Daine leaned back against the windowsill, pulling her knees to her chest and looking out the window. The nights were growing cold, and she shivered as a breeze ran over her damp skin. She should finish brushing her hair but she was weary to her bones and had little desire to do more than curl up in the window seat and enjoy whatever respite would be afforded her.
The moon was full—casting enough light to make out the expanse of forest stretching out beyond the Crossroads Inn, all the way to the feet of the mountains of Galla. She hadn't been this close to her hometown in nearly seventeen years. It occurred to her, idly, that somewhere in that time Snowsdale had changed from home to hometown. It was not an unhappy thought.
It also wasn't the only happy thought of the night. She was quite content for the first time in many months.
"That feels better." Numair, her lover, emerged from the washroom as he pulled on a clean shirt over a pair of well-worn house breeches. His hair was damp and he looked far more refreshed than he had when they first arrived, barely two hours prior. "Is Kit up, yet?"
Daine shook her head, resting her chin on her knee as she basked in his nearness. "She's missed Spots something fierce. She'll be in the stables for a while yet."
"I'll try not to be offended by that." He grumbled but smiled.
"It's not so bad. Gives us some time to ourselves." She let the statement linger. Not even bone-deep fatigue could quell her desire for his touch—not after so long apart. From the appreciative look in his eye, he felt the same.
A knock on the door interrupted them before he could respond and he rolled his eyes, holding out a hand to her, "I'll get it, but hold that thought." She smiled, appreciating his eagerness, and ran her fingers through her damp hair as tended to their visitor.
The Scanran War had left Tortall vulnerable—too vulnerable—and other nations had taken notice. Just as treaties with Scanra had been ratified, an alarming trend of skirmishes along the Gallan border had appeared. It was too reminiscent of the beginning of the war they had just ended, and the thought of more years of conflict turned her stomach.
Of late she'd often thought back to standing in front of the Great Gods and lobbying for stormwings to be allowed to stay in the Mortal Realms. Their nature—to remind mortals of the horror of war—seemed something that was needed. She'd thought that if mortals remembered, perhaps they would be less willing to fight needlessly. And now she hadn't known a year out of ten without war. So much for peace.
And a lack of peace often necessitated a lack of Numair. While the Crown and the Shadow Service did make efforts to give them time their separation could not always be helped and since the escalation with Galla had begun they'd seen each other for less than two weeks since Beltane. If the conflict continued—she pushed the thought from her mind, worrying would do no good.
Her fingers caught on a snarl and she worked it out gently, listening in as Numair spoke to someone outside their room.
"No, no, we're quite well. No need. We'll ask if we need anything." He was closing the door as he spoke and she could tell he was impatient to be alone with her. Succeeding, he turned back to her and broke the seal on a letter in his hand. Even from across the room, she recognized the Royal seal.
The snarl loosened and she looked at the strands between her fingers to check for any additional tangles. There, among the deep brown and shining in the moonlight, was a single white hair. She sat up straight and up the offending section of hair to get a better look.
"Daine?" Numair was standing over her, regarding her with a bemused expression. She scowled up at him and he leaned forward to inspect her discovery. When he honed in on what had vexed her, he laughed. "Ah, yes, that happens."
"I'd prefer it didn't," she grumbled.
"You know, I got my first at thirty. Honestly, you were probably to blame," he teased and ran his fingers through her hair, pushing it back and out of her grasp, before kissing her softly on the head.
"Well, I'm nearly there so I suppose the timing is right."
He stood up, looking a little surprised. "You're right. Only a couple months off—what would you like to do for your name day, sweetling?" He moved away, pulling the letter out of its envelope.
She sighed, "I don't know if we should count on making plans." The only thing worse than not being with him was expecting to be with him and then not being able to. He cast her a sad look that needed no words to communicate he felt the same. He unfolded the letter and she left him be to read it. She'd been expecting it to be a full report—new orders, likely—that would see them parted again but not two minutes had passed when he spoke.
"Daine," he was grinning, "we're going home." He looked at her and when he sighed it was as if he shed a great weight from his shoulders.
"What?" His words seemed too welcome to be true.
"It's peace. There was a shadow delegation—it wasn't announced, but they've signed a treaty." He was nearly laughing. "We've been given leave to return to Corus," he paused, "or the Swoop, or our Tower—wherever we'd like to go."
He handed her the letter and she looked it over without reading it. Numair was still talking—he had some very good points about how nice it would be to see their friends, and also some very good points about how it would be nice not to see anyone—but when she looked back at him everything seemed to fade to a dull hum.
She loved him—though she'd been slow to realize it, since the first time he had kissed her she'd been sure of it. No matter what was thrown at them it never changed, much like how her stomach fluttered when he looked at her and how she felt when he kissed her. But now, when she looked at him, it occurred to her that something had changed. Something so subtle she hadn't noticed when it did, but so cataclysmic it left her breathless.
"What do you think, magelet?" He smiled down at her.
"I think it's someday."
The smile slid from his face as he moved through several expressions at a rapid pace: confusion, understanding, and finally a look of hope so raw that it made her want to cry a little. She knew that her reluctance had hurt him, though he'd never said so.
"Daine—" There was a hitch in his breath.
"Numair, will you marry me?"
He swept her into his arms—pulling her to her feet in one swift motion—and kissed her firmly. He released her, beaming, and crossed the room to reach the door in two long strides. He'd unlatched the door and was halfway into the hall before she could say anything, sticking his head back in at the last moment with a dazed expression on his face when he realized he'd forgotten something.
"Yes. Yes," he was breathless. "Just," he held out a hand and motioned for her to sit back down, "just stay right there."
She did as she was bid, settling back into her window perch, and tried to calm the beating of her heart. She was not particularly successful. At first, elation ruled her, and then impatience when he failed to return and celebrate with her in the physical way she had hoped for.
