Hod . . . then this is Ghisla,” she insisted, tracing the two halves of the rune and the arrow that connected them. “You cannot harm yourself without harming me.”
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the plait of her hair.
“I am sorry. We have so little time, and I am scaring you. Forgive me.”
“We are bound, Hod.” She pressed her hand to his, feeling the scrape of his scar against her own. “I am yours. You are mine.”
“With this rune, I thee wed,” he said, but his smile was bleak.
“With this rune, I thee wed,” she repeated, urgent, but she could not quiet her racing heart, and he cursed softly, pressing his palm to her chest.
“Shh, Ghisla. I am here.”
She laid her hands on top of his, keeping his hand clutched to her heart. She stared up at the stars, her eyes skipping from one to the next, counting the brightest ones as she caught her breath. Fourteen stars were brighter than the others, and a tendril of a melody surfaced in her thoughts.
“There was a song my people used to sing . . . when they wed,” she murmured.
“Sing it for me.”
“I do not remember it. There was a line about stars.” But as soon as she said the words, the lyrics curled up from the place in her heart she rarely let herself visit.
“Two of us, two of us, two lives, two,” she said, hesitantly. She hummed the bit of the tune, fitting the phrase like a key to a lock.
Hod listened, his hand still caught beneath hers, and she tried again.
“Two of us, two of us, two lives, two. Now we’re one, just begun, new lives, new.”
Figures danced in her memory, and she let them come.
“Take my hand, tie the bands, one step, two,” she sang, piecing the words into a line. That is how they’d danced when the ceremony was done, all in a line.
“Make a wish, on the stars, say I do.” In her mind, the long row became just the bride and groom. She could see Morgana, the way she’d looked that day, her hair loose and her skirts swinging, but the image was blurred.
“Is that . . . your sister?” Hod asked.
Ghisla fought the grief that warred with the joy but pressed on. She wanted Hod to see. “Yes. That is Morgana . . . on her wedding day. Morgana and Peder.”
“Morgana and Peder,” Hod breathed.
“Now we’re one, just begun, me and you,” she sang. The Peder in her mind stooped to kiss Morgana, and someone cheered. Gilly. Gilly had cheered. But she could not see their faces.
“I cannot call their features forth,” Ghisla murmured.
“You are trying too hard.” Hod’s fingertips were gentle on her face. He urged her eyes closed, and she sang the song from the beginning. By the time she was done, the memory had become sharp and shining, playing out as if she were once again in Tonlis, dancing with her family.
“Peder could not stop kissing her. He did not want to eat or dance. He wanted to kiss . . . and Morgana did not mind. No one minded terribly, though my father grumbled and my mother fretted that they would disappoint the guests who wanted to drink and dance with the couple. Singing, drinking, and dancing are all Songrs want to do.”
“It is beautiful.”
“Spin and skip and take a sip, then sing whilst you walk back again,” she sang, one tune melding into another. “That was a song the men sang. Every gathering they sang it—that silly song. It gave them a chance to drink and dance at the same time. Usually the groom would sing with the men, but Peder sang it once and walked back—just like the song says—to Morgana. And the kissing continued.”
Ghisla laughed, the recollection crystal clear.
“He is devouring her,” Hod said, incredulous. “Like a hungry beast.”
Ghisla laughed harder. “I thought it disgusting . . . and . . . wonderful too. I was twelve. Not yet ready for romance . . . yet not immune to it either.”
Hod was as entranced as she, and for once she had no trouble letting the memory run its course. Peder had knocked over the table in his desire to reach his bride—wine had something to do with his dramatics as well, she was sure, but it had made their guests laugh and had brought the women to the rescue. The women had a song of their own.