A/N A re-post of chapter 34 - fully edited. You may re-read if you want, because there ARE some changes to the actual story and not just typos... but they are mostly minor and descriptive.

The tent was dark… so dark that she could barely make out Erik's shape as he stood watching her; both of them trying to decide exactly who would make the first move and what it would be. She was afraid to breathe too loudly; afraid to move too fast – or at all! She was trembling on the soles of her bare feet as a breeze stirred the canvas around them and teased at the flaps which he'd securely tied for the night.

"Do you want this?" he asked quietly. His voice was lower, huskier than she was accustomed to. "Are you sure?"

After a brief hesitation, all she could do was nod shakily. Instantly she saw Erik's shoulders shift as he took a step in her direction. The air around her seemed to thicken and become energized.

"There's no going back." He warned her severely.

"There never was." She murmured back; not at all surprised by the slight croaking break in her voice.

He came closer once more, and one of his shoulders shifted to suggest a hand was reaching for her.

"Let me make a light." He suggested smoothly. "I want to see you."

Shivering, Arabella glanced down at herself; although it was nearly as impossible to make out her own body in the deep shadows as it was his profile. She was wearing a thin shift; something that was modest in spite of its translucency. Her clothes from earlier in the day lay crumpled in a corner, now utterly invisible and mostly forgotten… except that she felt so naked in nothing but undergarments she wasn't accustomed to.

Erik shifted so much closer that they could have reached out and touched each other. With each slow step, the air seemed to thicken further and further; until it was nearly tangible and as hard to move through as water. She thought he might reach for one of the lanterns he kept in the tent; but instead there was suddenly an explosion of magic light between them. It was a brilliant blue-white that seemed to illuminate the entire tsera. But it wasn't at all a beautiful light. Instead, it seemed more hellish and threatening than a fiery blaze.

It wasn't Erik standing before her, either. The sight before her made Arabella stumble into the tent canvas behind her, shreiking with the volume and ear-bleeding pitch of a train whistle.

Looking up at where she expected her new bridegrooms' eyes to be; she was instead met with the cold glowering forehead of a swarthy-skinned gypsy with blood spattered on his cheeks, jaw, and neck. Blood-soaked hands cupped the momentary light even as they reached out for her like claws. The light made every shadow seem all the darker, deepening the scowl lines around his eyes and mouth, and across his forehead. Slightly yellowed teeth were exposed like those of a snarling hound. Where there should have been brown irises, there was nothing but a milky white blankness that nearly seemed to glow in the second-long light.

As the light disappeared and darkness began to engulf her once more, she screamed a second time; knowing that at any moment her fathers' hands would be on her.

Arabella sat up with a cry that blared through Tsifia's tent, the stitches in her abdomen straining against her slowly (and problematically) healing flesh in a way that caused brief and silent agony. It spread into a dull but throbbing ache nearly up to her breasts and what seemed like all the way down to her thighs. In spite of the pain, the sensation was instantly comforting. It always helped pull her out of the horror of her nightmares – which had always existed but had become more numerous and more intense since her emancipation. They had increased in the past week to such an extent that she often woke in the middle of the night to hear Erik singing in his tent; trying to soothe away her terrors.

The pain brought her back to where she was and exactly what day it was. Her panic drained away; leaving her feeling drained and weak as she panted for breath. She gazed around the dimly lit area of her grandmother's tent. The older woman was nowhere to be seen; indicating Arabella had been left to rest and continue healing in peace so that she would have enough energy to last her the afternoon.

She'd only been allowed to leave her tent after a week and a half, while her grandmother tended to her wound and forbade her from dancing for two whole months - even if she married Erik in that time span. She'd been set free of the confinement of Tsifia's overbearing care for three days now; all while submitting to further physical purification baths and ceremonies, while listening to the steps Erik himself was taking to at least attempt to pacify the tribes outrage over his marriage to Arabella once it had been announced.

