming feeling was that Hermathya was a spoiled child.
Inside, the ritual was brief, consisting of little more than prayers and the washing of Hermathya’s hands in scented water. Nirakina hovered over her, her distaste for the younger woman’s behavior just barely concealed. But Hermathya had understood Nirakina’s annoyance, and she found that she enjoyed it. It added to her sense of excitement.
The ritual done, the bride rose to her feet and thanked Miritelisina, the high priestess. Then, without waiting for Nirakina, she walked swiftly from the temple. The crowd was waiting breathlessly for her reappearance, and Hermathya did not disappoint them. A thunder of approval built from the back of the crowd, where the poorest elves stood. She flashed them a smile, then moved with quick grace down to Kencathedrus. Nirakina hurried after her, looking harassed and undignified.