Epilogue The Day of Light
Zydar
The seventh dawn of our wedding week broke over Thunder Court in shades of silver and violet, painting the ancient stone palace in colors that seemed pulled from dreams. Stood at the edge of the ceremonial platform, watching the first rays of sunlight catch on the thousands of luminous flowers that had been woven into every surface, every archway, every column.
They glowed softly in response to the light, creating an ethereal garden that existed only for these seven days before fading back into myth.
Seven days. The traditional length of a high fae wedding, each day representing one of the sacred elements: earth, water, fire, air, spirit, shadow, and light.
We had moved through them all, Miralyte and I, performing the ancient rituals that bound two souls together in ways that went deeper than any mortal marriage could comprehend.
Today was the final day. The day of light. The day we would speak our vows before every high fae court in existence and seal our bond for eternity.
I adjusted the ceremonial robes I wore, deep black silk embroidered with silver lightning that seemed to move across the fabric of its own accord. The weight of it was substantial, layered and formal in a way I rarely tolerated, but tradition demanded certain sacrifices.
At my throat, a torque of twisted silver and obsidian marked me as Lord Consort to the High Sovereign, a title I wore with more pride than I'd ever felt carrying my own crown.
Behind me, I could hear the assembled courts beginning to gather. Hundreds of High Fae, all dressed in their finest court attire.
"Nervous?" Gryven's voice came from beside me, gruff but tinged with something that might have been amusement.
I glanced at him. He wore his formal armor. We'd mended things between us over these past months.
"No," I said simply. "Should I be?"
"Most grooms are." He paused, then added more softly, "I'm glad you found her, my lord. I'm glad you found something worth living for beyond duty and revenge."
Before I could respond, the ceremonial bells began to ring. Deep, resonant tones that vibrated through the very stones of the palace, announcing that the bride was ready. My heart, which had remained steady through centuries of battle, suddenly kicked hard against my ribs.
The crowd fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
She appeared at the far end of the platform, and every coherent thought fled my mind.
Miralyte wore a gown that seemed woven from sunlight itself. Gold silk flowed around her like liquid fire, the fabric shifting between solid and translucent with each movement. The bodice was fitted, embroidered with patterns that mimicked the sun's corona.
The sleeves were long and flowing, splitting at the shoulder to reveal the golden marks of her ascension that now decorated her arms like living tattoos.
On her brow sat a crown, but not Ylvena's old circlet. This was something new, something we'd had crafted together. Seven points rising like sun rays, each one set with a gem representing one of the courts, with a brilliant diamond at the center that caught and reflected light like a captured star.
But it was her face that held me captive. The joy written there, the love, the certainty.
She walked alone, as was tradition for a High Sovereign. No one gave her away because she belonged to no one but herself.
I descended the steps to meet her halfway, unable to wait any longer. When I reached her, I took her hands in mine, feeling the familiar spark of our merged powers. Gold and silver, light and lightning, two halves of something that had always been meant to be whole.
"You're beautiful," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "Devastating. Divine."
"You're not so bad yourself, Lord of Thunder." Her smile was radiant, mischievous, perfectly her. "Though I think seven days of ceremonies might have been overkill."
"Tradition," I reminded her.
We climbed the steps together, hand in hand, to where the High Priest of the Elder Court waited. He was ancient even by fae standards, his silver hair falling to his waist, his eyes holding the weight of millennia. He raised his hands, and silence fell so complete I could hear Miralyte's heartbeat.
"We gather on this seventh dawn," he intoned, "to witness the binding of two souls. Thunder and Sun. Shadow and Light. Two who were separate and shall become one."
"Zydar of Thunder Court," the priest said, turning to me. "Do you offer your soul freely to this union? Do you swear to protect, to cherish, to stand beside your chosen through all the ages that may come?"
I met Miralyte's eyes, saw my whole world reflected there. "I do. By thunder and lightning, by shadow and storm, I bind myself to her. In this life and all that follow."
The priest turned to Miralyte. "Miralyte of Sun Court, High Sovereign of all the Realm. Do you offer your soul freely to this union? Do you swear to protect, to cherish, to stand beside your chosen through all the ages that may come?"
