Jurnia couldn’t help pacing nervously in the space between the twin beds and the sliding door leading to the main hallway of the inn’s upper storey. It was still too soon after finding her missing beloved, after saving him from the horrible fate that would have snatched him away forever. And yet he had asked her to wait here, to trust him.

She did, with all her heart. It didn’t matter that he had moved in the shadows as the Demon’s Claw, nor did it matter that he was from the supposedly monstrous and untrustworthy Lopayzom clan. He was simply Karavasu, the man she had come to love for everything he had been, everything he was, and everything he could yet be.

Not for the first time did she say a silent prayer of thanks to her dear mother. Chaiya’s own unrequited love for a Lopayzom had ensured that the daughter of the elegant Raven Herald grew up free of the mindless hate for the Fox preached to the youth of the Kaykolom.

Her father, of course, would be far from happy with her once he discovered that her longed-for suitor was a Fox. Jurnia scowled as she continued her pacing. Not like he doesn’t already know who I would choose. I’ve been telling him for years. No regrets here.

No, there were none at all. Not when the very thought of losing the redheaded swordsman left her feeling so empty and alone, leaching the joy from living. Sighing, she turned her emerald gaze to the door. I shouldn’t worry so. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in a peaceful farming village.

The sense of his familiar golden aura came to her then; smiling in relief and a bit of excitement, she awaited his return.

The paper-covered door slid open revealing his slender form. Under his shaggy bangs, his amber eyes sparkled with mischief. She blinked at him in surprise; somewhere along the line, he’d changed into clothing that was much finer and far more formal than she’d ever seen on him before. The loose-fitting pants were a deep burgundy; a design of foxes running among bamboo stalks was embroidered in glittering golden thread along the hems of each leg. His shirt was a shiny, intense red, the material covered with golden embroidery forming scattered bamboo sprays and little circular Lopayzom insignia; the formally-long pockets of his sleeves were gathered together at the ends with thin cords of gold, small tassels dangling from the ends. Under the hems of neck and sleeves, she could catch glimpses of an undershirt of palest yellow. Around his waist, however, remained the ever-present sash of golden silk and his cherrywood-sheathed sword. His single-toed socks were the same deep burgundy as his pants and the reed sandals were new, unscuffed.

Magnificent . . . her mind squeaked. Swallowing hard, she finally found her voice. “Aren’t you the fancy one? So what’s the occasion?”

The mischievous look glided from his amber eyes to his grin. Holding out his hand, he murmured, “You’ll see. Come with me.”

She hesitated. Something’s up . . .

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” she snapped, irate he’d even imply otherwise.

“Then come on.”

Emerald eyes narrowed at him suspiciously while she glided forward. Though not in her best clothing—all of that had been left behind, unfortunately, in her chambers at the Rookery—she certainly wasn’t dressed in anything shabby. But compared to his finery, she couldn’t help but feel a bit like all she had on were rags. “I look like a washerwoman or the cook’s assistant,” she complained softly while setting her hand in his.

He raised her hand to his mouth, gently kissing the back of it. “It’s okay. Everything’s taken care of. But you need to come with me.”

“Then lead on, oh Dashing One.”

He chuckled even as he tugged her out into the hallway. Shutting the door behind them, he walked with her along the hallway and down the stairs.

Everything seemed bright, full of promise. For the first time she could recall, he seemed willing to show his feelings to her and the world at large instead of hiding it behind some self-imposed barrier. He seemed at peace with himself for once, the sunshine glowing far deeper than the wanderer’s usual shallowness. They walked out of the inn, still hand in hand; she savored the rare moment of tenderness he allowed. It was even more precious because she knew now how it would be without it.

The noontime sun shone down on them as he led her along the little village’s main road. The day was warm but not overly so; a cooling breeze gave just the right amount of freshness to the air. She felt like singing her joy to the world, but contented herself with walking silently next to him, a smile on her face. After the nightmare of the past few days, she was glad for such a blessing.

“Congratulations!” called out a pair of the village elders as the two travelers strode past. Like most of the village, the totems glimmering around their old bodies were that of the Bhekom, the wise, peace-loving, somewhat reclusive Clan of the Frog. A rather earthy folk, they tended to keep to themselves and concentrate on their simple existence.

“Thank you very much,” Kara responded, flashing the two old men a sunny grin.

The dark-haired woman blinked emerald eyes in surprise, then turned her gaze to her companion’s profile. “Kara, why are they congratulating you?” she asked in a low murmur.

“It’s ‘us’, and you’ll see.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Jurnia didn’t exactly feel his comforting gesture. She suddenly felt lightheaded, suddenly very nervous but also somehow excited. Congratulations and finery fit for a prince . . . ? But her heart didn’t dare yet let her hope. It would be too cruel if her tentative conclusion proved to be wrong.

Her excitement couldn’t help but grow as the man of her dreams led her through the gate of the village’s somewhat rustic shrine. Stepping up onto the wooden walkway ringing the ancient but lovingly cared for building, Kara stepped out of his sandals. He let go of her hand then; as she also slipped off her journey-scuffed footwear, the Lopayzom pulled open the door and gestured for her to step inside.

The room within was spacious; the very air hummed with a feeling of holiness. Against the far side of the room, a dais held a gorgeously-carved rendition of the Sun Goddess holding her hand in a gesture of benediction over a knee-high frog. Unlike its often silly-looking living counterparts, the squat creature had been given much grace and dignity by the sculptor’s skilled hand. Tall candelabra flanked the image, their flickering light gently illuminating the chamber. What caught her eye immediately, however, was the low, round table set before the dais. Large flat cushions richly embroidered with sacred designs lay on the mat-covered floor before the table; they were obviously intended for a pair of people to kneel upon them. From this angle, as she stood in the doorway from the outside, she could only see that the surface of the table was brightly colored in some intricate design while a golden chalice and a dagger lay upon it.

Still, it was enough for the reality of what she observed to sink in. Tears welled up in her eyes, ones of pure joy, and she turned her wondering, loving gaze to the man silently waiting next to her. “Oh, Kara,” she whispered, voice choking with emotion.

“One such as I doesn’t deserve the likes of you, but above all else, you deserve to be happy. I can no longer deny that, for whatever reason, to be separated from this unworthy one will only cause you pain that matches anything I bear.” He gestured toward a sliding door, its paper covering decorated with a scene of farmers going about their peaceful chores. “There’s clothing for you in that room. I fear it’s not likely to be anything as fancy as what I have; you didn’t seem to have any Court clothing in your travel gear, and there wasn’t much I could do on short notice.”

“It’s okay, Kara, really,” she said. Still blinking back tears of happiness—and suddenly too shy and nervous to give him a reassuring hug—she added, “I’m sure it’ll do just fine.” Hell, I’ll even resort to marrying you in itchy old burlap if that’s what it takes! Then her mind froze on the word “marry” and she felt flustered and lightheaded all over again. Swallowing hard, she turned and made her way into the room the redheaded swordsman had indicated.