No one had been happy to hear the news, but things had happened to keep most of the other gypsies from making a violent case out of their objections. One reason was that Anton – their chief – had personally given his begrudging blessing. The other had something to do with Erik's machinations, which from what Tsifia had been saying were rather… odd. She knew that the more superstitious gypsies had begun hearing strange voices when no one was around… and that odd accidents occurred anytime some spoke ill of Arabella, Erik, or the impending union. Some of the accidents seemed to be rather impish rather than malicious – although plenty of people believed these were warnings from a demon capable of far worse.

They were right. Erik wasn't a demon, but Arabella knew exactly what type of violence he was capable of – even if he wasn't likely to go to quite those extremes to make certain he could marry Arabella without delay or harassment. Everyone was right to steer clear of him after provoking him with a snide remark or a physical threat.

To make things easier, he'd entreated Anton to put him through every single ritual and hurtle that any other gypsy bridegroom hopeful would be forced to endure by the most traditional and severe elders. A list of trials had been arranged; culminating in one that included a gauntlet of dust, flour, eggs, and other relatively innocuous debris being thrown at him which he could not flinch or tear up from. That had been only three days earlier, just when Arabella was well enough to be on her feet again. She had to take it very easy in the next weeks; but she was well enough to marry Erik if she desire to… and they had agreed on the soonest date Tsifia would permit.

He was banned from visiting her until the wedding – something neither had anticipated; and which they groused over for hours before reluctantly giving in. In fact, Tsifia had gone so far as to make Erik move his tent to the opposite side of the camp; and made it impossible for them to see each other before the ceremony. She was so intent on this that she was even making Arabella wear The Veil of Darkness. It was a veil – obviously– but made of black material so thick and long that her grandmother would need to guide her to the spot where she would join her life to Erik's. The point was to keep her and her groom from being able to see each others' faces until the ceremony officially began.

Tsifia would have pressed this further and made Erik eep his back turned until she reaced the spot where he'd be waiting for her; but the arrangements for the wedding made such a feat nearly impossible.

As the burning pain in her strained stomach faded to the dull burn she was accustomed to, Arabella's eyes widened with the realization that the waiting – which had seemed endless during her convlescence – was finally over.

She hadn't expected to be so excited over the mere thought of marrying Erik. The thought of a wedding night haunted her almost every single minute, and she'd thought that would be the great murder of her joy… but no. She was still just as excited to marry Erik as she'd been the moment he officially asked for her hand. She was looking forward to spending a night by Erik's side, falling asleep while talking to him in low murmurs; close enough to his body to feel his comforting warmth. Whatever came before that… she could let herself worry about that when the time came. For now, she was simply going to look forward to the unrestrained time she would finally have with him. No one would ever again have the right to criticize how she spent her time.

She stood slowly once she'd calmed herself completely, and was actually smiling as she peered through the cloth doorway and out into a day that was very cloudy but not quite overcast. It must have been close to mid-morning, because there were already throngs of people milling about where all the actual attractions were set up. She wasn't at all surprised to clearly hear a throng of excited applause in the direction of Erik's stage. He'd been performing twice – if not three times – more than usual. He'd known that she'd be unable to earn her own income for a time; and seeing as how his society usually forbid women from working, he was anxious to prove himself to be a worthy husband that could provide for his wife.

He'd begun integrating more and more of his newly invented or discovered magic tricks during her convalescence. Before Tsifia had put her foot down and forbade them from seeing each other until the wedding, he'd often sat by her cot and given her little miniature shows to break up the sheer tedium of her life lying around in a bed. He'd brought in reams of music that he'd apparently been using to write new music, showing her patiently how he created his own sheet music and how it was supposed to be read. She was only tentatively grasping the concept of that kind of reading – they hadn't even begun to explore actual ABC's yet – but it didn't matter to either of them. It was something to pass the time, and the music he would sing or play just for her from those sheets of music always took her breath away.

He'd become so much more creative as of late; and it was hard to tell if that was due to his happiness or if it was simply to keep her amused. Whatever the reason, she was certainly even more enthralled with his apparent genius than she'd ever been before. She often found herself lying in the dark for hours after one of his visits, staring up at the tent ceiling and imagining just how she could dance to such music… if only she were allowed to dance at all!

