“I bullied Odilon into translating for me, at the lawyer’s guild.”
“But…?” Ayla blinked at him, her lashes still wet, and tried to figure out why he’d possibly have gone there. If he were in trouble of some kind, surely he wouldn’t be acting so calm, a soft smile on his lips as he shifted from his crouch into a kneeling pose.
“I don’t have an Aronthian half-wife. Not in Cirancia, anyways. They said that here, if you don’t consummate a marriage within a month, it can be dissolved at will by either person. So that’s settled.”
“Oh,” she said. The word came out choked. “Well, that’s good.”
Niel smiled and caught her hands again, pulling the handkerchief out of her grip. He settled her hands into his left one, squeezed them tight, and reached into his pocket with his right hand.
“I love you. I’ll always love you,” Niel said.
“I love you too.”
“...And if the pain I endured led me to you, then I welcome it, and would choose the same road again.”
“Oh,” she whispered, heart pounding, as he drew his hand out of his pocket. She couldn’t see what he was holding in his fist. But she could guess.
“Will you marry me, Ayla? Please?”
He opened his palm to show her a ring, a gold band wrought with tiny flowers that curled around a single, miniature green stone.
She looked down at him, and drew a shuddering breath, and had to take a moment to keep herself from bursting back into tears. Ayla tried to talk, and realized she did not dare open her mouth.
She nodded, lips pressed tight.
“Really?” Niel sounded shocked, but his face lit up, a gleam in his dark eyes and a crooked grin splitting his mouth wide. “You will? It’s not too soon this time? You’ll be my wife?”
She nodded again. He kissed her, his lips sweet and soft on hers, and Ayla started crying again, which was a little embarrassing, but it could not be helped. She loved him. And this marriage would not be one of terror or boredom. It would be one of hope, and happiness, and they would be each other's shelter.
“How?” she asked, when he drew back to wipe her eyes gently with another handkerchief.
“How what?”
“How do we get married here?”
“We can go to the guild, or one of their temples. Or we can just do it ourselves, at home. Just the two of us. It’s not like anyone here will know the difference.”
“Itwouldhave to be just the two of us, wouldn’t it?” Ayla said, as she wound her hand into Niel’s hair, and he rested his forehead against hers. He knew the men and women at the school, and she had become distantly friendly with the people at Gante’s shop. They’d both spoken briefly with their neighbors, in broken sentences that were becoming more confident. But it took time.
“Just us two if we wed today,” he agreed. “Or we can wait, and make it three.”
“Today, I think,” she said, and traced a hand down the sharp line of his jaw.
A knock on the door startled them both apart.
“Are you expecting someone?” she asked, reluctantly letting go of him.
“No. Should I ignore it?”
“Best to check,” she said with a sigh, and started trying to push herself up out of the chair. Niel offered her his hands and pulled her up with ease, then ducked under the low doorway and down the hall. She wandered after him, heart still racing. They were going to be married. It was no surprise, but she still felt her stomach fluttering with excitement.
There was nothing to be afraid of. Not with him at her side. After everything they’d faced, surely they could manage the future. Even if they had to do it alone, without families or close friends to help.
Niel opened the door, and Ayla’s eyes went wide as she saw the crowd of neighbors outside. Without waiting to be invited they started to come into the house, and Niel stepped aside, looking as baffled as Ayla felt. Here was Anfelisia, who lived two doors down, with a basket of folded cloth. Her husband Rizar had a clay jug of some sloshing liquid hooked on two fingers. Galitia, an elderly woman who lived with her children and grandchildren was helped over the foyer by a man with a basket of fruit on his other arm. One after another they spilled into the house, talking animatedly and bearing gifts.
Anfelisia paused in front of Ayla to grip her forearm, the greeting many Cirancians seemed to favor.
“What is this?” Ayla asked, in her own language first, then rephrasing.
