Pensey Hayes. Satday, Leo 16th. 2354 AA. 2:40 PM. Arroyo (Valmont Estate).
Pensey found Hace sitting at a coffee table outside Glem’s groomsmen suite, balling up another piece of paper and shooting it into a small, overstuffed trashcan.
His face lit up when he saw her approach. She loved that about him. He always looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Gods I’m lucky. His dress uniform looked brilliant on him, his aspirant mantle decorated with dozens of achievements and medals. My perfect soldier boy.
“Isn’t it a little bit late to be working on your speech?” Pensey teased.
“You know me,” Hace said. “I always use all the time I have available to work on a given assignment. But I’ve got most of it down. Just looking for the right note to finish with.”
“You know, there’s something to be said for a touch of spontaneity with these things,” Pensey said. She sat down next to him on the couch and nodded at a sheet of paper that appeared to be the ‘master copy’ of his speech. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
“No!” Hace ferreted the speech away into his robes. “It’s bad luck. It’s like the groom seeing the bride before the wedding. Or the groom seeing the groom.”
“No, it isn’t!” She protested, laughing. “I swear, you’re more nervous than Glem.”
Hace gestured “touché,” and chuckled:
“I just want this to be perfect for him. And for the other guy too, I guess.”
Pensey smirked. Hace and Feryl had become fast friends fronting as two guys who couldn’t stand each other. They traded barbs and truly filthy jokes every time they got together. But one night they dropped the charade and had an honest-to-god heart-to-heart. Hace determined that Feryl was deadly serious about Glem, despite his free and easy demeanor.
“If anybody deserves to be happy, it’s Glem. He’s still freaked out because this happened so fast. Like this is a bubble that will burst any second. And I want to reassure him that this is real. That we are all happy for him and Feryl, and we will do everything we can to protect their happiness.”
“All you have to do is tell him that,” Pensey assured him. “And if it’s too hard to say it in your speech, just find a quiet moment to let him know personally.”
“What brings you back to wedding party land? Shouldn’t you be schmoozing high profile leximancers about job prospects? The head of every major firm in the States is here.”
Word of “The Wedding of Prodigies” had spread quickly throughout Arroyo. When Glem’s parents contacted the Valmonts, Glem’s hope for a smaller, more intimate ceremony were utterly dashed. Paparazzi scoped the place from the outside, snapping pictures of attendees. The local paper ran a story about it the day of.
“I hate schmoozing,” Pensey pouted. “And I like it a lot less without my handsome knight at my side to keep the creepy old men professional. Also, leave it to the Valmonts to have a champagne bar prior to the ceremony. I’m already tipsy.”
“Pretty sure you don’t have to drink,” Hace chuckled.
“Lin kept pouring me flutes! Another reason I ran away to check on you and the boys.”
Hace pulled her close and kissed her forehead. She sighed happily and squeezed his hand.
“How’s our groom doing?” Pensey asked.
“Also tipsy,” Hace laughed. “Drav brought him a bottle of absinthe to mix with his champagne.”
Pensey looked at him incredulously.
“You left him alone with Drav and a bottle of absinthe? He walks down the aisle in less than thirty minutes, Hace! Go check on him!”
“I didn’t leave them alone. The triplets are there too,” Hace said reproachfully.
Glem’s groomsmen consisted of Hace, Drav, and his three cousins, in from the Gulf Federation. They were also aspirants who had declared various theoretical disciplines. All of them idolized Glem on a personal level and revered Feryl as a champion of complex magic.
“Aren’t they like fifteen?” Pensey asked.
“Seventeen,” Hace insisted, as if it made a meaningful difference.
“You know Drav is going to get them drunk too, right? If you want this to be perfect for Glem, stop sulking about your speech and go do some damage control.”
Hace grinned and gestured concession. They both stood up, and Pensey snickered as she noticed his eyes lingering on her decolletage.
“Eyes up here,” she chided gently.
He met her gaze, hugged her again and kissed her behind the ear before working his lips down the side of her neck. Each hungry breath tickled her entire body at once. But she smacked his hand as it wandered to her ass and shoved him away.
