twenty-four
The big wedding day came sooner than Mira expected, but that might have been because she was not involved in the preparations or particularly excited to see it happen.
Weddings, you know? She had been to her fair share through her life, including for humans, but they were all rather the same.
Especially since the vast majority were between a husband and wife who only served to remind her that she was not, in fact, normal.
Not even among humans who could be just as stuffily heterosexual as the julah.
“At least they can get married,” Ramaron said as he and Mira sat in the second row of the Harksplit Temple, he dressed in formalwear and she in an embroidered tunic on loan from her father.
It was the fanciest Mira had dressed since the “You’re free from prison! Let’s party!”
her grandmother Yariah Lerenan threw her, and she still wasn’t used to the scratching of the embroidery against her skin.
Even her zatbah necklace uncharacteristically scratched at her chest.
“You should have seen the looks on my cousins’ faces when they realized they were never going to celebrate Master Ramaron’s wedding day.”
“You could absolutely blow everyone’s mind and marry a human woman. You know, just put her up in a room in your house. She can read books all day and confuse your family.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” He checked for anyone else in their row before saying, in Julah, “Did your mother ever tell you that I once ‘dated’ a lovely young woman back at the Academy?”
“What? No way. You?”
“Hey, we all go through weird phases. I had one where I thought I could tolerate a lavender marriage for the sake of shutting people up and having maybe one kid.”
“Was she also queer?” How had Mira never heard of this?
“No. Actually, I was informed that she had quite the crush on me, so I took advantage of it by befriending her to see if it would be tolerable to court her. It never got that far. Also, your mother was insanely jealous.”
His grin was infectious. Any good gossip about my parents makes any wedding more tolerable. “You’re. Kidding.”
“It was hilarious, and it annoyed your father, who was keen on letting me make my own mistakes at that point in our relationship. But your mother couldn’t stand the thought of me ‘practicing kissing’ on any woman who wasn’t her. That’s how she worded it.”
“My mom is such a weirdo.”
“Your father is a borderline narcissist who thinks he’s king of the world; your mother is selfish to her core and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. They’re both possessive freaks. Perfect for each other.”
“You’re the one who knows them both so well. Anyway, how did Dad take the jealousy in the end? I’m assuming this was while he and Ma were courting?”
“Oh, this was well into our specialized studies, so they were betrothed by that point. I don’t think your father cared. If anything, it just reaffirmed that he thought they both had excellent taste in men.”
“You’re making that up!”
Mira was soon reminded of her mother as the woman in question appeared at the altar, causing a reverent hush to fall over the guests gathering in the Temple for the ceremony.
While things would not start for another fifteen minutes, the ushers were so distracted by her and the guests so mesmerized that one would have thought that the bride had arrived early.
Nope. Just my mother being extra. Joiya had her ceremonial priestess dress delivered and spent most of the morning getting ready in a hotel room she rented for her and the female entourage the night before.
Hannu and Kema spent most of the morning helping her with her hair while Mira fetched breakfast and tea.
I’m useless with beauty shit. She knew how to apply makeup and brush hair, but not to the extent the High Priest’s wife required for officiating a high-profile wedding.
“Well, as it so happens…” Ramaron nudged Mira as the people around them began to move again. “Your mother is a beautiful woman.”
“Promise me something, huh?” Mira couldn’t take her eyes off the golden, glittery butterfly clasps in her mother’s long black hair.
They matched the golden embroidery in her sleeveless Temple white dress, which she paired with a dark, golden shawl and gold jewelry that accentuated her dark complexion.
I could never look so effortlessly feminine and gorgeous.
“If it comes to it, marry me to get me away from my parents.”
“I don’t think you want to be Lady Marlow.”
“Just give me my own room in your house so I can read books all day and confuse your cousins because they knew we’re queer but, like, I’m never pregnant.”
“I’m just saying, ‘Mira Marlow’ is a terrible name. And I’ve known you since you were born, so absolutely not.”
“Aw, not even to save my life?”
“Void willing, it never comes to that.”
“If something happens to my parents and I’m left with Great Dame Dunsman trying to tell me what to do with any real authority, it might come to that.”
“And what about your girlfriend, huh?” Ramaron asked with a lowered tone. “Do you plan on bringing her with you?”