Like the rest of the shrine, the room was rustic but well-maintained and clean. Seeming to be the shrine-keeper’s bedroom, it held the usual furniture one would expect from such a place. On a wooden table were arranged a number of cosmetics, a comb and even a highly polished silver mirror while a formal women’s robe of silk lay elegantly draped over the surface of the low, comfortable-looking bed.

She had expected a simple garment, perhaps prettily colored but nothing spectacular. What she was looking at was quite beyond what she had expected to see in this small rural town.

It was breathtaking. Deep turquoise-blue, the color ever-so-slightly darker at the hems of sleeves and skirt to give an impression of a clear sky, it shone in the light from the small window. Tiny birds worked in white silk thread—she identified them as doves when she looked closer—were scattered artfully across the richly colored “sky”. Golden embroidery decorated the hems in curling patterns that suggested a gently blowing wind. The tissue-thin under-gown was a paler blue, almost aqua. The wide, heavy belt was darker, a rich teal-blue, stitched with a pattern of lotus flowers. The cut of the garments was an antique style, but it was obvious that the robe had been well-kept for many years.

“Will it serve, my lady?” said a slightly cracked voice. An older woman, perhaps sixty or seventy, was standing in the corner near the door; her eyes dazzled by the gown, Jurnia hadn’t even seen her, and she started guiltily.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

The old woman smiled proudly. “It was my wedding robe, fifty years agone. My mother had it made in the World’s Navel. Said that even if I were determined to marry some poor farmer, I would go in the finest she could find, for the pride of the Dove.” She chuckled. “My mother had a certain sense of pride herself. The fact that I was marrying the second son of the Bhekom lord soothed her temper a bit.” She gestured toward the dressing table. “I’ll help you with your hair and face, my lady, if you wish.”

“Please,” Jurnia said, smiling wryly. “I’m so nervous that I’m afraid I’d make a mess of it.” She held up a hand, watching it tremble, then looked at the other woman. “And if you’re the wife of the local lord, I’m the one who ought to be calling you ‘my lady’.”

“Ah, never mind that. This is a small, simple town. Even the folk who live here don’t address me that formally.”

The preparations wound up taking close to an hour, what with the quick sponge bath to take off the road dust, the application of scented oils and cosmetics, and the careful dressing of Jurnia’s hair with long gilded pins, ornamented with enameled flowers and tiny jewels. The thin under-gown was cool and light against Jurnia’s skin as she wrapped it and fastened the ties to secure it around her; the formal robe itself was a much heavier and rougher-textured silk, falling in straight, neat folds, cinched in at the waist by the broad belt. Jurnia tugged on white socks—leaving a pair of new sandals to await her departure from the shrine—as the older woman finished tying the sash, then stood still as her helper tweaked and smoothed and adjusted the robe. With a smile, she finally nodded in approval and gave Jurnia a gentle push toward the door.

“Go on, then,” she said. “He’s waiting for you.”

And I’ve been waiting for him, all my life. Drawing a deep breath, the Kaykolom slid the door open and stepped into the central room of the shrine.

Back and forth the redheaded Lopayzom had paced. Determination to overcome his belief he wasn’t worthy of such a precious gift—all for her sake; she deserved whatever would make her smile—slowly crumbled under nervousness and self-doubt the longer it took her to reappear. The realities of the situation clawed at his thoughts, tearing at his focus. It had only been a year and a half since their clans’ bloody feud had come to a formal end; even now he was certain many of the younger Kaykolom still believed the Lopayzom were vermin to be wiped off the face of the earth. Yet here he was, the son of the Fox Chieftain, preparing to marry the Chief Herald of the Raven—without the blessing of either clan, and in doing so, Jurnia would be obligated to set aside her position as Herald.

Iryasitru was going to be furious. Arjunayazu probably wasn’t going to be overly happy either, but Kara could count on his father being even more upset should the younger Lopayzom’s will crumble and he give in to Jurnia’s—and his own—unmistakable desire. This way was the more honorable path, especially since he was sure his ability to resist the very tempting maiden was more or less reduced to tatters anyway.

Then the sound wood scraping against wood pulled Kara from his thoughts. Stopping in mid-stride, he glanced at the moving panel.

The woman that stepped through was an exquisite vision of beauty. His breath caught in his throat; amber eyes looked at her wide in surprise as he felt his heart pound against his ribs. All of a sudden his formal outfit seemed far too warm. Gulping, he could only stare, drinking in the vision.

The turquoise silk whispered seductively; like all formal gowns, the floor-length skirt was somewhat confining and forced Jurnia’s normally bold stride into tiny—for her—steps. But this time, instead of muttering under her breath about the impractical cut of female Court clothing, she wanted to make the moment as perfect as possible. Determined to make it seem like she glided over the mat-covered floor, she concentrated on her stride. Much to her surprise, she actually found doing so helped keep her nervousness under some semblance of control. Suddenly wanting to see him, she lifted her gaze from the floor to his face.

Kara still stood there, his stance obviously one of a man who had been taken by surprise. But the wonder she saw in his large amber eyes was starting to become tinged with love and desire. If she had any doubts about her borrowed finery pleasing him, all those questions were quickly laid to rest. He looked like a man who had seen a vision of heaven and wanted to experience it to the fullest.

As she drew near, he held out his hand to her. “You are . . . the most beautiful woman on this earth,” he murmured.

A smile composed equally of nervousness and feminine satisfaction played upon her reddened lips. She laid her hand in his with a confidence born of knowing this, and nothing else, was what she wanted. “And you the most gallant of men.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m sorry it’s so little and on such short notice. You deserve—”

She stopped his words, boldly placing her hand over his mouth. “Not. Another. Word.” Her unrelenting green gaze stared at him until she sensed she had won the moment. Lowering her hand to rest it in his gentle grasp once more, she softly continued, “This is what I deserve, what I have standing before me. And if you’re going to keep delaying my prize, I’m going to have to get angry with you, Kara.”

A sunny, somewhat embarrassed grin lit up his pretty face. “All right,” he agreed mildly. Turning to face the table set before the dais, he led her toward the waiting cushions, matching his stride to her tiny steps.

Kindly brown eyes watched the couple as they approached. The wrinkled face of the village’s priest broke into a sly grin. The strangers were clearly of the nobility; the Bhekom had a way of knowing who were of clans as tied to the humble earth as they were and who were of the more rarified ones. When the redheaded youth had requested this, the elderly priest had agreed, but with personal reservations. For a pair of nobles, the entire situation smacked of an alliance being sought on the sly, especially given their clans; though he’d tried his best to read any untoward motivation within the Lopayzom’s aura, the youth had seemed sincere. Seeing them together now as they knelt before the Divine Presence, the priest relaxed and rejoiced all in the same breath. This was no political marriage, or a form of revenge visited upon the Kaykolom. No, the two were obviously in love. I can truly think of no better way to resolve the dispute between Raven and Fox. Iryasitru’s going to be fit to be tied . . .

