Cyncerely Yours

if she were the ghost. “Yes. The Etorri Rhej.”

    Cullen couldn't make himself move or speak. This woman hadn't been Rhej when he was kicked out of Etorri. That Rhej had withered her way into death over twenty years ago; she'd been followed by the woman who had trained the one in front of him now.

    Cynna took his hand. That helped, somehow, but when he finally found his tongue he might as well have stayed silent, considering how little he had to say. “You’ve cut your hair.”

    “I got tired of messing with it.” She smiled at both of them. “I was happy to receive your invitation.”

    Cynna started to speak. Cullen squeezed her hand before she could blurt out that they hadn't sent her one. Of course they hadn't. It never occurred to him that any of the Rhejes, keepers of the memories and traditions, would be willing to attend the tradition-busting occasion of his wedding.

    Yet here she was. And she wasn't just any Rhej. She was Etorri. What she did mattered — not just to him, but to all the clans. Her presence wouldn't bring universal acceptance of his marriage, but it would make a difference.

    Cullen had to swallow first, but this time he knew what to say. “We are happy to have you.”

    “Thank you. Now, about that ghost--?”

    “Rhejes deal with ghosts?” Cynna asked, dubious. “I didn’t know that.”

    “No, but—” He almost forgot and used her name. “She’ s a medium.”

    Interesting. She is very young, yet she knows her true name. So few humans do.

    Mika advanced with the sinuous sway common to dragons. Several of the guests scattered to give him room. He stopped and stared at the Rhej. What is a medium? Ah, I see. You will make the dead woman give back my dust.

    The Etorri Rhej's eyes widened slightly, but her nod was polite, her voice matter-of-fact. “I'll do my best. Where . . . ” She glanced around, her gaze fixing on the floating container. “ Oh, there she is. What did you say her name is?”

    Cynna supplied it. “Mrs. Ryerson. Don't you need candles and stuff?”

    “No. Mrs. Ryerson, you are causing a great deal of trouble. You must have a strong reason.”

    “But—” Cynna began.

    Cullen squeezed her hand, urging silence. The Etorri Rhej was a very strong medium . . . and, it seemed, Mrs. Ryerson was a very strong ghost. The usual trappings for communication with the dead weren't needed.

    “I see,” the Rhej said solemnly. “That isn’t all of it, though, is it? I think you'd better tell me the rest.” A long silence followed, with the Rhej apparently listening closely. Twice she nodded; once she made an understanding sound. At last she looked at Cynna. “I see why you were confused, but Ada isn’t trying to obtain forgiveness f or herself. She wants you to forgive your mother.”

    “My . . . she what?” Cynna stiffened. “What business is it of hers? Besides, I have forgiven her. Mostly.”

    “Ada owes your mother a debt of guilt,” the Rhej said gently. “I believe we’ll skip the details about what that debt involves, but it is real and serious. She can't release until she feels she's atoned. Since your mother has already moved on, she can't atone directly, so she's trying to do something that will benefit you.”

    Cynna stared in disbelief. “Inciting a dragon to riot? Ruining my wedding? Yeah, she's been tons of help.”

    “Her methods are muddled, but those trapped between are often muddled. Her goal is for you to forgive, however, and that will certainly help you.”

    “Okay. I forgive my mother.”

    Nothing happened.

    “You can’ t lie to a ghost, dear ,” the Rhej said. “I’ m not sure how, but they always know.”

    “I’ m not lying, I just — she--I can't forgive on command!” Cynna's voice rose. “It doesn’t work like that!”

    “Perhaps I can help.” Father Michaels — who hadn't run away, or screamed, or pulled a gun when Mika roared — made his way towards them. He was a short, husky man just into middle age with dark hair and eyes. “Forgiveness does rather fall into my province. Cynna?” He held out his hands. “Will you step aside a moment and speak with me?”

    She looked at Cullen first. He gave her hand another squeeze, feeling helpless and disliking that. But forgiveness was definitely not his best thing. He let go of her hand.

    The priest took her aside and spoke quietly. The others probably couldn't hear him. Cullen could. First Father Michaels asked if she knew whether Mrs. Ryerson