“Go,” she insisted.
He gave her a lazy salute and walked back to the groom’s suite.
A couple seconds later, she heard somebody on a microphone making a muffled announcement from the ballroom, followed by musicians striking up their instruments.
Almost showtime.
— Alinore Valmont | 2:44 PM —
Lin fixed her mascara in her private bathroom. What is wrong with you?! One moment she had been schmoozing with Vetha, Senice, and Pensey, and the next she was alone. Pensey ran off to check on the bridal party—or Matthews, more like—while Vetha went to get another drink, and Senice started chatting with a leximancer about job prospects.
Lin was abruptly alone, and then she started crying.
She retreated from the ballroom as soon as she felt the tears swell in her eyes. One of her family’s bodyguards, part of the Valmont estate’s security team, recognized her and asked what was wrong, but she managed to excuse herself due to ‘allergies.’ And mercifully, she managed to escape upstairs before her mother caught sight of her.
When she was in her own bathroom, the tears doubled and redoubled. It was like the happiness around her, the unbridled joy and festive faces had become a mirror for her own insecurities. My own misery. Why? I have nothing to be miserable about. And who cares that you’re alone? You hate people! Most people, at least.
After a few deep breaths, she had reapplied her makeup. But I still look like a red-eyed wreck. She cast a glamour contract to mitigate the redness, adjusting the spell until her eyes looked normal. Then she straightened herself in the mirror and returned to the party.
It was an absurd spectacle. The Hughes—or maybe my mother—had ordered a menagerie of living topiaries, which placidly wandered the grassy terrace adjacent to the ballroom where row upon row of chairs had been set up before a floral altar. The bar was itself a magically shaped ice sculpture—a tree whose boughs boasted flat platforms that held flutes of champagne and other beverages. A group of musicians—a tiny orchestra, really—had started playing to lure people to their seats.
Lin saw that Senice and Vetha had saved two other seats at the end of a row toward the back. She slipped in the row and took the seat next to Senice, smiling.
“Had to powder my nose,” Lin explained.
Senice nodded and then peered at her carefully.
“Were you crying?”
How can she tell? I know I cast my glamour perfectly. Lin’s reaction must have been transparent, because Senice explained:
“It’s hard to mask red eyes unless you get completely dry. Tears wash away the magic.”
Fuck. I knew that. I know that!
“We haven’t even reached the sappy bits yet,” Vetha said, chuckling. “Not that I took you for a crier in the first place.”
“I’m not!” Lin sniffed even as she protested. “I-I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me! Honestly? I think I’m just… jealous. I know that sounds stupid. I’m happy to see Glem happy. But it feels like everybody is falling in love and I’m left in the dust. Pensey has Hace. You have Drav.”
Vetha laughed.
“Drav and I are a meme, Lin. A cohort-wide joke. The big guy with the big girl. Like, don’t get me wrong. He’s handsome, fun, and I plan on fucking his brains out tonight, but I’m not looking for things to go much farther than that.”
Lin smiled as if she understood, but the whole concept seemed foreign to her. How am I supposed to just casually bed somebody when making a human connection is hard enough?
“At least you have plans tonight. I’ve never been able to do casual. But I also always pick the wrong guys long-term.”
“You can’t do casual unless you’re confident,” Senice said airily, as if it wasn’t a savage burn. “And to pick the right guy, you’ve got to know who you want to be.”
“I’m plenty confident!” Lin said reproachfully. “And I know who I want to be!”
“Do you?” Senice asked seriously. “I hate to get real at a wedding, but… from where I’m sitting, you have a crushing family legacy to uphold and a lot of lofty career goals. You also have power. But that’s not the same thing as confidence.”
Lin frowned. Usually only Pensey was capable of verbally gutting her like that. Then again, I’ve grown a lot closer to these two since she’s started spending so much time with Matthews.
“What’s your happy ending, Lin?” Senice prodded. “Seriously. Have you considered it? If not, what are you working so hard for? Do you want to be regional commissioner? Archon?”
