When she looked back to the crowd packing the Great Balcony, she found every one of its occupants had fallen to their knees.
Anlyn dropped her tunics and fought back the tears. To receive the blessings of so many—and for such an unorthodox union—her cheeks hurt from trying to hold it together. It was too much. A military victory had bled over to her personal ceremony, carrying with it the exultation of an end to war. It was too much and also too wonderful to bear.
Anlyn suddenly felt herself glow in anticipation, positively radiating purple as the trio made their way through the circle of shade cast down from orbit. The ensuing coolness was symbolic for something—something about having left the heat behind—but her brain was too overwhelmed to seize upon the ritualistic meaning. She stepped through the great old doors of the Pinnacle and another crowd erupted, and again she was overcome with emotion. There he was, across the building, walking through the counterwise door on the far side of the pinnacle:
Her Edison.
Large and handsome and bedecked in the finest honeycloth tunics. Even across the great distance of the bowl-shaped building, Anlyn could see his broad teeth spread across his face. She fought the temptation to run to him. She concentrated instead on each step as she descended toward the Circle below.
Behind her, Anlyn heard the high-ranking guests from the Great Balcony file down after, all of them eager to become part of her retinue. She looked up from her careful steps and glanced to either side at the thick crowds standing among the benches. Thousands of blue faces were turned in her direction, silent and expectant. Anlyn had anticipated a fraction of their number; she had been embarrassed to even hold the ceremony at the Pinnacle. She looked up and saw that the balcony was packed as well, and again she found it difficult to breathe.
Across from her, she could see Edison struggling to match her slow pace. He took each plodding step one at a time, his foot extended and hovering over the next tread as he waited for her to catch up. Anlyn nearly burst out laughing, and she silently thanked her love for again keeping her grounded. For the rest of the descent, she kept her eyes on him and remembered just why they were there—and how lucky she truly was.
As they reached the end of the long flight of steps, Anlyn and Edison stopped at the circular table while the most honored guests filed down from behind and took their seats. Anlyn noticed the ambassador bridge had been set up on Edison’s side. It was sometimes referred to as the treaty or peace bridge, reserved for the signing of great documents, royal affairs, and the occasional wedding. Ahead of Anlyn stood the original bridge, its ancient wood still speckled with blackened spots from the day, not too long ago, when Edison’s lance had erupted, and her speech had paved the way for all else that had occurred since.
Anlyn began dwelling on the significance of that day, but her drifting thoughts were startled back into focus as the Pinnacle bells tolled. She glanced back at Molly, who stood dutifully to her side and behind her a pace. Anlyn’s aunt reached out and squeezed her shoulder. The members of the Circle bowed and took their seats, their dozens of tunics rustling like distant thunder.
Anlyn looked across to Edison and nodded. They both began to ascend the steps of their respective bridges, which reached over the unbroken circle of the great table. At the top, they turned and bowed to the gathered. They next faced one another and bowed again. And then they descended into the center of the circle, each of them walking out to occupy one of the two spots of light shining down from above.
For Anlyn, it was the Light of Speak from Hori I, the same light that had bathed her during her great speech. Edison took his place a few meters away in the Light of Turn from Hori II, the same light he had given to her in order to conduct the speech. Anlyn smiled up at Edison and received an even bigger grin in return. She sighed at the sight of her love’s fur, neatly groomed, as it shimmered in the concentrated starlight. The two of them stood alone in the great circle for a few breaths. Past Edison, Anlyn could see Cole and her uncle, the Empire’s King, standing on the far side of the counterwise bridge. She knew without looking that Molly and her Aunt Ralei would be doing the same behind her.
She paused a moment, gathered in a deep breath, and attempted to take it all in: the rapt throng of spectators, the warmth of the light of Hori, the seated circle members. She scanned the great table and saw that Edison’s chair and her own were draped with honor cloths. She saw Bodi’s empty chair, and a brief pang of undeserved sorrow fluttered through her. His disappearance was still a mystery, and the trial that had exiled him had thus been mostly symbolic. She noticed there was no mourning cloth draped over his seat, so she assumed she was alone in her pity. She continued around the circle and came to Dani, Tryl, and even Bishar from the Great Rift. She saw Ryke, Ryn, and Scottie, and the girl with the burn-red hair. They were all smiling at her, and she felt her cheeks cramping with joy.
As the ringing of the bells subsided, the minister of ceremonies rose from his seat and ascended the bridge behind Anlyn. She turned to watch.
“Current and future Drenards,” he bellowed. “Welcome!”
The crowd erupted, cheering for the sheer joy of cheering—cooing and clapping and stomping their feet. The minister waved them down, taking quite some time to do so.
“Today we celebrate much, including the union between two of our Circle members, two of our finest Drenards, and two heroes of the Bern War: Lady Anlyn Hooo and Lord Edison Campton!”
He paused and scanned the crowd while he waited on another round of cheering to subside. Finally, raising his hands, he chanted: “Gifts presented, promises made, lights divided, two become one.” He dropped his hands and nodded down to Molly and then looked across in Cole’s direction and nodded to him as well.
The minister made his way down the steps and into the circle. Anlyn watched with pride as Molly rose up the steps behind him. She admired her friend’s choice of all-white tunics draped in modest layers. The two friends smiled at each other—both seeming on the verge of laughing as Molly approached. Anlyn glanced back over her shoulder to get a look at Cole, who was wearing dark green tunics, and wearing them nobly. Cole bore Edison’s lance in both hands. He handed the large device to Edison, who received it with a slight bow. Anlyn turned back to Molly, who held out a small cloth bag for her to take. Breaking decorum, Anlyn accepted the bag, then pulled her friend into an embrace, pressing her head against Molly’s shoulder.
The cooing and sniffles from the crowd assured Anlyn she wouldn’t be thought poorly for the slight break with tradition. She pulled away and turned to face Edison as their two witnesses, Cole and Molly, took their places to one side. High above, a chain began rattling down from the domed ceiling, signifying the start of the wedding ceremony.
Edison spoke first: “My gift to you is this lance,” he said in Drenard, his voice booming and filling the Pinnacle. He held it out level, his palms flat. “Power turned to peace, harm transformed into harmony, electricity made electrifying. I give it as a symbol of what your own tinkering has transformed within me.”
Anlyn smiled, flushing with pride. Edison stepped out of his light and walked over toward hers. He bowed low and gingerly laid the lance at her feet. After he returned to his circle, she held up the bag Molly had given her with one hand and opened her other palm beneath it. Slowly, she tipped the bag on its side. The crowd bristled with anticipation at what her gift might be.