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He was across the garden before I had even opened the door.

She lay in a puddle of silk and linen fabric between the sofa and the low table where the books we’d been reading still lay. There were tears in the dress and a bruise marred the outside of her right forearm. That must have been from the fall she’d taken in her desperation to find something with my scent. Tenderness welled in me. I stripped out my sweater and then pulled her into my arms, carrying her to the sofa.

She sucked in a ragged breath, and it hitched in a sob. She cuddled closer into me, her nose pressing into the crook of my shoulder. I wiped away the lingering tears from her cheeks and pulled her hair away from her face, braiding it loosely. Then I carefully eased the finger bracelet that still held her lapis lazuli pendant off and set it on the table. Vanilla and orange pulsed from her in time with her heartbeat, but it didn’t have that edge that meant she’d fully slipped into her heat.

With a sigh of relief, I adjusted until I lay on the sofa with her atop me.

The movement was enough that she stirred.

“Callum?” Her voice was hoarse and heavy with tears.

“I’m here, Sterre. You can sleep.”

“Wh-what happened?”

“Phoebe sent word that you were showing signs of a heat haze. I traveled back as soon as I received the message.”

She shivered against me, a whine building in her throat.

“H-heat haze?”

“A sign that you’re falling into your heat,” I explained. There was no reason to bog her down with the specifics of it all when it was the middle of the night. “Sleep, and we’ll complete our rites in the morning. You’ll be safe with me when your heat settles fully.”

“The talks?”

“Amethyst,” I sighed. She shivered, and her scent grew more potent for a heartbeat. She breathed deeply, and then she repeated the question. I ran my thumb across her cheekbone. “Progressing slowly. It felt cautiously optimistic when I left.”

She relaxed more fully against me, and her scent faded with her sleep.

47

AMETHYST

The small antechamber was barely large enough to fit Selby, Amaria, and me. The fact that I wasn’t attempting to crawl out of my skin in the close quarters was a testament to just how much having Callum back had done for my state of mind. I’d awoken this morning sprawled across his chest in the sitting room, still in the dress I’d worn for Leafwake, as rational as I’d been the rest of my life. There was none of that heart stopping, primal need for his scent that had driven me to such lengths the evening before. Even now, I couldn’t help but blush when remembering how out of control my response to the servants washing his clothing had been. Instead of dwelling on it, though, I turned my focus back to the preparation for the Freian rites. Another hour or so, and I would be soul bounded to Callum, that half-moon scar on my shoulder, too.

Amaria wrapped the ubiquitous white fabric around my body, somehow managing not to drown in the sheer volume of it all. When it was all set, she threaded a silver brooch through the fabric at my shoulder and then again with the fabric at my waist. The two pins were the only points keeping the fabric from falling in an unceremonious heap to the floor, and I silently praised their strength. Of course, in another twenty minutes, I’d be grateful there were only those two points to contend with. But I wasn’t thinking about that part of the rites. Not if I wanted to keep from blushing furiously again.

I fingered a bit of the fabric. It was the softest linen I’d ever felt, even more so than the linen of the dresses we’d worn onto Magefall what seemed like an eternity ago now. The entire outfit felt like the oddest mix of Grecian gown and Scottish great kilt. Add to it the pure white of the fabric, and it felt pretty similar to a wedding in the way I’d always known them on Earth.

As Shelby continued adjusting my hair, twisting it into an updo, I recounted the steps of the rite, walking through each action for fear of getting them wrong. I’d studied them heavily this morning with my suddenly functioning prefrontal cortex, but I was still halfway convinced I was going to mess something up. The last thing I wanted was to pull a Ross Geller while in front of a Votarist in the heart of this basilica.

As I was going through the list for the third time, Shelby set one more pin and then stepped back, a small smile tilting her lips. Amaria held out a mirror without comment, holding it so I could see what she’d coaxed my hair into doing. The French twist was simple, elegant. The pins were nearly invisible, the opposite of the traditional hairstyles of the kingdom. She had left two small strands to frame my face and had teased them into ringlets that just brushed my chin. While I didn’t typically wear any makeup, Amaria had smudged kohl in a winged line and darkened my lashes.

“Ready?” Shelby asked.

I swallowed and then nodded. She undid the clasp on the lapis lazuli pendant and stashed it in the pocket of her dress. Vanilla and oranges wafted around us, filling the room without being overbearing.

“Thank you,” I told them both, circling their wrists and then pulling them in for true hugs. “I’m glad Callum chose you both.”

Amaria laughed. “I am, too. We’re grateful he selected you, no matter the circumstances around you being there.”

Shelby cocked an eyebrow even as she smiled. “We’ll see you in a few days.”

This time I did blush, my cheeks and throat both heating. I was glad I hadn’t known at the time why Monique and Arden had holed up in the Basilica after their validation rites. I wouldn’t have been able to look Monique in the eye while we danced, and that would have been as embarrassing as if I’d actually torn that dress.

They left out the small door that led back to the sanctum with the statue of Freia. When the door had closed, I took a few deep, steadying breaths, and then carefully entered the adjoining ritual room. Its walls were the same limestone white, but there were no windows here, only two large sconces on the wall behind a long, low altar. In front of it lay a black mat that covered the middle of the stone floor. It reminded me of the padding in karate halls, intended to soften the floor for when doing work while kneeling or grappling. While the mat had no adornments, the altar was covered with pomegranate blossoms, sprigs of rosemary, and snowdrop petals. In the center of it, there were two bowls that held the coiled incense we would light in symbol of our own self. Beside them, two tea lights burned with small flames and between the bowls was the tall, fat white candle that represented our new union. Just in front of the candle, a bundle of dried herbs I would crush over the flame were neatly tied with a utilitarian jute cord.

Callum stood on the other side of the small room, closing a similar dark wood door and then crossing to the center of the altar. He tipped his head down, his lips moving in a whispered prayer as he clasped his hands behind his back. His swath of fabric was similar to my own, though is was only held from one much larger silver brooch at his left elbow. Ironically, the design of it was nearly identical to that of a Roman toga. His hair was done up into the same French twist, his pins also simple and nearly invisible.