As she settled comfortably into a kneeling position on her cushion, smoothing the robe into a neat pool around her, Jurnia noted that a small tray was placed on the floor before her next to the round table. A flask of rice wine sat there, looking quite innocuous. More than likely, at some point in the ceremony she would need to pour some of the wine into the golden goblet placed on the table, and she hoped that her nervousness didn’t result in it splashing all over the place. Then her gaze flicked to the table’s surface and froze in awe.

She’d heard of this, of course. Her mother’s upbringing included some instruction not only on sex but also the marriage ritual, but to actually see the ethereal beauty of it for herself was breathtaking. The circular surface of the table was covered with a brightly colored sand painting; the hued grains had been made by grinding colored stones—some considered precious—into a fine grit. The mandala was intended to be a visual prayer, an appeal for the spirits to bless the new family with their bounty. Elegant spirals—themselves representing the cycles of nature moving through time—curved around symbols for fertility, joy and prosperity, but the majority of the pattern was composed of the Lopayzom insignia protectively cradling within it the Kaykolom symbol.

The chalice, which represented the feminine aspect of Divinity, sat on “her” side of the mandala just to the side of the Raven insignia. The bared dagger of the masculine aspect rested before Kara, also just to the side of the large Fox symbol. Here before her lay not only the instruments of her own wedding, but also those of the Sacred Marriage of Goddess and God.

The young couple remained kneeling in respectful silence as the priest began the ceremony, their heads bowed. Though Jurnia kept her fascinated gaze mostly on the gorgeous sand painting, she did sneak a glance here and there at her groom while the priest walked around them and the table while purifying the area first with salted water.

Kara appeared to be lost in prayer or thought, his eyes closed, long lashes dark against his cheeks. Not even the startling coldness of the drops of salted water the priest flicked over the couple made the Lopayzom twitch. Even so, he didn’t appear upset at going through with this or looking like he was going to suddenly bolt in panic. As the priest made a second circle around them and purified the area with burning incense, Kara remained in the same peaceful repose.

For her part, the butterflies had returned. She hoped she didn’t make a horrendous mistake and completely destroy the magic; she had to stop a number of times from biting her lower lip and messing up her carefully-applied cosmetics. Though he may not agree, Kara deserved for this to be as perfect as possible.

Having completed his purification, the kindly Bhekom priest set down the golden thurible on the small tray next to his position. He straightened, facing the couple nervously kneeling on the opposite side of the table. The Frog tended to be wise, but also very straightforward. “Normally I would chatter on for the good of both families, reminding them of the blood bond this would represent, but since you kneel before the Presence alone . . .” He waved a wrinkled hand dismissively, then turned his brown gaze onto the beautiful maiden. “However, I do have words to address to the both of you. First you, Jurnia of the Kaykolom, daughter of Chaiya.”

The woman addressed gulped, suddenly feeling like she’d been caught red-handed doing something wrong. Her cheeks pinking slightly under her makeup, she lifted her emerald gaze to the priest.

“You have been truly blessed by the Divine to have within your grasp a partnership based not on politics or economics but on love. For one such as you, this is the rarest of matches. But the path that lies before you means many things.

“Should you tread it, you will have to set aside what remains of your childhood. You will have to sever your ties of loyalty from the clan of your birth and leave the hearth of your family. You will no longer be one of the Raven, but rather one of the Fox, as will your children. The Lopayzom will be your new clan, your loyalty will be theirs, and whatever status you have will be theirs to determine. You will have to trust them, for they will be your family now.

“Knowing this, does this still remain the path you choose?”

Jurnia nodded. Both remaining Fox were honorable men, worthy of trust, despite the rumors the vengeful Kaykolom had spread far and wide. Her mother had loved one, while Jurnia herself dearly loved the other. “With all my heart, Holy One,” she said firmly.

The priest suppressed a grin. Like most Zaryan clans, he’d heard the rumors of the stubbornness both Kaykolom chieftain and Herald possessed. The fireworks will surely fly once Iryasitru learns of this, but I bet the Herald can hold her own. Giving the maiden an approving smile, his dark gaze shifted to the young man doing his best to remain calm and focused.

“Now you, Karavasu of the Lopayzom, son of Arjunayazu.”

The amber eyes opened at the sound of his name. The priest had to concentrate hard to not burst into laughter. The poor boy had a rather glazed look about him, not unlike many of the bridegrooms who had come before this altar to be wed. It was usually a combination of nerves and an acute awareness of what would follow after the ceremony—though in a rural community, it wasn’t uncommon for a couple to have already experimented with the “after”. Occasionally, that was the reason for marriages conducted in some haste. It appeared that this young man was noble enough to have known that experimentation with this particular girl would have been terribly inappropriate, but now it was probably weighing on his mind. If it wasn’t for his training, I bet the lad would have fainted by now, the priest chuckled to himself.

“For you, this path is one of sacrifice. No more will you be able to live only for yourself, for now a second life depends upon you. She will leave all that is familiar behind and come to you with nothing; it is up to you to see that she is well provided for. She will be your family now, your responsibility. Your home will be hers. Your possessions and wealth will be hers. And, if need be, your blood will be shed defending her and her children.

“But she comes to your hearth not as a possession or a servant. She is your partner, your equal, an honored guest of your clan. Remember that she has set aside her people for yours; it is your duty to ensure that her sacrifice is not in vain.

“Do you still wish to take this path?”

Silence reigned in the rustic shrine as Kara turned his head. His golden gaze swept over her even as the weight of the priest’s words settled on his shoulders. Even in this brief pause, this moment of silence, he could see the anxiety in her face, the fear that he would change his mind and snatch away the one thing in the world she truly desired, intertwined with the pure, clear love that she carried in her heart for him.

But for her, he would do anything to protect her from such soul-killing grief as he’d sensed in her when she had believed him to be dying. “Yes, that is my wish,” he finally said, his gaze returning to the intricate sand painting.

The priest gestured with a time-wrinkled hand toward the small earthenware flask waiting on the tray near Jurnia. “If you would kindly pour a measure of the wine into the chalice?”

The dark-haired maiden blinked, startled out of her nervous thoughts. “Oh, of course.” Willing her hands to remain steady, she picked up the small container and opened it. Carefully, so as to not disturb the enchanting mandala, her left hand pushing the formal gown’s long sleeve back from the table as her right tilted the bottle, Jurnia poured some of the rice wine into the waiting cup.

“Go easy, girl,” the Frog chuckled. “You’re the one that’ll be drinking that, after all.”

