17. Lissy #2
The tables are piled with food. Roasted boar from the orc side of the family. From the dryad side, things I've never encountered before, like honey-roots, flower wines, and bread that tastes like autumn.
Saskia and Mikka eat standing up, going from table to table in their wedding clothes. Every time Saskia passes me, she touches the embroidery at her shoulder and points at me across the crowd like a warrior crediting her armorer.
I dance with Torgan twice. I dance with Mikka once, and he thanks me for the dress.
"She moved like herself," he says. "That's all I ever wanted anyone to let her be."
I dance with Torgan's grandfather, who turns out to be light on his feet in a way that should be illegal at his age.
But he spends the entire tune interrogating me about Grammy's mead tolerance.
"She'll drink you under the table," I warn him.
"I know," he says, delighted. "I hope she does."
Shit. He's flirting with her too.
"Please don't break my grandmother."
"Girl," he says, spinning me with terrifying precision, "that woman survived fifty years of brides. I couldn't break her with a battering ram."
Caden is here too.
I recognize him immediately. Mirelle spent an entire one of Saskia's fittings deciding what he should wear to the wedding and what would best complement his eyes.
She must have told him all of it, because he looks exactly as she described.
He's been nearly perfect all evening, fetching drinks, learning orc names, standing beside Mirelle.
As another human among orcs and dryads, I understand how out of place he must feel. But at Mirelle's side, he fits right in.
The Duke sent his regrets. Pressing matters at the docks, according to Caden. That suits me fine, because I don't know that I could sit at a feast with that man and contain myself.
Caden's brother came with him, though.
I immediately recognize Princeton as the man who stopped by my shop and asked who owned it. But this is Saskia's wedding, and I have no intention of making a scene without a reason. I certainly won't take away from her night.
Still, I keep an eye on him.
Princeton is on his best behavior. Smooth congratulations. Admiring the decorations. Drinking very little. He drifts and smiles, and once I catch him near the coat rack, fetching his own coat against the cold coming up from the stream.
I tuck the moment away in my mind as something to confront only if it becomes necessary.
Eventually, the dancing swallows my attention.
Then Caden makes a scene.
The music breaks between tunes, and into the silence comes his voice.
"Mirelle?"
Everyone turns toward the human man standing in the open circle where the kettarri was fought. In his shaking hands is a box.
I know what that box means. Mirelle told me about the first one he gave her and described the crooked, perfect little thing in detail.
But this one is new. Better. Not perfect, but the joins are tight, the wood is oiled smooth, and anyone can see the love that went into making it.
He made it again.
When Mirelle sees him, he lowers himself all the way to the ground, brow nearly touching the moss, both hands raised above his bowed head.
The clearing is so quiet I can hear the beating wings of fireflies.
Mirelle crosses the moss slowly. She stops in front of him, and her hands come up over her mouth as she begins to nod.
She says yes through them. "Yes, you ridiculous, wonderful man. Yes!"
Then she hauls him up from the moss and into a kiss.
He laughs like he can't believe his good fortune and opens the new box.
Inside is a ring.
The wedding guests erupt for the second time tonight.
Saskia bellows that her wedding has just been upstaged and she doesn't even mind. Kenna's granddaughters shriek in unison. Lady Ishara presses one hand flat against her chest, and Lord Garran stands beside her looking like a man trying to act tough when he desperately wants to be soft.
When Mirelle drags Caden over to them, Lord Garran takes the boy's hand in both of his and holds it, the way he held mine, and says nothing.
From him, this is a blessing with full honors.
Princeton hugs his brother with detached politeness, thumping him on the back with practiced pride.
It's exactly how brothers should act.
I look for Torgan.
He's watching his baby sister laugh and cry into her betrothed's shoulder. His expression is complicated, like a man watching good weather he doesn't trust.
Then he sees me looking from across the clearing.
He crosses through the celebrating crowd to me.
"Four for four," I say. "That's every sister. You know what this means."
He chuckles darkly. "It means there's a dress order coming that will bankrupt a small nation."
"It means there has to be another masterpiece.
" I've been sketching it in my head for weeks.
I can admit that now. "Threads from all three of the others woven into the fourth.
Ysolde's leather, Brynna's poetry, Saskia's silver.
The Oakenshade women stitched together in one gown.
Mirelle's will be the best thing I've ever made. "
"I believe you." He looks down at me, lantern light in his eyes and the noise of two families rolling around us. "Dance with me."
"There's no music. They're all busy proposing to each other."
"Then don't dance with me." His voice drops. "Walk with me instead."
Oh.
"Yes," I say. "That."