No one noticed her peering out from Tsifia's tsera; and Arabella retreated back into the gloomy light of it before anyone would have a chance to. Since it was the day of her union with Erik; she expected she would probably receive quite a few ugly stares and comments if she stayed out in public too long. At least after the ceremony - perhaps once a few days had passed - everyone would grow accustomed to the concept of her life and would stop dwelling on it.

She was drinking strong coffee and munching on cold biscuits when her grandmother came into the tent with a long black cloth lying across her arms.

"It's finally ready." She sighed with pleasure. "I was beginning to think I'd never find enough cloth for it. Thank goodness Sarima had some material left from the one her mother had almost made her wear."

Arabella grimaced at the veil; having almost convinced herself she might actually have imagined that particular stipulation. Apparently, her grandmother was going to make her go through with wearing that horrible thing over her head and face; and it was going to cover a majority of the raw silk dress she herself had been sewing all this time during her recovery. She was disappointed that her careful stitching would be overlooked due to the overbearing blackness of the knee-length veil… but at least it would match the darker hues of her clothing.

"Bunica…" Arabella shook her head. "I've taken five goat milk baths this week. Erik has passed every single test you've maneuvered him into. Is it really necessary for a pregnant bride to wear something so hideous on the day she marries a man who already knows her for all her shortcomings? It isn't as though he's going to change his mind."

Having been through this several dozen times already, Tsifia ignored Arabella completely and reached into a trunk to pull out the dress her granddaughter would be wearing for the ceremony. It was grander than most gypsy girls would wear – but not so much that it would be obnoxious. It just had a skirt that swept the ground instead of only going down to her ankles, with enough fabric under the top layer to make it puff out slightly. It was a nice touch to include a hint of fashion from the world Erik came from. The color, however was a very dark plumb purple; more in keeping with her people's traditions.

A gypsy bride would never wear white to her wedding; and it would have been the height of insulting for any guest to wear the color. White was strictly for mourning.

The top of the dress was off-the-shoulder; with just a touch of silver lace decorating the bodice, woven in with beads that dangled and swayed ever-so-slightly with each movement.

Considering it was one of her first times ever making an article of clothing instead of simply mending one, Arabella was excessively pleased with herself… and wearing the veil would take away from her ability to quietly show it off.

Well… at least Erik would be able to appreciate it once the veil was removed.

The thought of Erik lifting back the veil made her breath catch briefly in her throat. Instantly that image in her mind changed to one of him removing the black material completely from her hair (although it was aan image that would never come to fruition) in the privacy of their own tent. Her heart hammered at the mere concept; both from nausea and excitement.

She felt butterflies begin to stir in her stomach once she'd washed herself and began to put on the dress. Her grandmother fussed about her head and tried to artistically pin her usual braid into some semblance of a decoration Erik might appreciate as a more gaje style.. But Tsifia was used to braiding hair; or simply covering it with a dicklo. Both grandmother and granddaughter were rather certain it just looked ridiculous instead of artful and lovely.

"I think he's trying to draw you out early." Tsifia mumbled after their short bickering over Arabella's hair ended in simply covering the utterly usual braid with the dreadful black veil. "He's been getting louder with every performance; riling everyone up into a near frenzy."

Arabella laughed nervously.

"He's happy." She pointed out. "Is that so wrong?"

"Reminding the entire tribe that he exists and is about to take one of our own women from our community as his own wife is the part I'm worried about." Tsifia sighed. "But it isn't wrong to be happy. Nearly half the tribe was drawn there by one of his performances this morning. ...Maybe it isn't so bad after all. Now that everyone knows what his voice is capable of… I think they're more and more afraid of what he's capable of every day."

"Good." Arabella squared her shoulders. "Let them be afraid. The more frightened they are; the less likely anyone is to try and hurt him."

"Or you." Tsifia pointed out.

Arabella shook her head with a snort; delighting in her grandmothers' huff of disapproval as she continued trying to pin the veil onto her head.

"They'd have to be out of their minds to try and get past Erik." She muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Bunica."

She was ready long before the ceremony was to begin.

