Page 52 of The Exile's Curse

Katiya nodded agreement, a smile lighting her face. The seer stepped back and looked around. "Lady Greta, do you wish to begin? As mother of the bride-to-be, you can set the order if you wish."

Katiya's mother smiled, the expression half relief, and came around to join her daughter, standing by her shoulder.

Irina said softly, "The first part is just a blessing. Then the tscherov will start."

Sejerin Nene, beaming, spoke a few short sentences in seer tongue. Unlike Silya, her voice was light and happy. There was a faint glimmer in the air around her, like sequins sparkling in the light, and Chloe detected an icy chime at the edge of hearing. Whatever magic the sejerin was using was gentle at best.

She finished speaking, still smiling, and stepped back.

"Now," she said. "Lady Greta, you can begin." She waved a hand at one of the nearest women. "Uncover the baskets."

Women moved to follow instructions, and another of the women in blue and green placed a short wooden stool in front of Katiya, who was rolling back the long sleeves of her dress. There was some sort of symbol on her right forearm, but Chloe couldn't see it clearly. Lady Greta sat down on the stool and then hunted through the baskets as each of the six was presented to her, pulling a long length of colored thread from each.

She handed one end of each thread to Katiya to hold and then began to plait them together with a deftness that spoke of much practice. Around her the other women began to half sing, half hum a melody.

"This is the tscherov," Irina said. "Each guest will make one. The song is about marriage and joy and such things. But the maker of the tscherov puts her own good thoughts into her work. Those with power add a little charm for good luck. For those without, the sejerin will add that. Watch."

Chloe leaned forward, curiosity piqued. Now that she was looking for it, she saw a faint glow around Lady Greta's hands, but any sound of magic was blocked by the singing and laughter coming from the group of women. They were repeating the first verse of the song by the time Lady Greta finished her braid, a fine length of cord now about half the width of Chloe's little finger and perhaps a foot long. From a distance it was hard to determine all the colors, but there was definitely blue and green.

She and Katiya both knotted their ends. Then Lady Greta held it up to the sejerin, who laid her own hand on it briefly before nodding and passing it back to Greta, who looped it several times around Katiya's right wrist and tied it off. It looked loose enough to slide off if Katiya wanted. Lady Greta stood, kissed her daughter's cheeks again, looking pleased, then nodded at the woman who'd placed the stool.

"That's Aunt Vilna," Irina said. "She'll go next."

"Is there any particular meaning to the order?" Honore asked. She looked intrigued.

Irina shrugged. "We start with the mother, but then it can be each woman who picks the next, or the bride might. Katiya is letting each of us choose. She doesn't like anyone to feel left out." She shook her head fondly.

"And what about the colors?" Chloe asked.

"For a wedding, we use six strands. It's supposed to be four colors to represent the four strands of magic—there are a couple choices for each of those—and then two to represent the weaver's blessing. Here at court, usually that means the two house colors. Mama did our blue and green"—she gestured down at her vest—"as you saw."

"Will you?" Chloe asked.

Irina shrugged. "I haven't decided. I'll see what song the earth sings to me."

"You hear magic?" Chloe asked. "Most people just see it."

"We are taught to listen," Irina said. "But not all can hear. I think I do because of my earth sense."

Much as she wanted to know more about earth sense, Chloe didn't think now was the time to ask. It was clearly something slightly out of the ordinary for a woman, and with a seer present, she didn't want to risk causing offense by discussing something not strictly in accordance with balance.

"You said for a wedding," Giane asked, saving Chloe. "Do you do this for other events as well?"

"Babies," Irina said. She jerked her chin toward the woman with the child. "Wee Ivan over there will have one. Those are simpler. Two strands for family, two for good wishes, usually, as no one knows what magic a baby might have. His mama would have received some from her friends and family after she gave birth. That's the only other one with a proper ritual to the weaving though. People make them for friends, too. Children mostly. But sometimes if a friend is sick or sad or for birthdays, people will make them. Especially in the smaller towns. There are different patterns that belong to particular towns or families."

"It looks complicated," Chloe said.

"Not really. Well, some patterns might be, but at the heart of it, it's just a braid." Irina glanced up at Chloe's hair, where she'd wrapped two braids around her head as a quick and simple option to keep it out of the way. "If you can do that, you can do this."

Chloe looked at Irina's braids, which were arranged in a far more complicated manner than any Illvyan hairstyle she'd ever seen, involving not only a plethora of fine braids but ribbons and glass beads. Or perhaps they were gems. Many of the women had jewels sparkling at their throats and wrists and ears. Showing off their kingdom’s wealth, perhaps? "I think Andalyssians might take braiding more seriously than we do."

Irina snorted. "Small children make these. Just watch, you'll see how it's done."

She subsided back into silence, and they watched the next few women take their turn. The song changed a few times, and as Chloe studied each woman, she could see that each moved her fingers in slightly different ways. After five bracelets, Katiya held up her hands, laughing and flexing her fingers. "Time for a break. And wine."

Chloe glanced at Honore. The colonel was starting to look less interested and more like she was thinking of the no doubt long list of things she should be doing rather than watching thirty women repeat a ritual thirty times. According to the clock sitting on the mantel, they'd arrived a little over half an hour ago. At this rate, the ceremony would take at least three hours. It would be midday before they got to the treaty talks.

She shifted her feet and rubbed her hands together, glad of the chance to move. The room was warmer now that everyone had been standing around for some time, but not by much. Time for that warming charm again. Servants were circulating with glasses of wine and cups of what smelled like tea. No sign of kafiet, thank goodness.

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