Cheeks pinking again, she made sure to turn the flask upright once what looked like a mouthful was glimmering in the golden container. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she stoppered the flask and set it back down on the tray.

“Now if you’ll hold the goblet in your hands . . .”

Jurnia did as she was prompted, picking the vessel up with infinite care. The smooth yellow metal felt cool in her hands as she cradled it in her elegant fingers. Again her verdant gaze was drawn to the mandala as she awaited the next moment.

The priest’s voice continued on, tone steady and serious despite his age. “Jurnia of the Kaykolom, daughter of Chaiya, do you now solemnly swear to recognize this man as your legal husband, to cherish and honor him, to become one of his blood and clan, forsaking all others in times both good and ill, in joy and in sorrow, until the very end of your days?”

The sacred vow . . . She inhaled deeply, hoping to steady the butterflies batting insistently in her stomach. Jurnia glanced over at the red-haired man kneeling next to her; noting the slightly panicked look in his eyes at her pause, she smiled, her expression full of her love and adoration for him. “I so solemnly swear,” she murmured, making the promise that bound her to him for the rest of her life.

The Lopayzom visibly relaxed, his amber gaze lifting to the wizened old Bhekom. For one horrible moment, he had thought she would finally come to her senses and reject such a bloodstained soul. He felt a twinge of guilt, realizing all over again that he was coaxing her into a union that would inevitably taint her with his own sins.

Jurnia’s loving eyes had gone dangerously narrow, and the force of her stare was almost like a physical slap. Evidently, his adoring bride was not above using Avatar senses—or simple observation—to keep tabs on his mood and guess at what was on his mind. Just as evidently, she disapproved of his current line of thought. His eyes momentarily closed as he gave her one of the wanderer’s sunny, contrite smiles and soft, nervous chuckle.

“The blade, if you would, lad,” the priest said, his attention turning to the groom. As the youth picked the dagger up with as much care as possible to keep from disturbing the sand painting, the slightly portly Frog continued, “Three drops only, one each for the past you lived alone, the present that binds you to her and the future you will share together.

“Jurnia, lass, he’s not going to be able to do what he needs to if you keep clutching the goblet near your breast. Besides, making him get his hands that close to that region of you right now is probably going to make him collapse into a pile of twitching nerves.”

Both bride and groom blushed furiously at the priest’s words. Jurnia fairly thrust the chalice out toward Kara, dropping her ominous gaze from his eyes to the weapon’s gleaming blade. Her mother had explained that during the ceremony, the groom was to make a small cut on his hand; the blood shed thus not only symbolized his role as protector of the new family but also was a form of equity. After all, the end of the entire process saw the maiden’s blood shed. This way, both parties had to experience a bit of pain, not just the girl leaving her birth clan behind.

Kara’s expression remained resolute as he twisted his torso to face his achingly beautiful bride. Tilting his left palm slightly, he stabbed the point of the dagger into his flesh just deep enough to make crimson well up in the wound. He then held his cut hand over the chalice, counting off the drops as they fell. When the third one splashed into the cup, slowly diffusing in a tiny red cloud in the pale wine, he turned his left hand palm up as he gingerly replaced the dagger onto the altar. He licked off the remaining blood that glistened darkly against his flesh and then pressed the thumb of his other hand over the wound.

The priest smiled in satisfaction. The boy was a credit to his training. While other bridegrooms had fainted in the past at either the thought of cutting themselves or at the sight of their own blood, this one hadn’t even flinched. “Karavasu of the Lopayzom, son of Arjunayazu, do you now solemnly swear to recognize this woman as your legal wife, to cherish and honor her, to protect and nurture her and her issue, forsaking all others in times both good and ill, in joy and in sorrow, until the very end of your days?”

No hesitation came this time. “I so solemnly swear,” the little swordsman responded, his voice soft and clear, the tones hinting at both the silly wanderer and the dangerous assassin.

Jurnia’s hands tightened their hold on the metal goblet. In her Avatar senses, she could feel a glimmering spark of Kara’s golden essence now infusing the wine. The final important act of the ceremony was upon her. She was to drink the chalice’s contents, taking into her a part of him that would forever make her one of the Lopayzom—subtly symbolic of, and nearly as binding as, the act of consummation. Blood for blood . . . an ancient exchange that went back to the earliest days of the empire, the marriage ceremony its most sacred expression.

I will never shy away from any blood you shed, she thought, looking straight into Kara’s eyes. Whether it’s your own or another’s, drawn in the need to protect that you’ve devoted yourself to, I won’t shy away. Nor do I fear being stained by the blood you feel still taints your hands. Without blinking, without looking away, she raised the chalice and drank.

At first, it all seemed so ordinary. The pale liquid tasted much like any other drink of rice wine. Jurnia lowered the goblet as disappointment sparked through her. Even so, her eyes remained focused on the man kneeling next to her.

“Flesh of one flesh, bone of one bone, two paths have now merged as one from this moment forward.”

Kara barely heard the words intoned by the plump little Bhekom priest. He kept his gaze on the beautiful woman with a sense of fearful anticipation. Any moment now and her aura will feel as sullied as my own . . .

“Whereas single threads are weak, vulnerable to being broken by outside forces, a rope is strong, able to withstand much. And so shall the two of you be, each of you a thread strengthened by one another as your lives intertwine,” the wrinkled Frog continued.

It was subtle, sneaking up on her like the effects of a particularly insidious alcohol. She didn’t notice the warm, golden feeling within her until after it tingled through every fiber. Such a sense of well-being, of rightness, accompanied a sensation she could only describe as a protective, loving hug everywhere, all at once. Tears of profound joy welled up in her wide, emerald eyes at the beauty of the moment.

She’s crying . . . Guilt stabbed through the redheaded swordsman. Whatever she felt that had made her weep, it wasn’t anything he could sense. There was no sign yet of the stain of sin within her.

“In the eyes of Divinity and Man, before the whole of the world, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest continued, mentally chuckling at the subtle drama unfolding before him.

Noting the distressed look in his amber eyes and how pale his face had become, Jurnia became determined to keep her new husband from mentally withdrawing. She leaned sideways, turning to boldly wrap her arms around his well-toned form. “You silly, silly man,” she whispered even as a tear of joy rolled down one of her rouged cheeks. “I’m not sad or upset. I’m crying because you’ve made me the happiest woman ever. Now kiss me before I have to hurt you.”

Oh. He remained stiffly hesitant in her embrace, feeling like an utter fool. But she was so warm and soft against him, and he was supposed to kiss her now . . . Almost of their own accord, his arms lifted from his sides to embrace her lovingly. His lashes brushed against his cheeks as he lowered his head toward hers.

“Well, I’d say ‘You may now kiss the bride’, but I see you’re already doing so,” the Bhekom softly chuckled.

