From the pavilion, the quartz yard spreads, veined with straight-edged paths of blindingly white shells. People of Moonshadow fill the space, miran nearest the center, and line the main road along which Singix Es Sun approaches. Excitement thrills in the air with ecstatic pops and Iriset feels very alive, and entirely part of the world.
Designers trigger rising force arrays that draw hundreds offlower petals in red, white, fire blue, and sunset orange high to hang in the air, trembling, catching light. They swirl together into shapes over the crowd: massive roses, a burst of fire, a royal griffon that spreads red-petal wings.
In the distance, Iriset sees the first billow of red: Designers line the path with long sheets of thin red cloth. As Singix approaches, exact forces are applied and the cloths lift into the air one at a time, shaped like holy arches with the point at the apex, creating a tunnel of shade for her; after Singix Es Sun passes they fall, wafting a gentle breeze at her back. Singix’s arrival is marked by a moon-red, welcoming wave.
Overhead, the floating petals form the Ceres flag: a seven-petaled lily against a deep purple. The flower is odd-numbered on purpose, for in the islands they worship a multiplicity of gods, not all of which require balance. Each petal represents a different value: strength, loyalty, family, hierarchy, obedience, courage, and beauty. As all watch, the center of the lily births a red star with four points: the Vertex Seal. It doesn’t consume the lily, but joins with it, both turning together and growing larger and larger against the sky. A perfect symbol of the coming union.
Singix walks in on her own, long skirts dragging behind her. The peacock-blue gown hangs from her shoulders in straight folds, hiding the shape of her body beneath a flattening chest piece that glitters with glass beads, vivid rubies, and aquamarines. Her cape is just as formless, layers of jeweled fuchsia and pink, too many bold colors. In a compromise with the traditions of the miran, she holds a square-shaped mask of stretched silk in front of her face with two delicate white hands. It is sewn with what can only be diamonds, in lines like the sea and clouds. She’s a fountain of brilliant color, scattered light.
In two columns behind her march soldiers in molded black leather armor, their swords plain steel, and then Ambassador Erxan with seven men and women bearing gifts.
Lyric shifts his weight to one hip, then almost immediately balances himself again: the only sign of anxiety. He’s never met Singix before, though they’ve exchanged a few brief—chaperoned—letters.
Instead of allowing the princess to step up onto the pavilion, Lyric suddenly walks down to meet her. He doesn’t bow but lifts his hands to touch his fingertips to his eyelids in a show of great respect from the Vertex Seal.
Singix’s hands, holding the square of silk, are tattooed in intricate ghost writing, like veins of silver fire barely brighter than her skin, and so perfectly rendered the lines seem to lift out from within her, an expression of her lovely inner design. They will be the names of all the royal ancestors of the Remnants. Singix lowers the frame.
Iriset gasps quietly. All the various bold colors of Singix’s costume serve only to highlight the princess’s bare face. Oval, with balanced high cheekbones and a high forehead, her skin is flawless as far as Iriset can see—a smooth, polished pearl, her lips just as pearly but pink, and her large eyes a bright dark brown. They are flat along the bottom and arched along the lids, with short black lashes and black brows that slice just imperfectly enough to be perfect. Sleek black hair is pinned away from her face and gathered into a large, soft-looking cloud of small braids and smooth lines at her nape. The traces of ghost writing at her hairline tease and promise, and Iriset wants to taste them as if they are lines of rising force.
Then Singix Es Sun smiles. Even her smile spreads perfectly, without one corner lifting higher than the other, and themuscles around her eyes fulfill the promise of that smile, transforming her already immaculate features into something holy.
Ecstatic force pings fast in Iriset’s blood; her palms are cold, despite the heat and the sweat beaded along her spine.
“Welcome to Moonshadow,” Lyric says in gently accented formal Ceres. Then in mirané, “Welcome, Glorious Singix.”
As Singix answers in the mirané tongue, “I am so glad to meet you, Lyric Your Glory,” Iriset is relieved to note her voice is as plain as anyone’s.
Lyric turns enough to hold out his hand for Amaranth, who descends for introduction. At the same time, Erxan walks up through the column of Ceres soldiers and bows, then gives a more elaborate introductory speech relating the poetical biography of Singix Es Sun, Singix of the Beautiful Twilight. Overhead, the petals draw together to form a fluttering canopy that hardly blocks the heat but creates a dappled shade rather like light through water. A mystical, dreamlike way for a husband and wife to meet.
The Vertex Seal offers his hand, palm up, and the princess places hers against it; the two ascend to the pavilion and face the crowd spread out across the quartz yard. The sun fully emerges from behind the moon, the architects release their petals, and a lovely rain of flowers drifts down.
Then it’s over.
The royal party removes themselves from the blasting afternoon, Lyric and Singix bidding temporary farewell to each other so that all might rest and prepare again for the evening celebration with only the miran of the council and the palace.
Before the feast begins, Garnet méra Bež arrives to take Iriset to the chambers where Singix will live until her wedding on the afternoon before the Day of the Crowning Sun. Garnet, too, haschanged into his formal uniform, and two force-blades cross over his back in a way designed to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders. He bows to Iriset, says nothing, and turns to lead her. Iriset walks closely behind him, recalling the energy of the blade in her hand. She parts her lips to taste the flavor, but the sheaths are covered in glazed ceramic that dulls—or contains—the force.
Just when they reach the princess’s rooms, Garnet pauses. He glances at her, at the jade cuff, and says nothing. Either he’s begun to trust her or he chooses to pretend for the sake of His Glory and Amaranth. Surely it’s the latter.
“May I attend Her Glory now?” Iriset asks.
Garnet scratches at a line of skin razed clear of beard in a thin repeating star pattern. “You told Lyric not to wear face art.”
She noticed the Vertex Seal only rimmed his eyes in black lines today. “That is not exactly what I said.”
“The opinion of the royal architects should be given more weight than a disgraced daughter of the undermarket.”
Iriset scowls. “It is not my fault he believed me.”
“So long as you stand by your claim,” he says mildly.
“I do.”
Garnet gestures for her to knock. He remains outside as she’s greeted by Ambassador Erxan and pulled into the chamber.
“Here she is, darling,” Erxan says, hand delicate at Iriset’s shoulder blade. His hearty smile shows his teeth, and he smells of sharp rice liqueur.
Iriset catches only a glimpse of diaphanous pale green before touching her eyelids.