“I’m no politician,” Lin laughed and waved it off. “I might want to go into the RIC or special ops, like my brother. But I think the highest I’d ever climb on the Keeping Force chain is Deputy Chief. Even that sounds like too much paperwork and not enough action.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good teacher,” Senice said.
“Nah, she’s already doing that and it isn’t enough.” Vetha said. “How many elective study groups, practice sessions, and subject workshops do you lead every week? A dozen? I know you double up at least five days a week.”
Lin pouted. Fucking feelings. Vetha was right, though. Teaching was mostly an extension of her own academic pursuits. Lin got a charge out of being idolized, and she took genuine satisfaction in seeing her students grow and succeed, but she was driven by something else. Family expectations are part of it. But they couldn’t carry me this far. What am I working for?
“What do you want, Sen?” Lin asked.
Vetha interrupted Senice before she could speak:
“Careful. It’s bad luck to speak a wish out loud.”
“Wish nothing. I have a dream, and it’s strong enough to shrug off some superstition,” Sen said. “I do want to be Archon. The first woman to hold the title in Ericia, and the first Black Archon outside of Africa.”
Wow. Lin was blown away by the surety in her voice. I had no idea you were so ambitious. Senice laughed at Lin’s awed expression.
“Nobody bothers to ask with prodigies like you, Hace, and Glem around, but that’s fine. I’m patient. Sleep on me and see what happens.”
“You’ve got my vote,” Lin said, and she meant it.
“Way too much responsibility for me,” Vetha said. “I’m with Lin. Deputy Chief at most.”
They waited in silence for a few minutes, taking stock of the wedding program. Lin was relieved to see that there was a bare minimum of preaching. Pensey appeared at the edge of their row and took a seat next to Lin.
“What’s wrong?” Pensey whispered. “Did your mother say something?”
“No,” Lin assured her. “I’m fine now. Really”
Pensey look even more alarmed.
“What happened?”
“Lin’s just lonely and doesn’t know what she wants out of life,” Vetha said, matter-of-factly.
Lin stared daggers at her. You aren’t wrong, but it feels rude to put it so simply. Vetha smirked and added:
“Oh, and Sen announced her candidacy for Erician Archon.”
“Damn straight,” Sen said.
Pensey looked bewildered and turned back to Lin for an explanation.
“That sums it up, honestly,” Lin said, chuckling.
The gentle strains of welcome music gave way to a new melody with piano accompaniment.A little girl with red curls came bouncing down the aisle throwing flower petals in every direction, before running to her mother waiting in the first row. A moment later, Matthews came walking down the aisle next to Feryl’s older sister, Fiah, a vivacious, bubbly blonde in a purple dress. Next came Drav, accompanied by Feryl’s second groomsman, and so it went until the bridal party was complete.
The music reached a swell and everybody stood to look at the grooms. Feryl emerged in his specialized robes. As a master of three disciplines, his amagiate uniform was customized to reflect all of his achievements and masteries. He was one of a few dozen people permitted to wear the red of an animathurge, the purple of an arcanist, and the blue of an artificer simultaneously.
Lin didn’t know much about Feryl, apart form his record shattering accomplishments at the Dublin Athenaeum. But there’s no denying that Glem pulled a handsome one. He cut a dashing figure, with straight blonde hair smartly parted and a haughty smile that reminded her of a coyer version of Matthews’ perennial smirk.
As they made their way to the altar, the attendees performed the Communal Embrace. It was a tradition that had emerged organically in amagiate weddings. The attendees would emanate their approval, well-wishes, and happiness for the couple being married in isolation as they walked the aisle, and again when they walked down the aisle together. Properly performed, the attendees would sync their urdic respiration, resulting in a tangible, emphatic message.
When Feryl reached the top of the aisle, he kissed his mother’s hands and walked her to her seat before waiting for his groom.
