33. Anya and Idris
Anya and Idris
Mariana
Faren was waiting downstairs when I reemerged. His eyes widened when he saw me, gaze dipping to my shimmery bodice. The left side of his mouth kicked up in the smallest of grins.
“Before you make a joke,” I said, and lifted my hem to reveal the long dagger strapped to my thigh. “I can still best you, even in a dress.”
Faren lifted his palms placatingly. “I didn’t say anything.”
I crept farther into the pub, which was now abandoned, save for the man before me.
He had changed into dark brown trousers and a clean white shirt, with a gold-stitched, rust-colored waistcoat over top.
He’d shaved and combed his hair and he smelled fresh.
I should’ve been accustomed to his resplendence by now, but I wasn’t.
From the grime of travel to formal attire, there was no version of him I did not find pleasing.
When I halted in front of him, skirts swishing, he looked down at me with a fondness that made my chest feel like an overflowing vessel.
I searched for a mean remark to make, but as I noted the snug fit of his clothes and wondered at the smoothness of his shave, I couldn’t for the life of me think of even one unkind thing to say.
“Where is everyone?” I asked instead.
“Gathering in the town square for the parade.”
“Parade?” I whined.
“We can keep to the back. I know you hate to be jostled.” Faren offered his elbow like the gentleman he was. “Shall we?”
I pushed past him like the miscreant I was. “Let’s get this over with.”
When Hattie said the wedding was a town-wide affair, she hadn’t been exaggerating.
A crowd was forming along Swan’s Row: a dense mass of exuberance and noise.
Men and women wore flower crowns of daisies and yellow coneflowers.
Children darted through the throng with ribbon wands of red, ochre, and gold.
Farmers led donkeys, goats, and cattle through the crowd, the animals laden with baskets of sweet buns and candies for offer.
There were drummers, flautists, and bards strumming lutes, folks already singing along to songs about everlasting love.
And in the center of it all—dressed in cream-colored finery with embroidery in autumnal threads—were Anya and Idris.
They were holding hands, their heads tipped up toward the sunshine.
Idris appeared vaguely overwhelmed by the press of people, but laughter was spilling out of Anya as the entire town lavished the couple in good cheer.
Wicker was barking and prancing around them, his collar adorned with sunflowers, and it all felt so devastatingly joyous.
From my place on the sidelines, I snatched a sweet bun from the basket of a passing cow with ribbons woven around her short horns.
Standing beside me, Faren chuckled, and I tore the treat in two, offering him half.
He took it with a smile, nibbling on the shiny, sticky crust as the music stopped.
The crowd hushed, closing in around the bride and groom until they disappeared from view.
Moments passed, the excitable energy among the masses increasing, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for whatever happened next.
There was a thunder of drums, then ebullient cheers rising into the clear autumn sky. Voices shouted a merry chant, “With joy, they wed! Hurrah! Hurrah! With joy, they wed! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
Strings announced a new, quickly paced tune, and then the parade began, snaking northward.
All I could see were a sea of flower-crowned heads and streamers, the undulation of an entire populous dancing up Stone Hill.
Faren and I trailed the procession, following as it led toward the cluster of distant Standing Stones and white tents.
His gait was positively jaunty, in keeping with the festive music.
“See? It’s fun,” he said.
Unwilling to admit that there was a certain charm to the festivities so far—who could dislike sweet buns delivered by dressed-up livestock?—I rolled my eyes.
Children scurried past us in the opposite direction, squealing and trailing their streamers, a pack of local dogs barking at their heels.
One young boy of about Timand’s age ran up to me, offering me his ribbon wand.
I took it without thinking, and then he was gone with his friends, disappearing back into the parade, leaving me with the toy.
I waved the stick weakly, watching the ribbons coil in the crisp wind.
Faren laughed at my poor attempt. “You’re terrible at this, aren’t you?”
“Not many ribbons in the Western Wood.”
A quick frown. “But we aren’t in the Western Wood, are we? We’re in Waldron-on-Wend.”
He snatched the wand from my fingers and jogged ahead, catching up with the back of the parade. I followed unhurriedly, my skirts swaying with a pleasing weight around my hips and smiled despite myself when the gaggle of children joined Faren’s race up the hill.
At the parade grounds, the music, feasting, and merriment continued. Ale and cider flowed, shouts pierced my ears, and everywhere—everywhere—people danced.
I kept mostly to myself, waiting out the festivities. Faren had disappeared into the crush of revelers, and for a while, my only company was a tuckered-out Wicker, who rested at my feet in between bouts of wrestling and chasing a much-younger collie.
