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I place my hand in his, and his fingers close securely around mine as we follow the others into the mist. The first step steals my breath when freezing water floods my shoes and closes around my ankles.

By the time we reach our place among the other guests, I know there are eyes on us. But with his hand wrapped around mine, I find that their gazes don’t matter. Only his touch does.

7

Charity Case

Sigurd & Valerie

The open-air banquet hall on Mt. Qaf hums with conversation. A string quartet plays from the balcony above, and golden djinn fixtures cast a soft glow over the long table. Silver platters of roasted meats crowd the center between crystal decanters of spiced wine. The temperature has been adjusted for the human guests. I barely notice it because my mother sits directly across from us.

Solveig holds herself with the same rigid dignity she brings to every formal gathering. Her eyes remain fixed on Valerie. I knew this was coming, yet I still want to end the evening before my mother finds another reason to test her.

The opportunity arrives during a lull in the conversation. Solveig turns slightly toward Valerie. “Tell me, Valerie. What do you make of relationships between humans and monsters? Do you believe they are truly compatible?”

Several delegates nearby fall quiet. My fingers close harder around my glass. She does not owe you an examination. I could answer for Valerie, but doing so would give my mother what she expects. Solveig has already decided a human woman needs me to defend her place here.

Valerie sets her fork down and meets Solveig’s stare without hesitation. “They can be. I don’t think being different species makes a relationship fundamentally different from any other.”

Solveig arches one brow. “The difference in life span alone can span centuries. Then there is physical strength, biology, even the environments in which each species can survive. You consider all of that trivial?”

“No, Madam. Those things matter, but they don’t decide whether two people belong together.” Valerie keeps her voice calm despite the interest gathering around our end of the table. “A match doesn’t rely on species. It relies on the people involved and what they feel for each other. In the end, it relies on the heart.”

I relax my grip before the crystal stem cracks between my fingers. Valerie is not dismissing the differences between us. She is looking directly at them and refusing to let my mother decide what they mean.

Solveig opens her mouth to continue. Iris reaches the table first and gives Valerie an encouraging look. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’m fairly certain Rakan would object if anyone suggested humans and monsters are incapable of making it work.”

My mother turns toward the bride, and irritation flickers across her face. There are few customs the djinn treat more seriously than wedding hospitality. Challenging Iris at her own celebration would insult Rakan. Even Solveig has no interest in turning a private objection into a diplomatic incident.

Camille joins Iris a moment later with the purposeful look she reserves for impending logistical disasters. “Actually, Madam Solveig, we were hoping you could settle something for us.”

Solveig regards her with immediate suspicion. “What did you need settled?”

“The florist is panicking about the abyssal anemones for the deep-water delegation's tables,” Camille explains. “She insists the traditional varieties won’t hold their shape this far above sea level.”

Iris nods with exaggerated gravity. “Apparently substituting surface flowers would change the symbolism. That seems like something we should know before the reception.”

My mother gives them her full attention. “It would change the symbolism. Abyssal anemones are traditional markers of respect in deep-house protocol.”

Camille leans closer, clearly invested now. “That is what I needed to know. Does the color matter as well? The florist sent three possibilities, and I refuse to discover tomorrow that one of them signifies widowhood.”

For the first time all evening, Solveig looks genuinely appalled. “Of course the color matters. Indigo signifies continuity. Black is reserved for mourning. Who approved a florist who does not know the difference?”

Iris catches Valerie’s eye for the briefest moment. “Then we definitely need your help before someone accidentally gives the wedding a funeral theme.”

Within seconds, Solveig is explaining the proper colors. Camille follows with increasingly specific questions about placement and blooming stage. Neither woman leaves her enough room to return to Valerie. I take a slow drink from my glass and enjoy the sight before setting it down.

“Leave them to the anemones. We’re going to dance.”

Valerie looks up at me, clearly caught off guard. Her gaze flicks toward Solveig, who is now explaining some ancient distinction between petal arrangements. I offer my hand, and Valerie studies it briefly before placing her palm in mine.

“That sounded suspiciously like an order,” she says as I help her to her feet.

“I was trying to move quickly before my mother escaped. I admit that urgency may have affected my delivery.”

“That explanation does improve it.”

Her shoulders relax as I lead her away from the table. The banquet hall has grown more crowded since dinner began. Guests have pushed back their chairs to mingle. Several elaborate trains spill across the stone between us and the dance floor.