I do as she says. Until now I’ve been too consumed with Beresford to take in our surroundings, but as we begin walking, I let the scenery sink in. The distant haze of autumn forest, peach and gold leaves amid bare branches. The temple of Junaeth, with its distinctive curved towers and arches of pink granite. The path we’re following, laid with pink quartz, statues of pink soapstone rising on either side. Low evergreen hedges, no higher than my waist, weaving patterns through the grounds of the temple.
To the right and left, far beyond the hedges, I spot the domes of the temple greenhouses. I know their orchards and cornfields lie to the east, hidden from our view by a wooded ridge.
This forest has no connection to Wormsloe. There is no Barrow-Man here, no two-headed wolf, no grandmother with teeth too big for her mouth, no Herron with bulging eyes. Everything here is beautiful and pink and shining beneath a blue autumn sky.
The priests of Junaeth, all genders, flank the steps to the temple entrance. They wear pink vestments with scarlet trim, and they each form a circle with their hands as we pass them and enter.
The main chamber of the temple is already filled with people sitting in tiered rows of seats. My mother and sister each kiss my check and walk forward to their seats at the front. Then, when the Archpriest nods to Beresford and me, the two of uspace forward barefoot along a pink quartz aisle strewn with black and white petals.
The Archpriest holds a censer of incense, which he swings lightly from side to side while several pipers play a soft, soothing melody.
Beresford takes my arm as we advance together, offering me extra support since my ankle is still weak. There’s a rigidity to his body that I didn’t notice until we entered the temple. When I look up at him, his face is tense, like he’s fighting an internal battle. It’s a noticeable expression of strain and displeasure.
Is he regretting his decision to do this? Or does he hate temples for some reason? Maybe he doesn’t like the fragrance of the incense.
With the arm that’s wrapped in his, I nudge his side lightly to get his attention. When he looks down at me, I give him an encouraging smile.
His response is immediate. His body relaxes a bit, and his expression softens with unmistakable affection.
It’s not me, then. Something else caused his momentary distress. Maybe, like me, he has a few secrets on his mind.
The marriage chant is a simple one. The Archpriest speaks each line of the first stanza in a loud monotone, and the guests repeat the phrases with him. Then Beresford and I echo the lines of the second stanza as the Archpriest reads them.
A dance follows, performed by devotees in pink robes, moving in circles. During the dance, Beresford and I each prick our fingers on the thorn of a rose and draw a circle with the blood on the orb of Junaeth, a pink marble globe at the front of the sanctuary.
The dancers retreat to each side, and the Archpriest steps forward to make the final pronouncement. “Two drops of water into one. Each a sphere on their own and a sphere together. The unity and the majesty of life. May the sun grant you vitality and the moon bless you with peace. Hail Junaeth.”
“Hail Junaeth,” the guests repeat.
“Hail to the Two in One.” He spreads both hands toward me and Beresford.
“Hail to the Two in One,” shouts the crowd, and applause rises like an ocean wave.
The pipes begin playing theIllummium Valor, the traditional wedding song of our region. Beresford and I leave the temple with our hands clasped, and we’re presented with our wedding shoes at the door. As we pass from the shade of the portico, the sun hits my eyes like a flash of pain, and in the same second I realize that I ammarried.
I am his wife. He is my husband.
It’s a heady, giddy feeling—joy and terror. I truly want to be with him, beside him, but at the same time, the vastness of everything I don’t know about him makes me dizzy.
Open wagons decorated with garlands of flowers wait on the lawn of the temple, ready to carry guests to the pavilion where the banquet is being held. Beresford and I pass them by and climb into a chaise, also flower-adorned. We’re driven away first, along a lane between low hedges dotted with autumn flowers.
I haven’t had an appetite all day, and it’s late afternoon, so when we approach the pavilion and the first scents of roast pork and vegetable dumplings find my nose, I suddenly feel so famished I think I might collapse.
“Food,” I whisper.
Beresford chuckles, glancing at me. “Hungry?”
“So hungry I feel weak.”
“We can’t have that. I’ll fetch you something.”
“We should wait to eat with everyone else,” I protest guiltily.
He climbs out of the chaise and clasps my waist, lifting me out as well. Then he takes my chin, a gentle caress that tilts my face up to his, but there’s steel in his blue eyes when he says, “Ifmy wife is hungry, she shall have food. This is your wedding celebration. You wait for no one.” He nods to a nearby temple servitor. “Please take Mrs. Beresford to her seat. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Right this way,” says the servitor, with a warm smile. “Welcome, and may Junaeth smile upon you.”
“Thank you.” I take my place, wondering if Junaeth is actually real, as these devotees believe. I have never really trusted in the gods, perhaps because, even though I prayed to several of them at different times in my life, none of them ever helped me. Their origin stories, their lore, and their supposed powers have always seemed like fairytales, like wishful thinking.
