Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, you know they aren't mine. Tamora Pierce is the author of The Protector of The Small books, and was the one who created Tortall in general.

I have now read Lady Knight, but am keeping to my alternate universe. Also, Thank you to everyone who reviewed, as I doubt this would have gotten finished without your support.

Unforgettable Wedding

Chapter Two: Fertility

            The single forceful note spiralled the room, cutting into thoughts and crackling against the wall. Nervously, Keladry chanced a glance at her neighbours.  Was this supposed to happen? She had never been to a Tortallan style wedding before, and thus had nothing to judge this one by. Raoul and Buri had eloped, and Neal, ever considerate to those he adored, had married Yuki in the traditional Yamani fashion. With a hidden smile, she remembered his mingled delight and concern at learning no priests would act as a link to higher realms, because the Yamani knew that true love encompasses all…

            The ring of the bell jarred inside her headworld, expelling all her musings with an efficient screech. Pure reflex jolted her arms into action, causing bruised calloused hands to cover her ears. The sound continued… Kel couldn't think at all, couldn't breath, couldn't see…

            Agony lanced itself within her empty mind, flowing down arteries, lingering in an exhilarated heart. A form, not her own, began flickering through the knight's body, dancing her image into every part of Keladrys flesh and bone. She could almost hear a womyns voice, distant yet compassionate coming closer – nearer – and then it was gone, lost as the music faded.

            She bit the inside of her lip, frustrated, and belatedly wondered if this was a normal reaction to that dratted shinning bell. Although she kept her face blank and fixed upon the dais in the middle of the room, her eyes carefully watched the guests around her. Nobles were shifting in their seat, many ladies smothering down the fine gauzy material stitched upon their dresses. One seemed vaguely familiar, but Kel couldn't place her.

Where was she from? As Sir Keladry tried to capture that memory without success, the lady caught her gaze with a welcoming smile. Kel returned her gesture with a faint nod of her head before focusing on Cleon and his future wife, both of whom wore necklaces of marigolds.

Previous worries that she would feel attracted to Cleon surfaced once again. The last time they had met he had awoken no passion within her, but she was not convinced that her heart would listen. It was helplessly fickle in the best of times, beating faster for any male with a fine body.

Her fears were put to rest when no happy squirm answered from deep within her belly. Kel thanked Yama, the patron Goddess of the Yamani Islands, in relief – her prior fluttering nerves banished sparrows, now heading back to nest upon frail saplings. 

            Cleon had not looked at her direction once, but was instead focusing upon the burnished bronze tripod situated in the centre of the hall. Beside him, Ermelian of Aminar was scanning the crowd, attired in a gown of soft spring green. "For fertility, I suppose," reasoned Kel. Unlike Cleon, Ermelian seemed to be enjoying the occasion. 

            The Priestess came towards them, raising her slender arms to candles hanging from the stone-grey walls. She called to the Goddess to witness, shimmering with a divine female presence despite being surrounded by highly spiced Mithran incense. Power floated around her, easily encompassing the others dwarfing her on the makeshift platform. 

Tugging the couple forward, the Priestess positioned them on opposite sides of the empty tripod. Ermelian lit the fire using her Gift, glittering a soft green that matched her gown. As she vowed to be Cleons loyal and loving consort, his mouth twitched upwards and he echoed her honourably. Kel didn't watch them kiss. 

            The Mithran Priest laid aside his bell and gestured for the newly married couple to exchange necklaces. The Priestess held out a wine glass of rich honey mead to share. Ermelian was sparkling in the attention, and turned to beam behind her.

            The lady Kel could not quite place stood up and threw grain into the centre of the room. "For fertility!" She chanted, although her voice was bright and she strung the words together, like a bracelet. "For prosperity!"

            Damsels were rising and throwing grain at the couple. Neal had enthusiastically joined them, encouraging Yuki to do the same. Behind her, she noticed Buri and Raoul had risen, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

            Keladry stood, a social smile flitting across her face, not desiring to join the nobles celebrating and end up acting a fool. She was here only because she had to be, to give Cleon support, and be a good friend. But she had duties to think about, people to protect, flowers to smell…

            A lady now lost to the singing and dancing in the centre of the hall had shoved roses, lilies and some other unfamiliar plants into her arms. They smelt like a festive mixture of delicate flowers, warm cinnamon and a rich, Yamani herb that the palace mages used, although it wasn't one she directly familiar with. None of her acquaintances in early childhood had been born Gifted, so she hadn't ever had the opportunity. 

The scent was enticing, pulling at her. Briefly, Keladry wondered if they had been witched, but the thought soon fled as a man brushed against her elbow and she allowed herself to be swept into the merry party. Lightly she twirled in formal spirals - limber from years of training effort.

            The calm, cynical part of her head was questioning why anyone would want to dance with a plain inelegant womyn like herself, but in the intermingling circles of nobles and guests the answer just didn't seem important enough to dwell upon. Flowers still resting loosely in her arms, she danced in the soft light, expertly evading Raoul's attempt to pull her away.

In the next and final chapter:

An embarrassed Keladry comes to her senses, and some things just lend themselves to complication.