Chapter 138 – Union
Mirzayael is draped in layers of silk and chainmail, each flowing into the other in seamless waves of copper, bronze, and gold. Cut stones delicately adorn her chitin and glitter like stars in the night sky when she moves. Similar to myself she has a spelled array of stones hovering about her head in a black and gold halo. She also wears a short black cape that pragmatically stops above her abdomen, a gossamer of fabric so fine I can see right through it.
I can’t help but smile at this; Yequariel is clearly enjoying his newfound access to foreign fabric, and I can’t fault him for taking this opportunity to show off. Altogether, she truly looks to be a warrior queen, beautiful and powerful, striking and dangerous. Her very presence seems to command the attention of the entire room.
Mirzayael lets out a breath in a quiet laugh, and affection floods my mind. “Are we allowed to stop blocking our feelings from each other, now?”
The return of her mind feels like coming home, and I wrap myself in her familiar presence. “Oh, I suppose. Only if you want to.”
She laughs louder this time, holding out her arms as she crosses the hall, and I rush to meet her in the middle in a rather un-queenly manner. We embrace in a tangle of limbs, and I can only imagine Yequariel gasping at the wrinkles we might be causing.
We exchange a kiss, even as the roar of the hall comes back to me, and I realize we’re guilty of quite the Public Display of Affection. Nek joins us, chuckling to himself.
“I am told in Earth customs you are supposed to wait to kiss until the end of the ceremony.” He grins wide, exposing his cat-like fangs.
Even Nek is dressed up, wearing a mixture of draping fabrics and chainmail similar to Mirzayael. His fur is brushed and fluffy, and I resist the urge to reach out and pet it.
“As I’m not from Earth, I am not required to adhere to such customs,” Mirzayael informs him with mock severity.
I chuckle. “And as I’m no longer on Earth, I think I’m allowed the same exception.”
Nek purrs in amusement, then lifts the chalice he’s been holding. “Are you ready? You know the words?”
“I do,” I confirm, inwardly amused at my choice of words.
Nek signals to someone else, and a call goes out to quiet the hall down. Talking doesn’t completely cease, but it does dampen from a roar to a soft murmur.
The hall is decorated in Fyreneth’s colors: red, orange, yellow. But I notice new colors have also been added to the decor: pink, like my wings, and black, like Mirzayael’s shell. Some fabrics span the entire spectrum, from yellow to orange, red, pink, purple, then black, like a vibrant sunrise. The pink and black look striking against one another. Which, I suppose, means we do as well.
Ollie lays in the open balcony behind us and shakes his head, causing all his chains to jingle musically. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” he wonders to me and Mirzayael.
I grin, only imagining how boring a wedding ceremony must be for a kid of his age. Luckily, Fyrethian ceremonies are exceptionally brief, with the majority of the celebration spent enjoying food and fun. “Sorry, Ollie. I promise this won’t take long.”
All eyes are on us. Mirzayael nods to Nek, and we let go of each others’ arms as he steps between us. He holds up the silver goblet, which is surprisingly plain compared to all the rest of the glamour that surrounds us. It’s from the days of Fyreneth’s Keep, and I get the impression that it didn’t belong to any one individual, but was passed around as needed.
Mirzayael and I each touch a hand to the rim of the chalice. There are a variety of common phrases that are typically exchanged during such a ceremony, depending on the number of individuals involved. Mirzayael and I were each asked to pick one we resonated with, and then swap them with each other.
Nek nods to us, and we each begin to channel our mana into the grail. The spell circuits within it direct the magic in swirling eddies around the cup and stem, my red and her blue coming together to mix in the water itself. The magic-infused water doesn’t actually activate any spells or bindings, but the merging is meant to be symbolic of our joined values.
“Unity from diversity,” Mirzayael says, raising her voice for the hall to hear.
“Strength through strife,” I answer.
Nek steps back as we take hold of the chalice, lifting it for each of us to drink from it in turn. The water is cool, and the magic buzzes along my lips like tiny channels of electricity. We pass it back and forth, each taking a drink, until the cup is empty. When we’re finished we hold it upside down together, and the room bursts into cheers.