Half a candle mark had passed when she heard him call for her from below the window. She leaned out, shivering.
"Where have you been?" She hissed, failing to hide her amusement at how unkempt he looked. He beamed up at her, shirt shoved haphazardly into his breeches, and he had Kit cradled in his arms. The dragonet chirped at her, a happy shade of sky blue.
"Come down," he called. "And bring a cloak, it's cold. And my shoes, please." It was then she noticed that his feet were bare and mud-covered. She shook her head and decided to comply as opposed to pushing for any more information. She knew what he was like when he got excited and it was better to go along and find out as you went.
She pulled her riding coat over her shift and grabbed his cloak and boots before slipping into the hall, down the stairs, and out the back exit. He kissed her again as soon as she drew near, Kitten trilling indignantly at the sudden lack of space.
Daine took the dragonet to allow Numair to pull his boots on. She could tell he was trembling by his lack of grace in doing so.
"I found a priest." He beamed and drew his cloak over his shoulders. "He's waiting just down the road, by the river."
"A priest?" Kit squirmed and Daine let her jump to the ground.
"Yes—" his smile dropped, replaced by a crushing expression. "Unless—"
"No," she stepped forward and kissed him. "No, that's perfect." She meant it.
"Yes?"
"Yes. Let's go." She threaded her fingers between his and pulled him with her. "But how did you find one that this hour?"
"Oh, well," he had the sense to sound embarrassed despite his obvious elation, "by being a nuisance. Also, I hope you're carrying coin because I just gave my entire purse to the Temple."
She laughed and squeezed his hand. It was a short walk and Kit kept up at a scamper. They soon reached a small bridge and a Mithran Priest waited for them there, holding a lantern.
"Good evening," he called when they neared. The old man's voice was tired but good-natured, and there was amusement in his eyes when he smiled at them. "Are you ready?"
"Yes." Numair nodded, breathlessly, before looking at Daine. "Yes?"
"Yes." She squeezed his hand again, looking at the priest and nodding.
"The temple is closed at this hour, but I've been told you're not concerned about holding the ceremony at the altar?" He addressed Daine who shook her head in agreement. "Alright; there's a shrine just across the river that will do nicely. A local goddess, if that's fine by you." He motioned for them to follow and led the way into the forest.
Daine stifled a laugh when she realized how hard Numair was working not to urge the priest to pick up the pace, his long legs moving in oddly stunted motions to keep pace behind the elderly man.
"Aren't you a pretty creature," the priest cooed to Kitten when she ran forward to walk beside him. The dragon, of course, enjoyed this compliment thoroughly and rewarded him with a series of chirps that obviously delighted him. He was true to his word and very soon they were underneath the eaves of a willow that draped over a bend in the river.
The priest turned, setting his lantern at the base of a small shrine to the Green Lady. Daine's heart ached at the thought of her Ma being with them in any small way, and by the squeeze of Numair's hand knew that he had noticed.
"Face one another, if you will," the priest motioned to them, and then looked down at Kit, "and you, little one, yes—just there."
Kit settled just next to the lantern, paws kneading at the ground in front of her with excess energy as she looked between them. Numair reached out for her other hand, thumbs tracing small circles along her palms.
"Let us begin." The priest held out his hands and began the Mithran chant in a soft, practiced voice that rose and fell with the sound of the river and the rustling of the willow in the evening air. He moved through the ceremony with serenity, guiding them through each vow.
Numair's eyes were over-bright as he pledged himself to her, and spilled over when she did the same to him. They looked away from one another only once when a light rose behind the priest and they turned to see the hazy visage of Sarra and Weiryn watching them from among the curtain of willow branches.
"And now, the exchange of rings."
"Oh," she exclaimed, sheepishly, "we—"
"Ah, magelet," he pulled his hands from hers and held up a finger, "a little credit, please." He reached up and broke a branch from the willow, wrapping it into a small coil. Black fire bloomed around the coil and when it receded he held two rings. They glinted in the lamplight, tiny copper leaves entwining to form the bands.
With rings exchanged the priest spoke once more to confirm the bond. "You are as one, evermore, by edict of the realm and of the divine, until the peaceful lands embrace you."
Numair kissed her, pulling her into his arms tightly, and she leaned into the feeling—so familiar and so thrilling.
"And now, it is past my bedtime. I shall take my leave." The priest interrupted quietly when they showed no interest in pulling apart. To his credit, he seemed unfazed as he picked up his lantern and stepped around them. "Would you like to accompany an old man on his walk back?" He addressed Kitten directly, who chirped and followed him, but not before stopping to curl around both their legs with an affectionate nuzzle.
The priest turned back once more, and spoke once more, "and congratulations, Master and Mage Salmalín." With a notable twinkle in his eye, he turned and took his leave, lamplight, and Kit's happy narrative fading quickly into the night. Left with only moonlight, she realized her parents had also left them be.
"I don't think I told him my name," Numair murmured, watching him go and threading his fingers through her hair in a soft caress.
"The dragon tends to give it away, though your magicking does a fair job of it on its own." She ran a finger over the ring; it felt right like it belonged there.
"Do you like it?" He pulled her hand to his lips, drawing his thumb across the band and kissing the tips of her fingers.
"I do."
"I can get you another if you don't."
"Numair—"
"I have another, actually, at the Tower. Well, I have a couple—"
"Numair." She stood on tiptoe to silence him with a kiss. "I like this one."
"Really?"
"Yes." she kissed him again, slower this time. "And I love you."
"I love you too." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her eyelids, nose, and lips. "And now, once again, we are alone." He whispered in her ear, the heat in his voice making her shiver.
"That we are." She smiled and pulled him to her—together evermore.