She wondered why he brought up Sulim, but there she was, stealing Mira’s breath with how effortlessly feminine and gorgeous she looked in her bridal party dress. I didn’t even know she wore dresses. Maybe Sulim did for Graella, one of her best friends.
Their eyes met, Sulim standing near the altar to talk to one of the ushers while Mira remained seated in the second row.
Sulim slightly turned her head, as if she hadn’t seen Mira, but the blush was there on her cheek.
Was she shy about being seen in such a feminine getup?
Don’t be. Sulim played the tomboy well, and probably hadn’t worn a dress since her own wedding day, but she was still wonderful in Mira’s besotted eyes.
If I stare at her long enough, will I remember enough details for later?
She wanted to draw this moment. Paint the colors and present the portrait to Sulim, who would surely be shocked to know that her soulmate was somewhat of an artist.
If the Marlows can write and the Lerenans can make music and dance, then I can bring some artistic class to the Dunsmans.
It was one of the few solitary hobbies, aside from reading, that her grandmother approved of everyone fostering in Young Lady Dunsman.
Mira even took a decade’s worth of classes at the Academy.
She could draw. She wasn’t bad at painting.
What was stopping her from painting her own portrait of the woman who would inevitably break her heart one day?
“That’s a lovely color on her,” Ramaron said, catching the object of Mira’s gaze. “I’m a fan of the colors at this wedding.”
“The bride’s favorite color is green.” Particularly dark, natural green, which was on full display with all of the ferns and plumage adorning the Temple that day.
Jacelah had contracted a florist from the region’s capital to ship everything the day before, and a whole crew had put everything up well after Joiya and Mira left for the night.
Yet a sea-crisp blue was the secondary color, which marbled with the green in Sulim’s dress, creating an oilscape of two natural colors that complemented her light hair and fair skin.
The little pink flowers are a nice touch, too.
Mira didn’t see the bride’s dress until everyone else did.
While most cultures, be they human or julah, had some of the same traditions as passed down from the universal Temple practices over millions of years, everywhere had its own flavors.
Sulim had said she wore a crown of wildflowers at her wedding, since that was a Qahrainian tradition.
Arrahites were more preoccupied with elegance and “bringing the outdoors in,” as shown by the large ferns hanging from the pews and the altar, where the voya-yantrak was polished twice over for the occasion.
But the double-doors to the Temple were left open at the start of the ceremony, and every window was left uncurtained to bring in the glory of the noonday sunlight—because, as Sulim had explained a few days ago, Arrahite weddings always took place at noon.
The pews were not full, but Mira understood that this was an intimate ceremony for close friends and family—and special julah guests, presumably.
Mira and Ramaron sat on the bride’s side while the small contingent from Qahrain witnessed on the groom’s.
Lewin’s mother cried at the appearance of the beautiful bride in her white dress trimmed in forest green and woven with golden beads.
In those days, most humans eschewed the traditional veils of julah wedding ceremonies, so Graella walked in with her full smile on display, her shoulder-length hair swept up on the back of her head to show off her svelte neck and prominent cheekbones.
Oh, yeah. She’s so pregnant. Joiya had told her before Sulim shared that tidbit—and Joiya only knew because soul-seers could spot new life in the womb with their inner eye. And Joiya had been looking at many auras around her lately as part of her research.
“She’s pregnant,” Joiya had told both Mira and Ramaron in the Temple apartment late one night.
“Hopefully it’s her fiancé’s. Probably. They were inseparable during his last visit.”
When Ramaron asked who else it could have been, both Mira and Joiya exchanged a look.
Neither believed it was possible, but Marco di’Flare was known to be a “close uncle” figure to both Gardiah heirs, and he especially doted on Graella during those past few weeks.
The man in question also sat in the second row, right behind his business partner.
Both Lady and Lord Gardiah were stoic as the wedding proceeded, Joiya giving her usual spiel before launching into her personalized speech about what a delight it was getting to know the couple before their nuptials.
Mira checked out as her mother asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer to bless the bride and groom.
These ceremonies were always quick, especially for humans.
The grand entrance of the bridal party; the opening speech from the officiant, followed by prayers; the vows that were witnessed by the unknown creator; an offering to the Void on the altar.
Joiya fastened the couple’s hands and laid hers atop them.
When she finished her final prayer, the whole thing was over.