Happily, the ceremony doesn’t require any long speeches—Fyrethains aren’t much for long speeches, anyway—so we jump right to the feast. Honestly, I can’t imagine a better way to spend a wedding than surrounded by friends, food, and cheer.
The kitchen starts their rounds of delivering food, and we remain at the head of the room on an elevated meal circle so everyone can see us. We have Nek’s family join us, as he was the chalice bearer, and his kids are more than happy to launch themselves at the food before the rest of the room is served. I make sure to pay compliments to every kitchen staff that stops by so the cooks know how much I appreciate their work. And I’m not just saying that to be nice—this is some of the best food I’ve had in either life.
Ollie, of course, also gets his own dragon-sized portions of slightly-less refined dishes, but more suited for a dragon’s palate. After a time, Meritis slips away from his family and joins Ollie on the balcony, where they talk and eat with ravenous enthusiasm. At some point, even Aliz slinks over to chat with the boys, laughing at something Ollie says.
“Where is Dizzi?” Nek asks at one point, pulling a kid off his back as she tries to climb him like a mountain. “I thought you said she would also be sharing an honored spot at the head of the room?”
I shake my head with a smile. “She found more interesting things to attend to than ceremonies and conversation.”
“Magic?” Nek surmises.
“What else?” I say with a laugh. Which reminds me—I haven’t had a chance to fill Mirzayael in yet on the arrival of Sandro’s message, too caught up in all the wedding chaos.
“Sandro’s wyvern arrived,” I tell her and Nek as Sora attempts to wrangle their kids back under control. “He found the spell. Dizzi has the notes and is working on them as we speak.”
“Ahhhh,” Nek sits back with a nod. “Now her absence makes sense. I knew she found ceremonies boring, but even she wouldn’t miss your union unless it was for something important.”
“And food,” Sora adds, setting the kids down before a lemon tart, which they turn their undivided attention toward. “She’s never one to turn up a chance at food.” In many ways, not unlike her kids.
“But this is good news!” Nek says. “We will soon be prepared to face the pantheon on equal footing.”
I wouldn’t quite go that far, but we’ll have at least leveled the playing field a little.
“It is good news,” Mirzayael agrees. “And a good omen on a day like today.” She casts her gaze out over the hall, her eyes softening. “I could never have imagined a future such as this. Our city has enjoyed so much prosperity in the last year.”
“May there be many more years to come,” I agree.
Similar to Mirzayael, I could never have imagined a future for myself like this. If given the opportunity to go back in time and use what I’ve since learned in my first marriage, I would do so in a heartbeat. It took becoming a different person to find myself, and my wife and daughter suffered for my lack of insight. I wish I could have done right by them, like I intend to do for Mirzayael and Ollie.
But life rarely gets to be so clean. I’m already lucky enough to have been given a second chance; I must live with my mistakes, bear the consequences of my actions, and use what I learned to work toward a better tomorrow. I hope, somewhere on Earth, my family was able to find new joys for themselves as great as the ones I have the privilege of experiencing today.
Mirzayael’s mind brushes up against me. “Do not fill yourself with such regrets. The past cannot be changed.”
“I know.” I smile sadly as I look up into her eyes. “Sorry for thinking of such things now when all my thoughts should be on you.”
She scoffs. “I may be your partner on the throne and off, but that does not mean I expect to live every second of your life thinking only of me.”
I lean against her side. “Just most of the seconds, then.”
She chuckles deep in her chest and runs her fingers through my feathers.
Eventually, after enough time for the room to become pleasantly buzzed and for the children to enter a sugar crash, we do reluctantly stand to give short speeches. Mostly thanking various individuals for all the effort they put into the event. Yequariel for the amazing outfits (the crowd enthusiastically agrees), and the chefs for their outstanding dishes (the crowd enthusiastically agrees with this even harder). Nek for his friendship and assistance with the ceremony, Sora for everything she’s done for Ollie, Chidinma for the incredible help she’s put in with the other Travelers.