It was nearing sunset when folks began gathering in a crescent around the circumference of the Standing Stones.
The wind kicked up, blowing yellow petals and loose ribbons across the grass as I meandered toward the congregation.
My hair streamed across my face in a tangle, tickling my cheeks.
The trees that edged the hill rained a confetti of orange and red leaves, and though I felt distinctly apart from the celebration, I could not deny the magic in the air.
I found a place on the sidelines of the stone circle.
Clouds were forming great striations in the sky, already turning blush in the waning light.
Hattie materialized from the audience, approaching a flat stone in the center of the circle.
Then Anya and Idris were stepping forward, Wicker trotting behind them.
As the trio found their places, the town hushed, watching as Hattie tied the couple’s clasped hands together with a strip of ivory fabric.
Anya was already crying, her tears reflecting the pastel hues of the sky.
Idris’s hair danced around his shoulders gently, the firm set of his jaw belying the depth of emotion he already felt, barely on the cusp of the ceremony.
“My dear neighbors of Waldron-on-Wend,” Hattie began, her voice carrying into the cool wind. “We gather here to celebrate the legal bond between two of our most favorite citizens: Anya Alvara and Idris Togren.”
People whooped and cheered, trailing off when Hattie raised a silencing hand and began to read the official proceedings from a sheet of fine paper. I could see Noble standing front and center among the crowd, grinning ear-to-ear as his paramour recited the sacred words.
I thought back on my brief journey with him to rescue Hattie from would-be assassins, remembering his determination in the midst of his worst nightmare. We’d discussed our fears, and I remembered thinking of how vulnerable it was to love someone. How terrifying. How brave. How impossible.
The musing clung to me now, with the sunset igniting the clouds in deeper and richer and more vibrate shades of orange.
With the sight of Anya and Idris’s bound hands.
As they recited words of devotion and promise—more potent and magical than any Oath in the realm.
Weaving their personalized vows with the words of the contract that would bind them in love and law.
And as the wind ruffled the paper Hattie held, and sent petals twirling from Anya’s flower crown, and caused the trees to sway and dance, and the clouds overhead to shift and reshape, a lump formed in my throat.
I thought of my brother and his wife and their hope for the future of their children; the hardships my parents had faced head-on together; the love I felt for Simon and my peace; the bravery I’d witnessed in Noble’s chase after Hattie; the heroism of Idris as he’d carried Anya’s limp body in his arms through a dark and monster-infested wood, not knowing if she yet lived; and for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that love could also be bolstering.
Because was there anything more deserving of courage than love?
There must’ve been something in the water in this town that stimulated one’s emotions, because as Anya and Idris spoke the last of their vows—“Our marriage, forged in fortune, broken by death”—tears formed in my eyes for the second time in so many days.
I didn’t exactly know why. It was simply the sum of it all.
The sunset and the autumn and the audacity of the bride and groom pledging their undying devotion.
I sniffled, shaking out my hands at my sides. A presence pressed closer to me. I wiped at my eyes, trying to ignore the nearness of the other revelers. But then I felt it: the nudge of a pinky finger against my own.
I looked down. I knew that hand.
I looked up. I knew that face.
“Found you,” Faren whispered.
“You were looking for me?”
“Of course,” he said. “Don’t want you stabbing a citizen for crowding too close.”
There was no hiding the sheen in my eyes or the flush on my face. He studied me, and the mirth in his gaze melted into something serious. “You alright?”
Nodding quickly, I returned my attention to Anya and Idris, who were finishing up. Above our heads, the sunset had reached a crescendo of vivid oranges, purples, and pinks. “It’s just so…” I shook my head, and a tear slid down my face, and I was mortified.
I thought Faren would chastise me. I would’ve.
Instead, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, drawing me against him. “Is this okay?”
His body was warm and strong, and in my tearful state, I allowed myself the unwise privilege of accepting his comfort and leaned into the solidness of his chest. Taking that as my answer, Faren slid his hand down my back, fingers toying with the laces that crisscrossed my spine, his palm gliding around the silken cinch of my waist. He turned his head toward mine, lips ghosting my temple—not a kiss, just a moment of breath against my skin.
Anya and Idris lifted their joined hands, beaming at the crowd. The town hollered and cheered, louder than ever, and the musicians launched into a heartfelt ballad.
“It’s so…?” Faren prompted, his lips still resting against my head.
I lifted a weak shoulder, speechless and overcome.
“Beautiful,” he finished for me. “It’s beautiful.”