The kiss was soft, gentle, chaste—something Jurnia would have expected from the goofy fluffheaded Lopayzom she’d stumbled across while searching for Fox bandits harassing the common folk of her clan’s lands. Even so, it held the promise of so much more and a hint of the alluring danger Khuradasu possessed. In that moment, she was certain her new husband had skills that extended beyond the battlefield and the odd, edgeless blade he carried at his side.

Silk whispered as Kara rose to his feet. He bowed formally to the smiling Bhekom. “Thank you again for agreeing—”

“Now, now, it was nothing,” the priest replied, interrupting the youth’s softly-spoken, humble words. “Go on and enjoy the start of your life together. I’ll take care of tidying the shrine.”

Jurnia gracefully rose from the pillow upon which she’d been kneeling while her new husband said, “Since I see from your expression that you insist, then we shall be returning to the inn.” She reverently replaced the golden chalice upon the round table, her eyes lingering one last time on the sand-painting.

“A good idea there, lad, especially since you probably wouldn’t want anything to happen to those fancy clothes you have on.”

For some reason, the tone in the kindly priest’s voice made the Kaykolom maiden blush. Then Kara linked her arm in his and began guiding her from the shrine. She smiled and gave his arm a hug, then proceeded to walk in contented silence at his side . They paused long enough to slip back on their shoes—the sandals Jurnia had left behind in the other room now waited on the deck next to Kara’s own—then stepped down to the shrine’s grounds and headed back to the village.

Of course, the longer they strode along the main dirt path in quiet introspection, the more her thoughts turned on what was now expected of her. It was mid-afternoon and no drunken party awaited them to pass the time until nightfall. The act itself filled her with anticipation and nervousness, but no dread; she liked how it felt when Kara touched her, and his response to her was enough to make any woman revel in such power over such a legendary man.

He’ll be kind and gentle as always, she thought, her gaze flicking over to look at the man walking at her side. Noting his somber, thoughtful expression, she inwardly sighed, Of course, there’s always too kind and gentle. If he gets too worked up and afraid at the thought of possibly hurting me, nothing may happen at all.

Weather-seasoned wood planks creaked under the couple’s sandal-clad feet as they climbed the steps leading to the inn’s entrance. Kara slipped his arm from around his wife—his mind still had some trouble accepting the very concept of a wife—and tugged open the sturdy, sliding door for her. Amber eyes lingered on her form as he slipped out of his footwear, watching her step inside, her sock-clad feet quiet against the wooden floor.

“Welcome back to the happy couple!”

The newlyweds started, taken by surprise by both the joyous shout and the sight of the inn’s entire staff waiting there to greet them. Both blushing at the unexpected attention, they just stood there.

The inn’s owner, a jovial man standing head and shoulders above the both of them, strode up and clapped Kara on the back. “I must say, boy, you’ve landed a fine one. The spirits have an astounding sense of humor.”

The Lopayzom’s expression shifted to one of embarrassment and resignation. “They do?” he queried, voice soft.

The innkeeper continued on as if the groom hadn’t said a word. “What I wouldn’t give to see the look on the Raven’s face . . . Ah well, come, come!” The large Bhekom reached out with his other hand and put it on Jurnia’s shoulder. Before either one could gather their wits together and act, the innkeeper was pushing them before him, into the inn’s common room. “What’s a marriage without good food to get it started? And don’t worry about the cost. You did all of us a favor finishing off that blight on the land that had been a temple. Whatever happened up there, the taint’s gone.”

“It should have been finished off a long time ago,” Jurnia said almost shyly—shyly? Kara blinked at her modest tone—as the innkeeper steered them toward a table in the corner, where a pair of folding screens had been set up to provide privacy. “It wasn’t right that your people have had to live with that kind of thing nearby.”

“Nevertheless, you’ve done us a good turn, and we’re grateful,” the Bhekom boomed cheerfully. “Now, settle in and make yourselves comfortable.” He vanished through the door to the kitchen area.

Kara and Jurnia sat staring awkwardly at each other and the floor and the table. Jurnia finally cleared her throat softly. “It was a very beautiful ceremony, and on such short notice, too.”

Kara would have replied, except that a middle-aged Bhekom couple had just materialized at the gap in the screens to offer congratulations. Blushing, the newlyweds thanked them, but that seemed to signal a suspension of their own conversation as what appeared to be the entire village filtered through the common room.

As the makeshift receiving line went on, it became increasingly obvious that the townsfolk were not only grateful for the cleansing of the old temple, but they had an almost proprietary delight in the unexpected union of Fox and Raven. The down-to-earth, practical Bhekom apparently had a hidden streak of romance buried somewhere under the stodgy surface, and the fact that this marriage was a love match, in open defiance of the hostilities that had existed between the two clans, seemed to appeal to them greatly.

In a short gap in the stream of congratulations, Jurnia leaned a bit closer to Kara. “If your father and mi—my chieftain really disapprove of our marriage, I think we could always move here and find a nice home.”

Kara chuckled. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“They’re all quite friendly, aren’t they?”

He nodded and looked at the newest visitors, a young mother and two children, all of whom were grinning.

“Yes, that they are,” the young Lopayzom managed to murmur. He had expected his impulsiveness—born from a need to spare the one he loved the pain of uncertainty—to be rewarded with quiet intimacy and a chance to drop some of the barriers between them. He had not expected to be an entertaining exhibit for the villagers, and he was beginning to feel somewhat overwhelmed by the attention.

Perhaps it was the fact that Jurnia had been exposed to court and other large social settings much more frequently than Kara had. He was looking a bit glassy-eyed and flustered by the scrutiny of the whole village, but she retained a certain degree of poise. Still, it was a relief when the innkeeper reappeared at the head of a short procession of servants to deliver a miniature banquet and close the screens.

There was a nice spread of surprisingly high-quality food for such a small, unassuming village, but it might as well have been bread and water for all the attention the newlyweds were able to focus on it. Jurnia was annoyed at herself for being nervous; her mother had explained the mechanics of the consummation in great detail, so she knew what was going to happen when she and Kara got into bed together. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid of it. Chaiya had told her that some men were less considerate of a woman’s comfort than others, but Jurnia knew that Kara wouldn’t be one of those men.

I’m scared because not only is this something I haven’t done before, it’s the final step in binding myself to Kara, she acknowledged silently. After this, nobody—not his father, not my father, not even the Empress herself—can put a barrier between us. We’ll have each other, and that’s all we’ll need.

The bowl of soup she was eating from became blurry; she blinked hard to push the threatening tears back. But I don’t want my father to be angry. I don’t want to wind up never seeing him again. He’s stubborn and arrogant and totally convinced that he’s right about everything, but surely he won’t turn his back on me forever . . .

Something about his new wife’s violet aura caught his attention. Ever since the screens had been pulled, enclosing them into their own little world, he’d kept his gaze and mind focused on the rather mundane task of eating. Though more or less recovered from his ordeal, the fact remained that he’d been essentially starved for over a week and his body was still upset over that turn of events.

