The medics let me pass. “I’m here, my love,” I say, realizing that this is where I start to earn Earth’s safety. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Mareliux says and takes my hand again. “Simply overwhelmed by the moment and the love.”
We’re surrounded by a dozen huge, armored soldiers, facing out from us and holding gigantic guns and even bigger shields. Nobody’s taking any chances here.
The whole group moves down from the podium and into my tent, which I assume is the most comfortable one. He sits down, the medics give him a final check, and then they all leave, except for Caret’ax, the young general, and Sigise.
“No shot was fired,” the general says. “It was not an assassination attempt.”
“Of course not,” Mareliux growls. “Nobody on Grefve would want me dead. Everyone here is a loyal soldier.”
Sigise glances at me. “Except for the quaestor.”
“He didn’t try anything,” Caret’ax says. “I was watching him. He seemed as surprised as anyone.”
Mareliux looks at the crystal ring on his finger. “Don’t worry. Nobody tried to kill me. Did you see the rings shine?”
“It was hard to miss,” the general says. “They were like stars in the day sky. Very bright.”
I study my own ring. There’s still light in it, or maybe it’s just the sunlight being reflected. “Should we try to not put them together? If it might make you unconscious?”
“Let’s try,” my not-husband says and puts his hand over mine.
The light inside the rings grows, but not to the blinding levels they did before.
“No great effect now,” he says. “But it’s not common for Syntrix rings to do that.”
I sense the general and Sigise exchanging glances.
Sigise clears her throat. “Sir, there is the old tradition about the Soulbound… their rings and their Syntrix…”
“Not you too, Colonel.” Mareliux groans. “Let’s focus on the real and not the mythical. Yes, some Khavgren couples claim to be Soulbound. This was simply a malfunction of the rings. They’re brand new and may have had some defect that has now been neutralized. Now, the feast is waiting. Let’s go.” He takes my hand, and we stride slowly ou of the tent.
We walk past the lined up tents of the base to the middle one, which is as big as the big top of a circus, except square. Inside there are endless rows of tables and chairs, decorated and made as festive as any army base can be. Thousands of soldiers are standing to attention at their places, and the applause and cheer when Mareliux and I enter the tent is thunderous. I half expect to see the tent fly away from the sheer noise.
The applause finally dies down as Mareliux and I settle into some ridiculously ornate chairs that they must have had stored somewhere. They’re filled with cushions and thin sheets of fine fabric, and I kind of have to curl my legs under me, half-lyingin the Khavgren way. The soldiers have no such luxury and sit normally in their chairs.
Mareliux offers me a small, reassuring smile. I try to return it, but a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. Thousands of faces blur beyond the edges of our makeshift head table, a sea of uniformed soldiers who have come to celebrate… our lie.
"Quite the turnout," Mareliux murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
"Understatement of the century.” My voice is barely a whisper. I fiddle with Sigise’s blue cape draped over my shoulders. The unfamiliar fabric suddenly feels alien to the touch.
I already know what to expect from the cutlery. They use long, narrow forks and pointy knives. Several of them are arranged around my oval plate in neat rows, sorted by size. Except one piece.
A sudden, sharp thought —that fork is crooked— flashes through my mind.
Instantly, a small, two-toothed silvery fork on the table in front of me twitches. Then, with a disconcertingclink, it flips over. A ripple of amusement goes through the nearest tables of soldiers, a few chuckles echoing in the vast tent. They must all be paying close attention to me.
"Did you see that?" a soldier exclaims, nudging his neighbor. "The bride's using Syntrix."
My cheeks flush.No, no, no.I focus on the centerpiece, a towering arrangement of alien flowers that must be fake, because surely nothing can grow on this planet.Stay still, flowers. Just stay still.
A delicate white bloom at the top of the arrangement begins to rotate slowly, then picks up speed, spinning like a tiny, dislodged propeller. A hush goes through the tent. Soldiers are turning around to see what the fuss is about.
Mareliux raises a questioning eyebrow.
"Beginner's luck," I mumble, trying to appear as bewildered as everyone else. I clench my hands in my lap, willing my thoughts to be still.Calm. Be calm.
