“I hope he thinks seriously about building a bridge.”
“I doubt he can think at all just now. He’s incoherent with terror of what Andrade would have done to him if he’d lost us—or what he believes the almighty Lady would do.” Ostvel sat back on his heels and shrugged. “He’s not our problem though. You are.”
“Me?”
“Sioned, I can’t take you to Stronghold with only eleven in attendance. You’re going to be a princess!”
“A princess without a wedding dress,” she reminded him. “All my things were on the other horses. Ostvel, we have to go on as we are. She told me to be there in six days.”
“You’re supposed to arrive in a state befitting the bride of a prince,” he said stubbornly, his kind, rugged face furrowed with concern.
She smiled fondly. “I’ll be lucky to arrive at all, at this rate. How’s Cami doing?”
“Still insensible, poor darling. I’m amazed she was able to get up, let alone think of the horses. I’m amazed any of you moved as fast as you did. We owe you Sunrunners our lives.”
“Remember that the next time you tease us about crossing water.” Sioned ran her hands back through her damp hair. “We’re losing the day, Ostvel. Prop Cami on her horse. Tie her to the saddle if you must, but we have to get moving.”
Camigwen recovered enough to sit her horse without the measures Sioned suggested, and fretted for the rest of the afternoon about the loss of Sioned’s clothes and consequence. No amount of reassurance could convince her that Sioned did not much care. In truth, she was relieved to be going to Stronghold in simplicity rather than in state. She wasn’t a princess yet, and still couldn’t quite make herself believe she would be.
By the time they stopped for the night, everyone was exhausted. Muscles accustomed to riding were not used to hauling on cables, and muffled groans were heard as the twelve dismounted. They spent the night on a farm belonging to Palevna’s maternal uncle, but the faradh’im were unable to do full justice to his wife’s splendid cooking and after dinner dragged themselves out to the barn to collapse onto blankets in the soft hay.
“Just think,” Ostvel said brightly, gray eyes dancing, “we’ll have to go back across the Faolain on our way home again!”
Camigwen glared at him. “Think again,” she said darkly. “I’ll have Mardeem sing a bridge into being if I must, but I’m not going to cross that water on anything but my own two feet.” She threw her arms around her Chosen and buried her face in the curve of his neck. “I almost lost you to that damned river!”
Sioned watched him soothe her, and smiled. Goddess blessing was surely on this pair. Her smile faded as she realized that when they married, she herself would be far away, unable to join in the celebrations.
And her own wedding? She could neither visualize it nor believe in it. The man, yes—she could see him in every color of the sky and every gleam of sunlight. But the prince was a stranger. Who was he? Was there a mind to match those beautiful, brilliant eyes?
She lay awake long after the others slept, and stared up at the stars through loft doors left open to the soft night. Such clear, sweet light; to ride that would be feat indeed. If it could be done, then even on nights when the moons did not rise one could still go where there was need by dancing down those pale, fiery trails of light. But it was forbidden to Sunrunners, the glow of the stars. Perhaps the protection of the Goddess did not extend to those faraway pinpoints of light. The Fire of sun and moons was under her blessing, but what of the stars? They threw whispery shadows over the meadows and mountains, mysterious and dreamy. What colors were hidden within them? Sioned, with six rings circling her fingers, was capable of riding both sun and moons. She counted those rings in the starlight, four gold and two silver, plain circles that at Goddess Keep did not set her apart but which out in the world marked as her different. She remembered what it had been like at River Run during her childhood, when her sister-by-marriage had eyed her askance and whispered about her to her brother Davvi. In her maturity, Sioned could think of Lady Wisla with something approaching gratitude, for if she had not been so eager to be