But now he sensed something wrong. Amber eyes flicked to Jurnia’s face; he wilted inside, seeing the sadness there in her eyes. Perhaps this really was foolish of me. “Regrets, Jurnia?” he asked gently.

She started, almost dropping her spoon into the soup bowl. “What? Regrets about what?”

“Marrying me. You seem . . . unhappy now.”

“Oh! No, not at all.” She flashed him a shy smile.

He stared at her, his expression frankly skeptical.

“I’m not at all unhappy about marrying you,” she insisted, catching the disbelieving stare. “I was thinking about something else, that’s all.”

He relaxed slightly. Though I wouldn’t blame her for coming to her senses and having nothing to do with one such as me. She’s too pure to be sullied by the taint that stains me. “If I’ve offended you by acting without your consent, I deeply apologize,” he muttered, his attention returning to the meal laid out before him. “A copper for your thoughts . . .”

“I, uh . . .” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, fidgeting with her spoon. “I was just worried about . . . something.”

“Anything I can do to ease your fears?”

“It’s just . . . um . . .” She stared at the table. “I feel like I’ve . . . misled you, in a way.”

“Ara?” The golden eyes were staring at her again; a puzzled expression graced his pretty face as he paused in his eating.

“This is so awkward,” she muttered before raising her emerald eyes to look at him, almost shamefaced, trying to find a decorous way to say it. “Kara, you know that I wasn’t . . . born in wedlock, right?”

He nodded without hesitation, the shaggy topknot swaying behind his head with the movement. “I’m not completely unaware of your mother’s history. Father’s mentioned a few things over the years.” He elegantly shrugged, adding, “For all I know, I could be a bastard as well. No one really knows.”

“Well . . . you know that this is already going to cause some trouble because I’m the Chief Herald for the Kaykolom?”

Again the Lopayzom nodded. “I know. I thought long and hard about the fact that doing this essentially steals the Raven’s Chief Herald from him. To be honest, I’m worried about that myself, but . . . I thought this would make you happy. I’m willing to risk anything for your happiness.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s going to cause trouble in a whole different way, too.”

He carefully set the eating sticks down onto the carved stone holder lying on the table for that very purpose. His golden gaze returned to searching her face as he reached out across the table with his right hand, the left pushing back the red silk sleeve. His hand remained there, a silent offering, as his voice took on a hint of Khuradasu’s steel. “Before you say anything more, just answer me truthfully one thing. Was I wrong thinking that you would risk anything to be my wife, that your happiness could only come if you were forever at my side?”

“No. No, you weren’t wrong.” She caught her sleeve back and reached out as well, her slender fingers curling tightly around his. “I couldn’t be happy with anybody but you. I’ve known that for years.”

His sword-callused hand returned her grip, firm but loving. “Then whatever trouble there may be, I will do all I can to protect you and your happiness, no matter how loudly Iryasitru screams. Now . . . tell me what it is I face. It’s far better to know where you stand than to be taken by surprise.”

“I’m scared that he’ll be angry enough that he never wants to lay eyes on me again,” she burst out. “I’m afraid that I won’t see him for the rest of my life. I want my children to know both of their grandfathers. Iryasitru isn’t just my chieftain—he’s my father, Kara. Irya’s my father.”

Iryasitru is . . . The change was startling. One moment Khuradasu sat opposite her, his strength an offered shield against any threat the future may hold. Then, in the next heartbeat, the wanderer gaped at her, wholly thunderstruck. The Lopayzom’s face became startlingly pale in hue; the golden eyes took on a stunned, glazed-over expression. A sound burbled from him, rather like the sort of low moan someone made after taking one punch too many to the head.

“It’s not really public knowledge, even in the clan, but most people who have functioning eyes can probably see the resemblance when we’re in the same room. Especially if we’re arguing, or so I’m told.” She scowled briefly at that thought. “He’s never actually acknowledged me. I don’t know if my mother told him, but he’s intelligent enough to have figured it out on his own. After my mother died, he sort of became my unofficial guardian, so he and I have had plenty of fights over my marriage prospects. He knows quite well that I wouldn’t marry anybody but Khuradasu, but it might . . . be kind of a surprise for him to find out who Khuradasu really is.” She finally focused her eyes on her new husband, and blinked. “Kara? Did you hear anything I just said?”

For a moment, he wondered if he was going to faint. By all that’s holy, I should have realized. Who else in all of Aizvarya would Chaiya have let—especially considering Father—Eeeeee . . . They’re both going to kill me.

Then the sound of Jurnia’s voice broke through his internal panic. Focusing on her question, he did his best to calm down from the shock. “Lots of fights and the Demon’s Claw . . .” he warbled, still trying to focus. His hand remained holding hers, but his grip held no strength at the moment.

She gripped his hand tighter. “Kara, pay attention to me, will you? I just had an idea of how we can handle this.”

“Ara?” The look of shock faded as color returned to his face, but in the next moment that skeptical expression reappeared.

“We won’t tell him that we’re already married. If you present yourself and ask for my hand as Khuradasu, he’ll probably say yes.”

Kara faintly smiled, his hand tightening in a reassuring gesture. “Truthfully, it had been my intention all along to go to the Kaykolom once the danger to your chieftain was past and ask your father for permission to marry you, and ask the Raven if I could take his Chief Herald away.”

Jurnia blushed. “You . . . you really did plan to ask for me?” The look she gave him as he nodded in affirmation warmed him down to his toes; she squeezed his hand gently.

“If I’d been rebuffed, well, then, I would continue to worship you from afar, as it should be. No one as bloodstained as I deserves the love of someone like you.”

Her sweet gesture turned into a briefly steel-like grasp. “Yes, you do deserve me. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” the dark-haired maiden responded, her voice taking on an undertone of annoyance.

The redheaded swordsman continued as if he hadn’t heard her admonishment, his amber gaze staring into the distance, “But the pain I felt when you thought I was dying . . . I just didn’t have it in me to choose a path where you would continue to wonder if I would one day go my own way and leave you behind.”

She shuddered and looked down at the table again. “I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want you to go, Kara.”

His gaze focused upon her once more. “I won’t go, not willingly, not ever. I love you, and more than anything, I want to do what I can to keep a smile on your face. If that means letting you go because you can’t bear the thought of being cast out from the Kaykolom, so be it.”

“I’m choosing you over the Kaykolom. Wasn’t that clear during the wedding ceremony?”

“I was thinking the same thing of you only moments ago when you lamented your fear of your father casting you aside.”

Jurnia frowned at her new husband. “My choice is made, but I prefer our children being welcomed by both clans.”

“Well, then . . . if I must argue with Iryasitru because nothing save being with me will make you happy, so be it. Whatever it takes, I’ll do my best to make you happy. I swear it.”