Glem emerged from the floral arch arranged at the beginning of the aisle, accompanied by his own mother, as regal as a queen. It was hard not to think of him as the bride in his spotless white medithurge robes. The dress version of his uniform even included a double cape. As he strode up the aisle, the crowd emanated in another wave of euphoric, emphatic warmth. in that moment, Lin felt a singularity of belonging.
This is what I want. Lin realized.
Not a wedding. Not even a lover, necessarily. But this sense of… connection. I want to matter to people like the grooms matter to everyone here. I want to be able to share myself without giving myself up. And just like that, she was crying again. Mercifully, the tears came quietly this time. And they also brought catharsis—a warm relief, like the inverse echo of the coring loneliness she felt earlier.
I’m still confused, frustrated, and lonely.
She shared a smile with her friends as they watched Glem ascend the steps leading to the altar.
But I’m not alone anymore.
— Glem Grayson Hughes | 3:15 PM —
Glem and Feryl had given their Paxigratian minister strict instructions to keep the scripture and Latin to a bare minimum. Now I wish I had given myself a little more time to mentally prepare for this. The absinthe and champagne had taken the edge off the worst of his nerves, but now he was worried he would end up tripping over his tongue, or breaking down into a mess on the altar.
This would be the first time anybody had heard the stories they each prepared independently. What if I can’t get through his without crying? What if mine doesn’t measure up to his?
“Rather than writing their own vows, Glem and Feryl have decided to each share a story from their courtship with the audience as their profession of love,” the Minister announced, then turned to Feryl. “Would you like to begin?”
Glem realized that he was holding his breath, even though everything had been planned, rehearsed, and scheduled down to the second. Everything except the speeches themselves.
Feryl feigned surprise and gestured “I thought you were first,” at Glem. The audience laughed. Cheeky twat. Feryl had insisted on going first.Glem shook his head at his groom, but he had to admit, the weak joke helped put him at ease.
Feryl withdrew about a page of writing from his specialist robes.
“I know you told me to keep it brief. But romantic composition is something of a blind spot for me, so I’m afraid you’re gonna have to bear with me.”
Glem smirked. I knew he was gonna run long.
“I’ll start by saying my father and mother taught me that love is about teaching and learning. People always say nebulous shite like ‘communication,’ or ‘honesty,’ is the key to a good marriage. But love is bigger than a good marriage. And I’ve always preferred learning and teaching, because it’s more specific. You can’t teach somebody without communication. You can’t learn from somebody in bad faith.”
“Anyway, the night we met you were twenty minutes late,” Feryl said accusingly. More laughter.
“And as you love to say, it feels like we’ve been rushing ever since. You keep saying you worry about keeping up with me. You worry we have been moving too fast. And I admit—these last few months in particular, have been a blur. But the way I see it, we have twenty-three years’ worth of catching up to do.”
Something in the core of Glem’s stomach bloomed. His heart was all over the place. Do not cry. He felt his smile quiver. You’re a grown-ass man, goddammit.
“From the moment you explained the case that held you late after work, I was blown away by your passion for medithurgy. Your unmatched enthusiasm for the human heart and mind. How you effortlessly slide between theory and practice, research and experience, without ever losing sight of your patients’ personhood.”
Feryl lowered his paper and reached out to take Glem’s hand.
“You have so much love. And you are so good at giving it. Small wonder then, that our late dinner turned into late coffee. Late coffee led to walking and talking. And by the time the dawn took us by surprise, I knew that I didn’t want to spend another day without you.”
Glem was sobbing now. Not a dignified sniffle, but full-on ugly crying at the altar. Shit.
“So darling, I know you worry. But I’m going to teach you—I will prove to you—that you never have to worry about us. Starting from this moment. Because from that first date, over the past ten months—rushing or not—you’ve shown me that I have a lot to learn about loving and being loved. And I am so very eager to learn from you.”
“Fuck you, man,” Glem muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Everybody laughed again.
How am I supposed to follow that up? Mine is so… conventional compared to his. That was a speech not a story. Feryl gently handed Glem the mic. Okay. Here we go.
