She wears a traditional wovenkhiirgown, with the low V-shaped waistband and the long slitted skirt. Silver anklets clank about her feet, and delicate cords grip her shapely legs. A softleokashide wraps her breast in an intricate folded design, which leaves her shoulders and arms bare, save for silver armbands.
Her midriff is completely exposed, her large belly freely displaying the swell of life inside her.
She rests her hands on her belly, and grimaces with self-conscious embarrassment. “This is ridiculous,” she says. “Women of Gavaria don’t go arounddisplayingthemselves like this. Not in such a condition! Not when they’re all huge and—Taar! What in the worlds are you—”
Her question is cut off abruptly as my hand catches her by the back of her head, dragging her to me and crushing her mouth beneath mine. My eager hands travel over her body, her swollen middle, her ample breasts, delighting in every swell and dipand curve and all that glorious softness. I pull back, giving her a chance to catch her breath, and growl, “Gavarian women must be too afraid of driving their men absolutelywild.”
Ilsevel gapes at me, her swollen lips parted. “Taar . . .” She stops, shakes her head, mouth twisting in a disbelieving laugh. “Taar, you cannot possibly findthisattractive!”
“Oh, can’t I?”
I catch her up in my arms, and she utters a little yelp of surprise as I carry her back to the bedroom. “Taar! Taar, we’re going to be late!”
“We cannot be late, because they cannot start without us.”
She tries one more protesting bleat, but then my hands slip beneath theleokaswrap, playing with her sensitive nipples. Her protests turn to moans, and she falls back on the bed, succumbing to my ardor. I tease her, toy with her, until she begs me to give her relief. This I do with a right will, entering inside her and thrusting until she sings out a joyous song of unadulterated pleasure. My voice joins with hers in perfect harmony, and when I collapse beside her on the pile of furs that is our bed, I think how, even without her gods-gift, her voice has not lost any of its sweetness. Not to my ear.
She rolls over, silver bangles clanking on her arms and legs, and looks up at me from under her lashes. One hand rubs the mound of her belly, and she shakes her head. “I was always told that men found pregnant women completely repulsive.”
“How could I be repulsed by the mother of my child?” I kissher nose, kiss her cheek, kiss her chin and jaw and shoulder. “You are so beautiful, myzylnala.I cannot imagine you more beautiful than you are right now.” I pause a moment, dropping a more lingering kiss on her breast, allowing my tongue to toy with her nipple. I’m rewarded with a little whimper of delight. “However,” I finish, “I look forward to you proving me wrong over the years.”
“You mean as I get older and saggy and all covered in stretch marks?”
I take hold of her chin, draw her mouth toward mine, whispering just before my lips drop to hers, “I cannot wait.”
The kiss is slow, lingering. I never want to rush kissing my bride, but intend to always make a thorough job of it. She will know she has been kissed when I am through.
Her breath is fast and hot when I pull away at last. I let my eyes wander languorously down her naked figure. “So,” I say, “do you want help getting dressed again?”
She smacks my shoulder and tosses her mussed hair. “If Tassa throws a fit before we get there, I’m placing all the blame on you, warlord!”
I grin and run a hand down the line of her hipbone and thigh. “I’ll shoulder any blame, never you fear. Especially if you’ll sing for me one more time before we go.”
“Taar, you really are impossi—”
She breaks off in a moan as I roll her onto her back and parther legs, and does not speak again until she’s singing out my name.
Despite my best efforts, we both manage to be dressed and presentable by the appointed hour.
We stand together with great dignity on the newly-established city green, surrounded bythe people of both Rocaryn and Tarhyn Tribes combined. Sylcatha takes a solemn position on Ilsevel’s right hand, clad in her Licornyn armor, her licorneir at her side. She looks stern, but she has an ilsevel blossom tucked behind one ear—a single concession to the festivity of the occasion.
Halamar stands before me, tall and proud, though I notice that he keeps rubbing his palms together rather nervously.
“You know,” I say, inclining my head toward him, “it’s not too late to make a run for it. Miramenor is fast enough—he could get you over those hills by sunset.”
Halamar flashes me a glance. “Tassa would hunt me down and pin me to the ground with my own sword.”
He grins as he says it. It is good to see the delight back in Halamar’s eyes, the song ringing in his soul. There was a time I believed Halamar would never recover fromvelrhoar. So many miracles have been wrought in the last six months.
I turn to look at Ilsevel—so queenly and radiant, no one would suspect her discomfort at wearing a revealing Licornyn gown. Myeyes linger on the swell of her belly, a beautiful symbol of the repopulation of our world. Soon Licorna will be filled with both licorneir and Licornyn again, and the air will ring with the music of unified souls.
A song begins—the licorneir, gathered among the people, throw up their heads and begin to sing, their voices ringing deep. Their riders sing with them, higher pitched, and the harmony is wonderous and otherworldly, unlike anything else in all the Eledrian realms.
As though summoned by the song, Tassa appears at the end of the green—clad in the very same Licornyn wedding gown she once loaned to Ilsevel, though it fits her tall frame rather better than it did my small bride. She carries a cluster of ilsevel blossoms in her hands, and hervelarinlicorneir paces solemnly behind her as she progresses, barefoot, through the grass. I feel the song shared between them, not unlike the song she shares with Halamar. A song of second-chances. A song of renewal.
Halamar extends his hand to my sister. Her fingers slip into his, and they smile into each other’s eyes. Though I approach them with a golden cord in hand, they do not look at me, but face only each other.
I lift up my hand, let my voice carry across the assembly:“The night of silence has ended,”I sing, the old Licornyn words falling so naturally from my lips.“Now is the morning of song.”