She shook her head fiercely. “If Irya tries to fuss, I’ll take care of him. He’s known all along that I wanted to marry Khuradasu and nobody else. It shouldn’t matter that Khuradasu’s a Fox.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” Kara nodded, then smiled again. Tugging her hand over to his mouth, he gave her knuckles a lingering kiss before releasing his grasp. “But we should set out on the morrow to the Rookery and get this over with. It’s only fair for your father that way.”

“This is a nice little town, but I’ll be happy to go, to be honest. I’m a little tired of traveling.”

He chuckled softly. “I have wandered longer than you and, perhaps, I am getting weary of it as well.” His expression became serious once more. “I suppose one last trip after the Rookery, then . . . I should probably return home at long last.” His soft voice sounded both hesitant and reluctant.

“Where is ‘home’ for you? I thought that the Lopayzom lands were more or less abandoned.” She looked at him curiously.

“Hmm?” He glanced back over at her, her inquiry pulling him from his thoughts. “Oh, well . . . that’s not quite the case, though I suppose ‘home’ really is the Dragon Palace until I get a chance to talk with Father about what his plans are now for the clan.”

Her eyes widened. “You get to live in the Dragon Palace?”

“For now. You see . . . When Father was only the Lopayzom Swordsmaster and Lord Sikitu was chieftain, the council of advisors to His Highness the Dragon noticed Father’s talent in military tactics and planning. With the blessing of the clan, Father accepted the post of the Grand Dragon General—the Minister of War for the entire province. His Highness the Dragon also saw Father’s talent, and essentially overrode all loyalty Father had to the Lopayzom for the greater good of the province. Part of that included Father taking up permanent residence in the palace, and as a result, that’s where I grew up for most of my childhood.”

“That . . . doesn’t sound right. Clan always comes first.”

He smiled gently. “I know, but think of it in this light . . . with his skill at organizing and leading the armies of the province, Father’s probably saved more lives than would otherwise have been had someone else taken that post. Father agonized over his loyalties, but Sikitu was willing to make the sacrifice. I’m not entirely certain, but I think Sikitu ordered Father to put the Dragon and the province before the clan. Even after the feud broke out, Sikitu didn’t relent, and neither did the Dragon.

“Perhaps you’ll find you understand better once we go there and you talk with the current Dragon. She may be able to give you some insight as to why Sikitu may have done as I’ve heard he did.”

“I’ll get to talk to the Dragon? Really?” She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh certainly,” he assured her, going back to eating as if talking to the Dragon was no big deal. Indeed, for him it had been an everyday occurrence while growing up. “Father’s still the Grand Dragon General after all, and he’s married to the Dragon’s best friend.”

“We heard about that. Him getting married, I mean. I think Irya sent a gift.”

Kara lowered his head, the shaggy bangs shadowing his face. However, the skin just under the curtain of red hair grew faintly pink. “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there. I merely heard about it as well.”

“You didn’t attend your own father’s wedding?” She blinked at him in surprise.

He merely shook his head in a negative gesture, a sigh faintly audible. He picked at his food for a long moment, then set the sticks down again, his remaining appetite gone. “No. I’ve not seen Father since your mother’s funeral, and even then, that was at a distance.”

“Since—wait, you were at my mother’s funeral? I didn’t see you there.”

“I didn’t intend for anyone to know, but it’s a long journey from Derkarya to the Rookery, and Father was injured. I was fairly certain Lady Kerzama could deal with his wounds, but I wanted to be certain he made it. And I wanted to have some idea of the fate of the feud.” He clenched his right hand into a fist, the skin whitening with the pressure. “I didn’t know if he would need to be rescued again or if I would need to fulfill his ultimate purpose for me after all. It’s just as well things have turned out as they have.” Yes, it is, for despite my vow to never intentionally kill again, had the Raven cut Father down while he tried to sue for peace, I would have turned the Demon’s Claw loose in the Rookery . . . and only my own death or their full destruction would have ended it.

Jurnia looked down at his clenched fist. “What ultimate purpose would that be?”

“I . . . he . . .” Kara unclenched his fist, the ache breaking into his thoughts. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to find some way to articulate a reply to her question without turning her affection into cold disdain. “Father . . . The death of the clan has always weighed heavy on my father’s heart. He was the Swordsmaster, the one beholden to the protection of the clan, but his chieftain insisted on Father serving the Dragon instead. When the final destruction came, Father wanted to die as well. He didn’t feel like he deserved to live when all the rest were gone. He would have rushed to the Rookery that night and cut down as many Kaykolom as he could before his own death . . . only he discovered me.”

The Lopayzom lowered his hands. Lifting his head, he gave his wife a crooked smile. “Raising me gave him a purpose, but it wasn’t what you would think. No, he didn’t see me as part of a new future for the clan.

“When you called me Father’s weapon, you were far more accurate than you could ever imagine. I was raised as an instrument of his will to end the history of the Lopayzom with a blaze of glory written in as much Raven blood as possible. He intended for me to learn all I could of his secrets of swordsmanship, then die with him in a suicidal assault on the Rookery.”

Jurnia stared at him, speechless. If she hadn’t known him as well as she did, her impulse might have been to get angry, to throw accusations that he had gotten close to her only so that she would pave the way for him to fulfill such a hideous purpose. The anger was still there, edged with horror at Arjunayazu’s dreadful scheme, but she didn’t hurl it at Kara.

Her own hand curled into a tight fist. “That monster. How dare he? How dare he even think about using you like that?”

“Grief sometimes makes people do terrible things—as can any strong emotion. But I still love him, even knowing what his purpose in raising me had been. I can’t help but love him; he’s my father, even if I’m not truly of his bloodline.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “I did all I could to make him happy, but the only time I even saw approval was when I excelled in my swordsmanship and increased my potential to be lethal. That’s one reason why I left the palace and joined the army fighting the border war. Father only approved of me when I killed, and there, I was doing the province some good.

“But the blood . . . it became too much. I couldn’t take it any longer, nor could I just peacefully accept the fate Father had chosen for me. For my own peace of mind, I had to walk another path.

“And so the wanderer lives while the Demon’s Claw sleeps. It was my lack of a will to kill that allowed Dashtru to become what he did. And for that, I am so sorry. I should have done as Father wanted and killed him the day he murdered your mother.”

“I’m glad you chose your own path,” she said fiercely. Her hand clenched on his for a moment. “I’m the one who should apologize. If I hadn’t been so bent on making him suffer for what he did, he wouldn’t have had nearly the sort of . . . of driving obsession. He kidnapped you and drugged you and tortured you because I was stupid.”

He smiled and returned her touch, his hand curling around hers in a gesture of affection. “He had every reason to hate me. I didn’t kill him back in the clearing, and I’m Lopayzom. Those were reasons enough for one like him. But it’s over now. He can’t hurt either one of us any more, and the world is a cleaner place for it.”