"I do." Her voice rang clear and strong. "By light and fire, by sun and star, I bind myself to him. In this life and all that follow."
"Then let the binding be sealed."
The priest produced a length of silver cord, shimmering with woven magic. He wrapped it around our joined hands, once, twice, three times, each loop accompanied by words in the old tongue that predated even the courts themselves.
The cord dissolved into pure light, sinking into our skin, leaving behind matching marks on our wrists. Silver on hers, gold on mine.
"By the power vested in me by the Elder Court and all the high fae assembled," the priest declared, "I pronounce you bound. Soul to soul. Life to life. Forevermore."
I didn't wait for permission. I pulled Miralyte into my arms and kissed her, deep and claiming and full of every promise I'd just made. She kissed me back with equal fervor, her hands tangling in my hair, and around us the crowd erupted into cheers so loud they shook the palace foundations.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless, both grinning like fools, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Happy tears?" I asked, wiping them away with my thumbs.
"The happiest." She laughed, the sound pure joy. "I just wish—"
Her words cut off abruptly, her gaze fixing on something over my shoulder.
I turned to see what had caught her attention and found Brond standing among the assembled guests.
Pelbie's lover. The mortal man who had stayed even after his beloved's death, choosing to serve the Sun Court as a free citizen rather than return to his homeland.
Beside him stood Tomos, another of the former vessels who had chosen to stay. Both wore formal attire, clearly honored guests rather than servants, but the grief was still visible in Brond's eyes even as he smiled at us.
Miralyte swallowed hard, and I felt the wave of emotion through our new bond. Grief and guilt and the sharp ache of missing someone who should have been here.
"Are you all right, sweetling?" I asked softly, turning so my body shielded her from most of the watching crowd.
"Yes. It's just..." She took a shaky breath. "Pelbie should be here. She should be standing with them, laughing and celebrating and probably making inappropriate comments about my dress."
I cupped her face gently. "I'm sure she's happy in the Starlit Fields. Watching."
That made her smile. "Probably."
"I wish she were here too, you know," I told her. "I never got to properly thank her for being the friend you needed when you had no one else."
"She would have liked you. Eventually. After she finished threatening to castrate you for kidnapping me."
"A reasonable response."
I pulled her into my arms, holding her close despite the watching thousands, letting her have this moment of grief in the midst of joy. Because that was what life was now. Both things co-existing, neither diminishing the other.
When she pulled back, her eyes were clearer. "Thank you."
"Always." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now, shall we face the festivities? I believe there's supposed to be seven courses of dinner, twelve types of wine, and dancing until dawn."
"Faerie tradition is definitely exhausting," she muttered, but she was smiling again.
The celebration that followed was everything a high fae wedding should be.
Music filled the air, performed by musicians whose instruments had been crafted centuries ago and played melodies that made even the stones weep with beauty.
Tables groaned under the weight of food from every court, dishes that sparkled and smoked and sometimes moved of their own accord.
We sat at the high table, receiving congratulations from an endless stream of nobles. Each court's representatives came forward to present gifts, some practical, some magical, some so bizarre I couldn't begin to guess their purpose.
I was speaking with Lord Hasin of the Fog Court when I noticed Miralyte's attention had been captured by something across the hall. Following her gaze, I saw Narietta approaching with Silvyr at her side.
Silvyr. The sight of her walking without pain, her dark skin no longer marked by the black veins of rot, was still miraculous to witness. She was tall and regal, her silver hair styled with silver ornaments that marked her as eldest daughter of the Fog Court.
Miralyte rose from her seat immediately, moving around the table to meet them. I followed, curious about this reunion.
Silvyr dropped to one knee the moment Miralyte was close enough, her head bowed in formal obeisance. "Your Highness. I come to offer my gratitude for the gift of my life."
"Please, get up." Miralyte's voice was thick with emotion. "You don't need to kneel to me, Silvyr."
But Silvyr remained kneeling. "I do. You saved me when no one else could. You risked yourself, let yourself be used in those bloodletting sessions even when you didn't understand what it meant. You gave me back my future."