stood behind her, basking in the glow that sparked from her and through her, touching him with the same blessing.
Henny shocked him, turning to face him. She smiled and reached for him, pulling him down for a kiss that sealed her light to his inner core, joining them in a way that would unite them forever. At length, she drew back and smiled up at him.
“Do you understand what you’ve just done, my love?” His whisper touched them both as they continued to bathe in the light of the Goddess.
She nodded, an unearthly light in her eyes. At that moment, Hansa felt the presence of the Goddess stronger than he ever had before. He sank to one knee, staring up at the face of his beloved, who was no longer only his beloved, but also the Goddess made flesh.
“Together, we will teach new generations of warriors to protect our people.” The words issued from Henny’s mouth, but Hansa knew they came straight from the deity he served. She tugged him to his feet, proclaiming them equals, though his Henny was still possessed of the Goddess’ light. The priests all around regarded her with awe as Hansa spared a glance to their surroundings, ever vigilant.
The light was fading, leaving Henny and Hansa last of all.
Ginny didn’t understand what had just happened, but she felt warm and loved—by someone or something beyond her understanding. The light faded, and she was sorry to see it go but reassured by the knowledge that a small part of it resided in her, and in her babies. She looked to her crew, concerned for their welfare and caught Henny’s words. Her master-at-arms and friend was acting out of character, and Ginny grew concerned.
Regardless of what protocol demanded, her crew came first. Ginny released Tigh’s hand and went over to check on Henny.
“Chief Sonata, are you all right?”
Henny turned to face Ginny, her face still aglow and wearing a broad smile. “Aye, Captain. All is finally right with the world. The teachings of my line will not die with me. They’ll live on in our children and for generations to come.”
Ginny’s gaze went from Henny’s ecstatic face to where her hand joined with Hansa’s. The big jit armsmaster stood too close to Henny for a mere acquaintance, and the happy, defiant look on his face said he didn’t care who knew they were lovers. Ginny had to bite back a smile.
“Your father would be pleased to know his teachings will live on, Chief, and from all I’ve seen, I think he also would have liked your choice of husband. Congratulations to you both.”
Henny actually teared up but was too stoic to let the drops fall.
“Warrior priestess,” the high priest intoned from over Ginny’s shoulder as he addressed Henny. Jurdan had snuck up on her. The man moved more quietly than even Tigh. “Be you welcome on Zenai Mountain.”
“Thank you, sir.” Henny clearly didn’t know how to address a high priest, but Jurdan didn’t seem to mind as he turned his shrewd gaze on the man who stood almost protectively over Henny’s shoulder.
“Hansa of Clan Poltar, is this warrior of the Velkir your true mate?”
“She is, Master.” Hansa’s deep voice rang with pride.
Jurdan smiled then, his old face splitting into a grin of true affection. “You were ever one of our best, Chi’gor Hansa. Your duties as a masked protector are now over. You will, with your mate, train successive generations of warriors, as the Goddess has decreed. I expect to celebrate your mating on the sacred mountain very soon, Master Poltar. You and your mate will always have a place there, in the Warrior Goddess’ domain. And she is but the first of the new caste of warrior priestesses heralded by the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy. But that is talk for another time.” Jurdan backed off a pace. “Our duty is to first welcome our emperor and his bride-to-be, then to talk of the changes the Goddess’ appearance here heralds for all jit’suku.” The high priest made a show of respect, though as the most senior servant of the Goddess, he bowed to no man under normal circumstances.
But Henny bowed to the old man in the way of her martial arts tradition, from the waist, with one clenched fist resting in an open hand, signifying respect for the high priest, but not in the kneeling tradition of the jit’suku. Oh, yes, times would be a-changing, Ginny thought as she watched the interaction. It was then that