Her hand trembled in his grasp, her emerald eyes misty with tears. “He hurt you to get at me. If it had just been his revenge for stopping his attempt on Arjunayazu’s life, he wouldn’t have tortured you the way he did. He was keeping you alive because he wanted to see my face when he finally did kill you. I mutilated him and gave him even more reason to stay alive and find a way to exact revenge. It’s my fault, Kara.”

“Shh . . .” Pushing back his chair, he took the couple steps needed to come to her side. He knelt down, pulling her into a warm embrace, left hand cradling the back of her head. “It’s past us now. No need on dwelling on whose fault what was. We’re both alive, here and now, husband and wife.” No need to remind her that had that creature not wanted her to see me die, I would have already been dead before she ever came to the befouled temple . . .

She burrowed into his arms, sniffling faintly. “Are you sure you’re all right? I’m a terrible excuse for a doctor.”

He chuckled softly and gave her a hug. “If you’d like, we can go upstairs and I’ll let you look me over and see if I’m all right. I feel well enough that I don’t think I’ll disappoint, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He could almost feel the blush against the side of his neck. “No, that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that you’re not completely recovered.”

“Truthfully . . .” Leaning back, he gazed upon her, happiness and a bit of awe in his amber eyes at knowing that someone as good as her actually cared about his unworthy self. “I’m still feeling the effects of being starved, but that’s quickly passing. Sleeping the day away yesterday gave my body a chance to recover. I am an Avatar, after all.” The wanderer’s sunny grin returned for a moment. “I do apologize for being such poor company yesterday.”

Jurnia peeked up at him. “You were fine. Aside from making it difficult for me to get up when I needed to stretch my legs. You’re awfully strong, even asleep.”

Kara blinked in surprise. The day before, truthfully, was only a blur; he could recall only distantly eating a couple of times and just as many trips to the privy, but always the comforting presence of a violet aura. His eyes glazed over as the significance of her words sank in. “You were in bed with me?” he warbled.

“Well, yes. At first I dozed off while I was combing your hair—I was very tired, you know. When I woke up, I was lying down next to you. I thought you moved me.” She gave him an inquiring look, and he shook his head slightly with that glassy-eyed expression. She frowned. “Well, when I tried to get up, you hung onto me.”

His cheeks pinkened more, the glazed eyes closing in one of the wanderer’s sunny, embarrassed smiles. Silk whispered as he let her go and rose to his sock-clad feet. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize . . . Sorry . . .”

Jurnia scowled and held onto the long sleeves of his shirt. “Sorry for what?”

“For holding you captive, what else?” His voice held the fluffhead’s soft tones. His aura seemed to go a bit distant as he walked over to the chair in which he’d been sitting.

“I didn’t mind.” She gave him a shy little smile.

Her smile ignited one of his own, one of the genuine ones instead of the fluffhead’s vacant grin. “It’s just as well I gave into the impulse to bind you to me so that you could no longer fear losing me by my choice. People would wonder, if we’d been seen.”

“Oh, one of the maidservants was helping me with you.”

His little frame stiffened, the amber eyes getting glassy-looking again. “I hope she wasn’t in bed with me too . . .”

“Of course not! But she did see us.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been much. I did spend most of my time sleeping.”

“She thought it was very sweet, the way you were cuddling up.” She grinned at him.

“Yes, well . . .” He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed again. “I was very glad to still be alive and to see you again. You . . . were what I kept my thoughts on the past few days. Knowing I had to be strong for you . . .” He smiled again.

“I’m glad you did.”

“Well . . .” He gestured to the table with the remaining food. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not hungry any more. And I really should get out of these clothes before I accidentally ruin them. My foster mother would never forgive me.”

“I think I’m done, too.” Looking down at the beautiful blue robe, she smiled a little. “And I should change clothes too.”

“I’m thankful for the loan. It suits you very well.” He holds a hand out to her. “Together, then?”

She blushes again, taking his hand. “All right.” She swallowed nervously, her mind leaping ahead to what “changing clothes” was going to involve.

Again the silly wanderer’s grin. Suppressing the impulse to give her hand a lingering kiss—her aura radiated nervousness and though his desire was starting to get the best of him, he didn’t want to make her too upset—he contented himself with merely leading her from their place in the common room toward the stairs to the rooms above.

Jurnia followed her husband, blushing brightly at the cheers and slightly ribald comments from the others in the common room as the newlyweds headed for the stairs. None of it was truly offensive or lewd—it was all the usual ribbing that might be expected from older, married people to younger ones.

Before they climbed the steps, the innkeeper bustled up, grinning. “Your belongings have been moved to our finest room. It’s at the end of the hallway.”

“Oh?” Kara paused, his cheeks blushing red. “You’re too kind. If you would perhaps show us the way?”

He’d heard the comments, of course, but had let them roll off his back. He’d heard much more graphic ones in his days in the Dragon Army, after all. Still, it fairly took his breath away, knowing that the barriers of society had been taken away. All that remained was the doubt in his heart.

With a chuckle, the rotund man led the way up the stairs and along the hallway. He opened the door with a flourish, shooing them into the room.

Tugging Jurnia along by the hand, Kara stepped into the room. The room was certainly clean and spacious. For a small town such as the Bhekom village, the room was rather extravagant.

“And one bed . . .” he murmured, not realizing he said it out loud.

“One big bed,” Jurnia agreed under her breath. The innkeeper chuckled as he closed the door behind them. The room held a number of elegant furnishings and beautiful ornaments, but the young Herald’s eyes kept going back to the stark reality of the bed across the room. She swallowed hard.

Kara glanced at his wife. Noting the look on her face, he suppressed a sigh. Carefully . . . no need to frighten her. She’s wanted this for a while now, and though I don’t understand why such an unworthy one is so blessed, I can’t deny I want this too . . .

Gathering his focus, he walked over to the side of the bed closest to the sliding door. With a soft whisper, the edgeless sword was pulled free from its place under his sash.

Jurnia stayed near the door, her hands folded nervously in front of her, watching his every move. I know how everything is supposed to work, but . . . this seems like the difference between knowing that sword-fighting involves running a blade through the other person, and actually fighting for real.

The sword clattered against the wall. Turning around, he noticed that Jurnia remained before the doorway. He couldn’t help but think that she looked like she wanted to bolt.

He smiled. “You know, something this fancy can get rather complicated. If you’re up to it, I wouldn’t mind a bit of help . . .”

“Oh. Um, certainly.” She crossed the room a bit warily, as though he might bite. “It’s a beautiful outfit. Where did you get it?”

He turned his attention to the knot of his sash. “My foster mother made it for me. I was visiting my foster parents around my birthday, picking up the sword I had my foster father make for me, and my foster mother presented me with this as a birthday present. She said I needed