My magpie, my peasant-boy, my Tatar prince.
Gods, I did love him very much.
How had that happened?
Bao glanced up at me as I leaned out of the turret, his grin widening, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling.
I had to tell him about Jehanne and my dream.
Later, I thought; later.
Amrita tugged at my arm. “Come, come, Moirin! You’re meant to be in the garden before the bridegroom.”
“Yes, my lady,” I said obediently, following her.
It was spring in the charmed valley of Bhaktipur and the garden was in full bloom, filled with towering rhododendrons sporting a wealth of enormous purple blossoms, snaking lianna vines, delicate frangipani perfuming the air with fragrance, and marigolds I had coaxed to bloom early. Beneath the trees, an immense, elaborate canopy of colorful sequined fabric had been erected, sparkling in the sunlight, held up by gilded poles. There was a brazier of sacred fire, tended to by a lean priest whose kind smile belied his ascetic figure.
All the women and children of the harem were there, faces glowing on this happy day; and then the groom’s party entered the garden on foot, laughing and singing, and my heart grew even fuller.
With much fanfare, Bao and I were seated opposite one another beneath the canopy, smiling at one another.
The priest beamed at all of us. “Today among friends and loved ones, in the presence of the sacred fire, upon the life-giving earth and beneath the radiant sun, we come together to seek the blessing of the gods on the marriage of Moirin and Bao,” he announced.
My lady Amrita came forward and handed me a garland of flowers. Bao inclined his head, and I laid it around his neck, laughing a little as it caught and snagged on his unfamiliar turban and pulled it askew. He grinned and settled it in place. And then Ravindra, his narrow face solemn, extended a garland to Bao, who leaned forward and placed it carefully over my shoulders.
The priest intoned a sing-song series of prayers and I listened, or at least I half-listened, with my heart so very full.
If it had been a traditional Bhodistani wedding, our parents would have spoken next. I felt a pang at the absence of my beloved mother and the gracious father I had found in the City of Elua-and, too, at the absence of Bao’s gentle seamstress mother and her lively daughter. I even wished the bitter non-father who had cast him out, and Tatar general who had fathered him and claimed him with pride, could be here and find gladness in this day.
But we were among loved ones; and it was enough.
“Now you shall exchange vows of devotion,” the priest declared. “Moirin, it falls to you to speak first.”
There were traditional words for this, too, but not vows that would make sense for such an unlikely couple as us.
I took a deep breath, gazing at Bao. “So much of what happened to thrust us together, neither of us chose. You wanted to find a way to be sure of me, my magpie? Well, today is it. We did not have to do this, you and I. You did not have to ask me to wed you, and I did not have to accept your offer.” I swallowed hard, my eyes stinging. “I am here beneath this canopy, saying these words because I love you and I choose to be with you for the rest of my life. Today, I am choosing this and giving my heart to you.”
Bao’s dark eyes were bright with tears, and one spilled onto his cheek. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen him cry before.
I didn’t think so.
The priest gestured at him. “Now you.”
Bao laughed self-consciously. “Moirin.” His hands clenched in his lap. “I am not good at this. Only know…” His fisted hands unknitted, lying upward and folded, and his eyes were bright, so bright, looking earnestly at me. “You have a very, very large heart. And I will do my best to take good care of it.”
Shouts of laughter and approval surrounded us.
“Wait, wait!” The priest raised his hands in a good-humored protest. “We are not finished here, eh?”
So we finished.
First I cupped my hands in Bao’s and the priest poured rice into our joined hands. Together we poured it into the sacred fire, a rich toasty smell arising.
Then the priest tied our wrists together with a long cord and bade us circle the brazier seven times. This we did, while he intoned a seven-fold blessing upon us, begging the gods to bless us with happiness, prosperity, and children, and a good many other things.
And then it was done.
Bao glanced sidelong at the priest. “May I kiss her now?”
The priest nodded.
Bao kissed me, smelling of sandalwood and incense, of unfamiliar oils. But beneath it, he smelled of himself, the hot-forge scent that made me feel safe and loved and protected, and I twined my arms around his neck, returning his kiss, glad he did not share the Ch’in reluctance to show affection in public.
It felt good.
It felt so very good, and right.
Our shared diadh-anam sang between us, and I leaned my brow against his. “Do you love me?” I asked.
He laughed. “You have to ask? Today of all days? Yes, occasionally stupid girl. I love you very much.”
“Good.” I smiled at him, hoping he would remember it later. “I am glad.”
There was a feast that went on for many hours, servants carrying dozens of laden trays filled with spicy and savory dishes into the garden, where long tables had been erected and draped in more bright fabric. There was music and dancing, and there were games I didn’t fully understand, including one in which Bao and I were made to sit back to back and answer a series of questions about each other; and yet another in which the cord that had tied us together was knotted around our wrists in a complex pattern which we had to unravel one-handed.
We did well at those.
We knew each other very well, my magpie and I. We worked well together, even at a simple task such as untying knots.
And it didn’t matter that we didn’t really grasp the details of the traditions, that the traditions didn’t really apply to us. It didn’t matter that neither of us were familiar with Bhodistani dances, gladly making fools of ourselves in the effort.
All that mattered was that we were together, and surrounded by love. Celebrating beneath the open sky, garlanded with flowers, reveling in all the joy and abundance the world had to offer.
I waited until the sun was sinking low, casting long shadows over the garden, to tell Bao about my dream-or at least the important part of it. As much as I hated to do it, I couldn’t go to our bedchamber with it unspoken between us.
He listened without comment.
“Do you think it is real?” he asked gravely when I finished. “Or is it only your fear speaking to you?”
I swallowed. “I think it’s real, Bao. It felt very real.”
“Oh?” Bao raised his brows at me. “How real, Moirin?”
I flushed; I couldn’t help it. I felt the warm blood climb into my throat and scald my cheeks, revealing my guilty secret. It wasn’t always to my advantage that he knew me so well, and at such a time, Naamah’s gifts felt like a curse in truth. “I’m sorry! But it was Jehanne,” I said as though that excused me for betraying him in a dream, knowing it didn’t, knowing I would do it again anyway if she came to me. “And she was lonely, so very lonely. It broke my heart! I couldn’t help it. It would have broken yours, too.”
He looked away from me.
I clutched his arm. “Bao? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, only…”
His shoulders shook, and I realized belatedly that he was trying not to laugh. “So!” He turned his gaze on me, his dark eyes now bright with tears of barely suppressed laughter. “Within hours of our wedding, Moirin, you are telling me that it appears I am sharing you with the ghost of the White Queen; and that together somehow you must face that idiot demon-summoning Lord Lion Mane Raphael both of you loved for no good reason. Is that right?”