“There are other important friends that couldn’t be here today,” I add, raising my mug in a toast. “But their friendships and contributions to the community cannot be overstated. Dizzi, our Royal Scientist, who has single handedly repaired most of the city.” The crowd cheers, as despite her eccentricities—or perhaps because of them—she’s widely liked. Technically it’s not completely accurate to say she couldn’t be here, but she’s doing what makes her happy, and that’s enough for me.
“Sandro, our Wyvern Master,” I continue. The crowd cheers again, but not quite as enthusiastically; I can’t blame them as the boy mostly keeps to himself. “He’s facilitated trade with countless nations, bolstering the prosperity of our kingdom. And finally, Kanin, a new but dear friend of mine, who fought with me against the Heavens to free the captured Travelers. Without him, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Mirazayael mentally laughs. “I doubt they realized how literally you mean that.”
“It’s still true!” I insist. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
She wrinkles her nose, but there isn’t any actual negativity in her thoughts. “Must I?”
“Of course not,” I assure her.
She sighs. “Fine.”
Mirzayael stands up as I sit down. “I will acknowledge individuals who I also believe deserve to be recognized.” She raises her mug. “Elder Beryl. Councilor Torim. Captain Salvia. Newest Fyrethian Gardi. Captain Marlow and crew. Aquenno.” She hesitates for a split second. “Blair. That is all. Thank you.”
She sits back down.
“Quite the emotional speech,” I tease. But several of the names she said surprised even me, and made me proud at the same time.
“Don’t expect it to happen again anytime soon,” she tells me. But I can sense Mirzayael feeling my pride, and it in turn summons humbled sort of affection in her. She wants to make me proud. The feeling is entirely mutual.
“So what’s next?” I ask, pushing my plate back. I don’t think I could swallow another delectable bite if I wanted to. “What’s in store for the future of this city, after we deal with the pantheon?”
Mirzayael looks thoughtfully through the room. “We were never a people to plan so far ahead. Even just the next meal was sometimes as far as we could afford to look. It’s hard to imagine what greater things this city could aspire to.”
I nod in agreement. “In my old life, I had my head in the clouds, but all my aspirations were about the work that was immediately in front of me. Complete the next project. Fix the next flaw. When everything was running smoothly, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“Neither of us are suited for a life of leisure,” Mirzayael observes.
I think there’s a lot of truth to that. I wouldn’t say I seek out conflict, but I do certainly seek out knowledge. Learning new things that might be difficult to grasp, meeting new people who challenge my views, visiting new places entirely unfamiliar—those are my greatest pleasures in life.
I’m sure we’ll have no end of diverse visitors coming to our city once we’ve resolved the god conflict. Yet, will that be enough for me? My Role Range now allows me to travel quite far from the Fortress. I could see the world if I wanted to.
Though, not as a queen.
“I think we should discuss options for future governing systems,” I say to Mirzayael. “I’m not sure any leader should stay in power indefinitely.”
“For Fyrethians, it’s rare that any do,” Mirzayael says. “Most serve until the community deems them unfit. Talks of successors for Beryl were already underway before you arrived. Though, most leaders do serve for decades. It’s rare for Fyrethians to call for a new chief after only a few years.”
And from how much the Fyrethians like Mirzayael and I, I doubt they’ll be interested in dethroning us anytime soon.
“Perhaps we could begin to create the foundations for a more concrete system,” I suggest. “Maybe a maximum term one can serve. Or a rotating array of councilors, staggered to retire at different years, so there is never a complete upheaval of rulers at any given time.”
Mirzayael chuckles. “I think many would be reluctant to accept too much change at once. But I do like the idea of stepping down, one day. I have already grown to miss working with the guards on a daily basis. We can discuss this idea of yours further.”
I’m in no hurry. Just the idea that we might be able to spend our lives together one day, without simultaneously running an entire city state, is enough for me. I let out a content, tired sigh, and lean into Mirzayael’s side. She wraps an arm around me, resting her chin on my head. I could live in this moment forever.
Then, the Alarm Spell goes off.
The Dungeon Core sits up in my mind like a roused watchdog, immediately latching onto the intruders who have stepped through the barrier and many more individuals who are gathering just outside. Mirzayael and I leap to our feet, exchanging a hard, wordless look.
Lorata is back.