Page 68 of The Weaver

“The number three representshehven, earth, and man,” Ahmya said with a smile, “and because nine is three threes, it’s veryawspishuss. Which means that it promises good fortune. Good luck.”

“I understand,” Rekosh said. “It is a ritual for luck.”

“It is, but there’s more to it. When a couple goes throughsan-san-kudo, they’re forming a deep bond, making an unbreakable commitment to each other. They’re swearing to each other that whether inhehvenor on earth, through life and death, they will never part. They’ll endure everything together, good and bad.”

Rekosh trilled, his chest tight with emotion, radiating heat. But this was a softer heat. A more soothing heat. He extended a hand and caressed the side of her face. “You wish to share this with me, Ahmya?”

She cupped her hand over his and rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I do. I want to be your wife. I want to be your mate. And I want you to be mine.”

Had he let himself lose control, had he let instinct take command, he would not have experienced this. He would not have seen that beguiling look in her eyes, would not have learned the depth of the connection she wanted. Would not have joined with her in the way of her people.

“Share all with me, my heartsthread, so I can finally make you mine.”

She smiled, and he felt her heat flare against his palm as her cheeks darkened. Rekosh gritted his teeth as she pulled away, tempted to capture her and draw her back to him. His hand hovered briefly in the air before he returned it to his foreleg. He could not recall a moment in his life, even when working on the most intricate parts of her dress, that had required more patience and control than this one.

Ahmya picked up the top eldernut shell from the stack and held it out to him. “The first cup, the smallest, represents our past.”

He accepted it between the fingers of an upper hand, glancing into the empty shell.

She picked up the waterskin and opened it. “We drink this in thanks to our ancestors for giving us life and allowing us to meet despite all odds.” Carefully, she poured three small splashes into the shell.

“Take three sips,” she gently instructed.

In his mind, vrix emerged from memory. His mother, the details of her face lost to the years save for her vibrant blue eyes. His sire as he’d once stood—tall and proud, with a gleam of joy in his crimson gaze. His brood siblings, so young, so full of life. The weathered faces of his mother’s and father’s elders, mere shadows from his earliest years.

They’d all taken part in bringing Rekosh to this moment, though no one could ever have foreseen it.

Rekosh stared down at the small shell before tentatively raising it. Opening his mouth, he tilted the shell. Water ran over the edge, falling onto his tongue. He righted it and did it again, and again, draining it on the third drink. Excess water trickled from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin and neck.

He huffed, lowered the shell, and wiped his face with the back of a free hand.

Ahmya giggled. “I guess sipping is difficult when you don’t have lips.”

“Will it be ruined if I cannot sip?”

Her smile softened, and she shook her head. “No, it won’t be ruined. As long as you take three drinks, in whatever way is comfortable to you, it is following tradition.”

His mandibles rose in a smile.

She held her hand out and offered him the waterskin. “Now you pour for me.”

He traded with her, taking the waterskin in two hands. “Three pours, as you did?”

She held the shell carefully with the fingers of both hands. “Yes.”

Using the same care she’d demonstrated, Rekosh filled the shell. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she raised it. He watched, focusing on her mouth as her lips wrapped around the rim. Desire once more stirred in his core.

That human mouth, with its soft, pliable lips, had always fascinated him. Had always tempted him. He longed to feel it on his hide again, to feel the tender press of her kiss.

Ahmya took three small sips before setting the shell down and picking up the next. “This second cup represents our present. It signifies our commitment to each other, and to the long, happy life we are building together. And it is a sign of our two worlds coming together and joining as one, despite all the differences between them.”

Like the first, she took the second shell between both hands and nodded to him.

With three measured pours, he added water to the new shell, glancing at her face between each. She was radiant, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the adornments on her dress. She smiled as she drank.

They traded again. After she poured the water into the shell,Rekosh’s mind filled with new images. Not memories now, but hopes, desires—bits of that life of which she’d spoken. A den filled with brightly colored flowers and cloth. Ahmya lying atop him upon a bed of fluffed silk. Shared meals, shared stories, shared smiles and laughter. Shared dreams for the two of them to craft with the same care and determination he'd used to create her dress.

Ahmya gestured to the last of the cups, the smooth, curved stone. Rekosh set down the shell and picked up the stone. The difference in weight was immediately noticeable, as was its solidness.

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