Glem took a couple seconds to regain his composure, then pulled his own script from his robes to read. He met his groom’s brilliant blue eyes. That cocky smile. I can do this. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd:
“On our six-month anniversary, Feryl said we should go to Ireland to meet his parents. Now, I want to be very clear: at that point I already knew I wanted to marry this man. But like he said, I worry.
“Back then, I was worried that loving you was selfish of me. You made me happy, and you always seemed to be having fun with me, but you never seemed… to need anything. And even as I got on the plane to meet your parents, I wondered ‘why me?’ What can I give you?
“When we arrived in Ireland, you said that the first thing we had to do was get a proper pint of Connellan with your parents. Not check in to our hotel, or get settled, or anything. Straight from the airport to the pub. I figured this might be some kind of joke, or hazing ritual, but whatever. I play along.”
“We get to the pub, sit down with his parents, and Feryl gets up to order drinks, but gets distracted by the jukebox on the way. And the first thing Kemeny said to me when we are alone, like the first real thing after ‘how was your flight,’ ‘it’s so nice to meet you,” and so on, was ‘what did you do to our son?’
Glem still remembered that moment. The brief, frigid pause as his brain tried to process whether this was a joke, accusation, or interrogation.
“I was utterly terrified. Like, ‘did Feryl forget to tell you that I am a man,’ terrified.”
More polite laughter.
“Fortunately, Aiselay explained that Feryl had been calling them recently. Weekly, in fact. Ever since we met. And apparently, it was the first time he called them in three years, apart from holidays. Stranger still, he started asking questions that he had never asked before. ‘How do you know when you’ve met the right person,’ and ‘how do you show somebody you’re serious about them,’ but one question Aisley relayed—which is just pure Feryl—was, ‘is it normal to be happy?’”
Glem snickered.
“Before I could even answer, I remember Kemeny said ‘if you’re giving him drugs, we don’t care. We’d just like to know which kind.’” Some genuine laughter this time. “And I wasn’t about to tell them about the drugs yet, so I just said ‘no. I haven’t done anything.’”
More laughs.
“Aiselay shook her head and said ‘You’ve already done more than you can ever know.’” Glem smiled. “Hearing that made me feel pretty good. I stopped worrying for a bit. I stopped feeling guilty.”
“But her question stuck with me… Is it normal to be happy? I thought about it all throughout our trip. And the truth is, for most of us, most of the time… no. It’s not normal. Life hits us too hard, too often. But when we are together… Feryl and I are happy. However miserable I am, seeing him puts a smile on my face. And no matter how happy I get, no matter how sweet life is… it’s sweeter with him.”
Feryl didn’t have anything for that. He didn’t cry, but Glem knew that it wasn’t his way when he was happy. Instead he got quiet. He got thoughtful. Being happy made him introspective. He swallowed, as his mouth often went dry when he was pensive or embarrassed.
“Feryl Hawthorne O’Farrell,” The minister said. “Do you take Glem Grayson Hughes to be your lawfully wedded husband? To protect and cherish, in sickness and health, in penury and wealth?”
“Oh, I do,” Feryl said with a hungry smile.
“Glem Grayson Hughes. Do you take Feryl Hawthorne O’Farrell to be your lawfully wedded husband? To protect and cherish, in sickness and health, in penury and wealth?”
“I do,” Glem said. He had never meant anything more.
“You may kiss,” the minister said.
Glem surprised Feryl by moving first. Feryl always took the lead.
Not today. Today you keep up with me.
— 4:37 PM —
Time seemed to stop during their ceremony, but it snapped back in double time as soon as they walked down the aisle, arm and arm. Each minute was incredibly dense. First there was the legal stuff. Then came the interminable onslaught of photography, interspersed with guests offering congratulations, waves and hugs.
By the time they sat down to eat at the head table, Glem was famished and Feryl was bordering on hypoglycemic. And after only a few bites of food, somebody brought out a microphone.
Time for speeches already?
