Kushiel's Mercy

cherished few, I thought, we would love them. We would never let a day go by unmarked, unnoticed, without letting them know they were loved. Without letting them know we loved one another.
    Our lives together were a gift. I would always be grateful for it.
    The day of our wedding dawned clear and bright. How not? The Master of the Straits was in attendance. Favrielle nó Eglantine’s assistants came to make certain that my attire was immaculate. It was simple, very simple. Black breeches, a white shirt open at the throat, embellished with subtle white-on-white embroidery along the neckline. No doublet. I remembered sweltering when I’d wed Dorelei.
    Not today.
    They fussed over the lay of the shirt and fussed over my hair and the shine of my boots until I grew impatient and dismissed them. Not long afterward, Phèdre and Joscelin arrived to escort me. Phèdre caught her breath at the sight of me.
    “You look—” She shook her head.
    I smiled. “So do you.”
    And then it was time to go. We rode the short distance from the courtyard to the Palace gardens, wreaths of flowers draped around the necks of our mounts. At every step of the way, there were folk flanking our path, cheering and throwing petals. I thought half the flowers of Terre d’Ange must have been stripped bare for this one day. We reached the gardens and dismounted, continuing on foot. Petals fell like a blizzard.
    Through the falling petals, I saw her.
    Sidonie’s dress was white, white on white, matching my shirt. It looked vivid and bright against the greensward and the blue robes of Brother Thomas standing behind her. Her arms and shoulders were bare. There were white roses woven into her honey-gold hair.
    We smiled at one another. There was a throng of thousands present, but I saw only her.
    I walked across the greensward and took her hand.
    Another moment in life come around full circle.
    Brother Thomas stooped to touch the green, growing grass, then lifted his hands to the blue, blue sky. He invoked Elua’s blessing on us. Once more, I felt my brow anointed with oil. I touched the golden torc at my throat, remembering. I saw understanding in Sidonie’s dark gaze. And then Bérèngere of Namarre came forward and anointed us a second time in Naamah’s name. Her daughter had kept our secrets, but she knew the role desire had played in our union. The oil on the Lady Bérèngere’s fingers smelled of jasmine, and her expression was at once solemn and glad.
    There were vows then. I repeated the words that Brother Thomas gave me to recite, finding my voice gone suddenly soft and husky. Tears stood in Sidonie’s eyes. I watched Sidonie recite the same vows. A thousand memories crowded me. We’d gone through so very much to reach this place, this moment in time.
    “Let it be done.” Brother Thomas’ voice was firm and carrying. He spread his arms wide as though to embrace the world. “In Blessed Elua’s name, I bid you seal this union with a kiss.”
    The cheers rose.
    Petals fell.
    Sidonie smiled at me through her tears, joyous tears. She slid her arms around my neck. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her as though the fate of the world depended on it.
    It was done.
    We were wed. Melisande Shahrizai’s son and Ysandre de la Courcel’s heir. And the realm rejoiced at our union, their cheers ringing to the heavens. A vast band of musicians began to play. Servants began to circulate bearing trays of joie . I downed a glass at one swallow, gasping at the cold fire that burned its way down my throat. Sidonie laughed with delight at my reaction.
    The celebration began.
    I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.
    So many people I loved were there.
    “Dagda Mor!” Eamonn said good-naturedly, folding me into a rough hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly happy before, Imri.”
    I laughed. “Elua willing, you’ll see a lot more of it.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maslin de Lombelon go to one knee before Sidonie, taking her hand and speaking in a low tone. She listened, then kissed his cheek softly.
    Urist came to clasp my hand, his grip hard and strong. We nodded at one another, sharing memories in silence. “She’d be glad,” he said simply.
    My eyes stung. “Thank