Honestly, they couldn't even call it much of a ceremony.; the way they had it planned. It was more like a minor ritual. She would walk to Erik on Tsifia's arm, Erik would pull back the veil, and they would promise themselves to each other in front of Anton. Afterward, they would sit side by side and feed one another a small piece of bread with a drop of each other's blood on it.

They would have gone with salted bread instead… but Tsifia thought it made the gypsy tradition all the stronger to incorporate blood. Once that was completed, Tsifia would unbind Arabella's hair from its' customary braid; wrap it in a dicklo, and that would be it. The 'ceremony' would be over; and Erik could return to his performances or join his new bride and her small circle of family and closest allies in a feast as night fell.

The clouds had cleared slightly by the time Arabella took one last look outside the tent before the veil was to be drawn over her face. It was late afternoon, and the sun had sunk enough in the sky to cast a beautifully golden haze over everything. It was actually rather difficult to see through, the light was so strong… but what you could see seemed ethereal and all the more beautiful.

"You look lovely." Tsifia assured her for the twentieth time before pulling the veil forward. "Now… are you ready?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Arabella pressed a nervous hand to her fluttery stomach. It hurt - that little pressure over her wound - but not as much as simple motion could at times. Her grandmother had explained to her the night before that she had contracted a slight infection at the wound sight, but her body seemed to be doing a fine job at fighting it off. Certainly there was nothing to worry them so badly that she'd postpone the ceremony and remain in bed once more. She couldn't stay the rest of her life in a bed like an invalid; after all. She needed to get back up on her feet and keep her body going, so that it could remain strong enough to keep the wound on the right track toward healing completely.

She certainly hadn't been wounded or ill enough in the past two weeks to lose the baby she'd once so despised the very thought of. She still wasn't utterly comfortable with the idea of her growing infant… but she had made the best peace with it she could. She even thought, at times, that she had begun to feel the first fluttery stirrings of the baby moving around in her womb... and with it, perhaps, the stirrings of begrudging affection.

She was almost pleased at the thought of sharing the first definitive kicks with Erik. Knowing how he felt about her being a mother; she was certain he'd be thrilled to feel her stomach shifting beneath his touch as her child grew and shifted. It would certainly be an experience he probably never would have dreamed of sharing with a woman - given is deformity and confidence issues.

It was the most intimate touch she dared imagine when she was awake… although other thoughts tried to swirl in at times – like while her grandmother walked her blindly through the gypsy encampment toward her awaiting bridegroom.

"May I lead the way?"

She stiffened briefly at the male voice close by her left side, and then realized it was Anton. Clearly he'd seen Tsifia leading her toward Erik's stage where their tiny ceremony was to be taking place.

It was almost going to be a public performance, except that neither she nor Erik gave a damn about any possible audience. Both had admitted that it might simply help progress their future audiences if their ceremony wasn't kept like a dirty secret.

Erik wasn't even done with all his true performances for the day! After the brief ceremony, she was going to remain by the stage until he was done for the evening, watching him perform his miracles for the gaje crowds; unless he changed his mind and joined her for an evening of celebatory feasting and wine.

"How kind of you, Anton." Tsifia responded instantly to the viadi. Arabella felt her arm being shifted and passed from one grasp to the other, and Anton added his other hand to the small of her back for an extra sense of guidance. She wanted to bristle at the contact; but becoming more comfortable with Erik's little but firm touches had helped her become more tolerant to the touch of other males... particularly when in the company of someone she trusted as much as Erik or Tsifia.

"Let's bring you to your groom." Anton suggested to her in a low voice. "I thought it would do well for the camp to see my instant presence at your side. They'll take it as a sort of blessing on the marriage beyond simple begrudging acceptance."

Arabella nodded briefly and shakily, now so nervous that she was beyond words.

She knew the instant that Erik could see Anton guiding her. His voice silenced utterly, and the never completely quiet crowd hushed into a curious and murmuring throng that made the air vibrate with pleasant tension. Arabella felt her body tighten with excitement as Anton paused due to all the eyes that were no doubt suddenly upon them. It was impossible to feel embarrassed over the scouring eyes when she couldn't see them.