Fiah’s toast was delightful. She rambled a bit here and there, frequently going off script and getting turned around by her own tangents. She started by describing her flirtatious but ephemeral younger brother, and how she hoped he would find somebody who challenged him. Then she went on to explain how Glem had led to them reconnecting. She was a bartender in Dublin, and they hit it off exchanging recipes on account of his opus—mixology. Soon, the three of them were chatting regularly, despite her sparse correspondence since Feryl first left for the Athenaeum.
“So, Glem. Thank you for giving me my brother back. And Feryl… Take damn good care of him. Because he’s getting me if there’s a divorce.”
Laughter all around. She raised her glass triumphantly:
“To Mister and Mister Hughes-O’Farrell!” She called.
Everybody applauded and drank. Feryl stood to hug his sister, and Glem waited for his turn. Fiah kissed him on the cheek, then passed the mic to Hace.
For once in his life, he looked unsure of himself. I need to savor this moment. That cocky bastard is never at a loss for words. And you promised me a hell of a speech. So let’s hear it flyboy. Hace took a deep breath and pulled out a sheet of paper, but rather than reading from it, he chuckled and said:
“I’m Hace Matthews. Glem’s old roommate from our first day at the Arroyo Athenaeum. I was working on this speech down to the last minute before the ceremony. It had some jokes. Some fun Glem and Feryl stories. Probably a little too long, but I was reasonably proud of it. After listening to you two exchange your vows however…”
Hace shrugged, ripped his speech in half, then into quarters, and stuffed the pieces back into his robes. Glem laughed, along with most of the attendees.
That’s so like you. Put all the work in, only to wing it in the end.
“I knew Glem was nervous. And I knew Feryl was excited. So I was hoping to tell Glem to relax. I wanted to convince him to trust in this dream-like life, even if it seemed too good to be true. And I was hoping to tell Feryl to chill out. To give his new groom a chance to breathe.”
Hace paused and looked at Glem. Glem raised an eyebrow. Where are you going with this?
“When I heard your professions of love, I saw something different. I saw an example.”
Hace paused again, seemingly unsure of his words.
“Everyone loves to give young couples advice, but I think we all have a lot to learn from Glem and Feryl. These are two people confidently matched and completely in love. A couple that is far greater than the sum of its extraordinary halves. So if you have yet to find the right person, you now know what to look for. And even if you’ve been married for decades, this is hopefully a reminder of how good things can be. How things should be, in a perfect world.”
Glem found himself tearing up again and Hace caught him with another sidelong look. Dammit! There’s that cocky smile again. Hace turned and raised his glass.
“Today, they are the face of happiness. May it endure forever. To Glem and Feryl.”
The brief toast was met with explosive applause. I don’t know what I expected. Jokes at my expense and embarrassing anecdotes, maybe? Some longwinded way to say I love you? At the very least, I expected a hard time. And of course he decides to be sweet instead. Bastard.
Glem stood up and hugged Hace. Feryl followed and hugged the both of them.
“I love you, man,” Glem said.
“I love you both,” Hace said.
“You’re alright, Matthews,” Fleryl said.
— 5:03 PM —
As the first desert course was being served—cake would follow later—the wedding coordinator’s assistant urged them to get up and start doing the rounds of greeting and thanking their guests.
Glem found himself resenting his handlers. He had wanted a smaller wedding—nothing that would require a coordinator, much less a team of chaperones—but his parents reached out to the Valmonts, and suddenly his nuptials were the celebrity event of the season—in amagiate and medical circles at least. It didn’t help that the O’Farrell clan was enormous, and surprisingly eager to travel from Ireland for the ceremony.
They started at a table nearby where O’Farrell greeted two aunts and uncles, along with a couple that Feryl didn’t recognize. One was a hulking Keeper who wore a veteran deputy chief’s dress uniform, and a well-tanned, buxom woman in her late fifties.
“Congrats, kid,” the big man said, extending his hand.
Feryl took it and shook it firmly.
“Thanks so much for coming, Rick. And thank you for bringing him, Ani,” Feryl added, kissing the woman on the cheek.
“Oh we wouldn’t miss it, sweetie,” she assured him.
