Chapter Thirteen Treasure
“It’s a motley crew,” Bonwit says.
“I’ve seen far stranger,” Pastor Fortnum reassures.
“He ought to be the best man, and you ought to do the readings,” I huff, but I’m only messing about. I don’t care if the church is packed with the denizens of every questionable realm. I only care that Deanna is here, waiting at the end of the aisle, ready to walk to me on my father’s arm.
Our mothers sit in the front row. They may not thoroughly approve of our hasty courtship, but they both think Rory is the prize jewel of all the ages, and he sits in his carrier between them, just a fortnight old, and already displaying uncanny powers of mesmerization—at least over his grandmothers.
“Are you sure that dog doesn’t need to go out before we start things up?” Pastor Fortnum hisses to Bonwit, who simply tucks Sprite into the pocket of his dark emerald cloak.
Deanna’s mother didn’t like that we were getting married in ‘Renaissance Faire Get-Ups,” but I had to make some concessions to my parents. After all, I was getting married in the human realm, and raising their grandson in the mortal world—mostly.
The church is packed with halflings like banshee, pooka, morrigan, and even the Ghillie Dhu, all dressed in their finest robes and cloaks.
Half of the members of Pine Ridge are playing along, either because they think it is truly a costumed wedding or because they know of the fae traditions and wish to embrace them for the day.
But it is Deanna I am aching to see.
Mrs. Fortum mans the organ for one autumn afternoon, the eve of the autumnal equinox, when the fae of the Autumn Court are also at their strongest. She plays music that all the mortals seem to know, for they rise at once.
I’m the one who almost falls to my knees.
I have had every chance for wealth and pleasure, to take my ease or delight in my work, but the greatest treasure I have ever worked for and won is now gliding towards me.
Her dress is white with gold edging. Autumn leaves form a crown around her head and make a living train behind her, held aloft by magical breezes that earn cries of awe from the congregation when they realize that her train is not made of fabric.
“My lady,” I whisper. “My Deanna.” I cannot help myself, and walk halfway down the aisle to take her from my father, who manages to move his lips an entire quarter inch to show a hint of a smile. That’s a world of mirth from him.
“Hi, Dair,” she whispers, placing her arm through mine.
“Hello, my treasure. My love.”
“Want to get married now?” she asks, eyes bright, lips trembling in a broad smile that melts my heart.
She does things so simply, so perfectly, and I fall more in love every second I’m with her. I’m glad I’m going to have the rest of a very, very long life with her by my side. “I am ready, indeed.”
With that, we face the pastor who smiles down on us from his little pulpit. “Dearly beloved,” he begins, beaming.
I look at Deanna and steal a glance over my shoulder at Rory.
Yes. Yes, they most certainly are.