As they took their first real step forward to begin the relatively minor ceremony, pure sound washed over her. She felt the moment Erik's voice actually reached her like a physical hand. It latched around some deep instinctive ball in the pit of her stomach like a lasso, as strong and taught as guitar string. It pulled at her, almost impatiently dragging her towards her destination even as it wrapped her in nothing but rosy warmth where she felt safe and cherished and loved.

Even through the canvas of the tent, Erik had been using the power of his voice on her these past days. He used it when she woke from nightmares and he was near enough to soothe her. He used it as a distraction against pain and boredom… and he constantly used it to express any and every emotion that he felt – particularly when it came to his feelings for her.

Whatever doubts might have been lingering in her mind shortly after his official proposal; Erik had washed them away with nothing but his music. She'd become acutely aware of just how manipulative and dangerous his golden song could be if one let down their guard... but her trust in him had become so concrete that she never fought him when he enveloped her with pure sound.

At that moment; feeling all his love pouring over the audience and herself, she felt her confidence in each blind step grow. Within a yard, it seemed as though Anton were trying to worriedly hold her back; trying to keep her from rushing forward and perhaps harming herself. She didn't care. Erik was calling to her with a sublime sirens song… and she wanted to answer it. It made her wish she was vocally talented… because her only artistic chances at expression were banned from her life until her stomach had healed completely.

She could tell when they approached the stage. Erik's truly physical presence was the strongest she'd ever known, and it eclipsed even the power of his music as Anton slowed to a snails' pace and altered his hold on her as though to guide her up a set of steps. Erik's voice grew so close she knew she could reach out and touch him, and her free hand instinctively reached out in search of the trustworthy guidance she understood was waiting for her.

His hand closed over hers and she stepped easily up onto the stage, as though his unaltered music had served as her eyes and told her exactly where and how to move.

The moment she was on the stage, though, the world plunged into utter silence. Even the crowd below seemed unable to utter a sound any longer; enraptured as they were by their curiosity and fascination. Even through the silence, though, the air seemed to teem with anticipation and excitement. She wondered if he'd told anyone what was going to be happening that afternoon. She wondered just how large the crowd was; and how many of her tribe had come to watch.

The moment the veil was drawn back, she forgot about her questions. Her eyes went enormously round at the sight of a pale but still quite flesh toned mask covering a majority of Erik's face, lending something very close to the appearance of a perfectly 'normal' gentleman. It contoured very closely to the curves of his cheeks and the width of his brow, leading her to understand he'd somehow had it made for the occasion. She wasn't certain whether he'd made it himself - although he made many of his own masks now - because it was clearly not made of cloth as most of the others were. This one seemed to be made of very thin glass or porcelain. It's dull shine tempted her fingertips to find out just how thin and fragile it was; but she was much too afraid that the very slight pressure might break it.

She forced herself to focus on his eyes, narrowing her own slightly in a now very common but only half-hearted reprimand. He enjoyed taking her off guard when it came to his clothing and masks; and relished her every reaction. This had become particularly true during her long confinement; as some of his masks were meant as nothing more than jokes made to amuse her.

Even now his golden eyes danced with amusement, giving her a moment to let her eyes adjust to the light now pouring into them… and her gaze slowly dropped to his clothes.

She'd never seen Erik in such fine attire. Although of rich colors like any gypsy man or woman might wear; he seemed every inch the proper gaje gentleman. His suit was very a well-tailored midnight blue, with a dress shirt underneath made of the same plumb purple raw silk of her dress. She wondered briefly exactly when her grandmother had given him the cloth. She'd tried very hard to keep the color of her dress a surprise.

"Que tu es belle." Erik murmured, taking her hands and lifting them to his lips in a brief caress that was more like a nuzzle than a kiss. Before she could ask him to repeat himself in one of her own languages, he straightened his shoulders in a business-like fashion and turned them both to face Anton.

Que tu es belle: (roughly) How beautiful you look.

A/N: Wedding itself coming very soon! I promise! But the chapter was getting LENGTHY, and I like to keep them as close to 6 pages as possible… for this story at least.