Glem coughed politely and emanated “forgetting something?” at his new husband. Feryl gave him a blank look, then slapped his head and emanated apologies.
“I’m sorry, love. I know you all have heard of each other, but apparently you haven’t properly been introduced. Rick, Ani, this is my husband, Glem Grayson Hughes-O’Farrell. Arroyo’s medithurgic prodigy. Yes, he is the son of the very famous Langram Grayson Hughes, though he is already earning renown in his own right. Mixer of drinks. Maker of jokes…”
I do adore it when you make a big deal out of me. Feryl’s voice trailed off and he looked to Glem for confirmation:
“Did I miss anything?”
“No, but keep going anyway,” Glem said, grinning.
Normally all the laughter and smiles would give Glem a headache, but it suited the occasion even better than the ebullient weather. For some reason, it makes me think of Pensey Hayes.
Feryl continued his introduction:
“Love, this is the Big Man I keep telling you about, and his better half, Anigale. They have been friends since I arrived in Los Angeles. Damn good people. Damn better friends. We’ve worked I don’t know how many cases together, and he topped things off with the Black Lotus. I watched this king walk off two pointblank shots from a Locke. He also introduced me to Arroyo’s Special Cases Venture—”
Feryl spoke with pride, but his smile faltered before he could finish the thought. He turned to face Rick with a concerned expression on his face.
“Hey, Rick… have you heard anything from Harker? We sent him an invite but never heard back. I know he’s going through hell, but… is he okay?”
Rick’s face fell slightly. Glem immediately knew that Harker was far from okay. At least as far as Rick could tell. But that’s hardly surprising.
“Yeah. Sev’s… he’s doing okay,” Rick lied. “But, you know, he’s dealing with… A lot. It’s been a stretch. Wedding bells without Juel and Jecia around… it was just a bit much, you know?”
“We understand,” Glem said gravely.
He had seen the horrors of the disastrous Equinox archival cleaning firsthand. The counts the press gave after those incidents were always so callous. Seven dead. Seven injured. One missing in action.
One of the “injured” patients Glem worked on was a newly minted Keeper—still a probationary officer—who had been psychically attacked by the egregore that had savaged the pin. She was only one year older than me. One year removed from Hace and Drav’s cohort. Her name was Rhyenna Morris. She was making progress in therapy, but the thing’s mental butchery almost lobotomized her.
And her tragedy didn’t even reach the headlines.
Who in the Pacific States—never mind Arroyo or the Amagium— hadn’t heard Sevardin Harker’s story? The already-famous hero who lost everything overnight. As a medithurge, Glem knew he entered exus, but most people got the sanitized version. Harker, wielder of the legendary mortal breath, killed the egregore that devastated the amagia’s ranks, only to wake to find his lover vanished, and his partner in a long-term coma.
One of their wedding coordinator’s assistants urged Glem and Feryl to move on. They barely got to say hello to Glem’s favorite aunt before the coordinator’s assistant pulled them aside whispering something urgently. What’s wrong?
She sighed, then forced a smile, and continued like she was addressing children:
“Okay, that is one table out of a hundred. It also took you nearly three minutes. Most of your guests won’t wait that long. I know you want to make time for everyone, but you have to budget extra time for grandparents, people with new kids, and prioritize family who flew in from overseas—”
Glem raised an eyebrow at Feryl. Dear husband. Feryl gave a tiny snicker and nod, as if to say: Can you believe this shite? They mutually turned to address their self-appointed chaperone:
“You know, I know you’re the wedding coordinator,” Feryl acknowledged, all smiles. The woman gave him a condescending nod. “So I’m kind of surprised you don’t know this: a wedding is the highest celebration of chosen family.”
Glem’s heart seemed to glow. I didn’t know where you were going with that, But I knew it would be perfect. And I know I made the right call all over again.
“So we will be choosing where and how to budget our time,” Glem added.
The woman was delightfully gob smacked. Feryl offered his arm, Glem took it, and they walked back to catch up with his aunt.
