Page 28 of The Bloodstone Oath

A calloused thumb brushed her cheek, and Kaelor’s voice rumbled low as a banked forge. “My love.”

Selara rolled to face him. Golden daylight haloed his copper-dark hair, yet the smoke-gray crescents shadowing his eyes whispered of sleepless miles, battlefield ash, and every fear he had carried to reach this moment. “Did you even sleep?” she chided.

“I did, indeed,” he smiled. “Very well, thank you. Kings can sleep when their queens are safe.” He leaned forward giving her a gentle kiss. “Today is our wedding day.”

A soft rap at the door announced Talia. Her braids were threaded with wild jasmine instead of wolf-teeth for once, though the long knife at her hip testified she still protected the city. “Priestess,” she corrected herself with a grin, “Princess. Guests gather in Lyra’s Glade. Veyla swears if you are not dressed in ten breaths she will drag you to the altar in your nightshift.”

Selara laughed, free, whole. “Tell my sister a bride must at least brush her hair.”

Cassian entered behind Talia, sharp hazel eyes sweeping the balcony. Though he had doubted Kaelor, the councilor now dipped his head in grudging respect. “Scouts report no hostile banners within twenty leagues. Malek fled north after General Orik seized Emberhold’s gates.”

Kaelor’s jaw hardened. “He will answer, Cassian, but not today.”

Cassian accepted the deferment with a curt nod; even he seemed softened by the scent of spices drifting up from the kitchens. He withdrew, leaving Talia to thrust a parcel of silk into Selara’s arms. “Wear this. Veyla’s orders.”

Kaelor rose, stretching, bronze muscles banded by shafted sunlight; Selara’s pulse fluttered. He pressed a brief kiss to her brow. “I will greet the newest arrivals. Meet me when the drums start.”

Selara caught his wrist. “Your mother?”

“She waits in the lower court, all radiant smiles and razor-sharp courtesy. You’re bound to adore her, and if you don’t,”mischief sparked in his eyes, “well, blame my Fireforged nature for misreading a Rootborn’s tastes.”

Talia set to preparing Selara’s hair, humming a lilting Rootborn lullaby. Her dark eyes glistened. “I thought we might lose you,” she confessed, fingers quick. “You and your flame-king have turned half my certainties sideways, but I would rather relearn the world than bury you.”

Emotion clogged Selara’s throat. She squeezed Talia’s hand. “Walk beside me today?”

“I intend to glare at any courtier who looks unfriendly.”

Before Selara could retort, Cassian returned, this time with a young woman in tow wearing sea-green travel leathers, copper curls escaping a salt-damp braid. Her eyes rimmed red from sleepless leagues.

“An almost unexpected guest has arrived,” he smiled, something rarely seen. “I thought perhaps she would like to rest here and perhaps tidy herself before joining the gathering.”

The women stared at each other in bewilderment.

“You are the Bloodstone Priestess,” Avelina said quietly, giving a wavering, unfinished curtsy “I saw you in Tidehaven.”

“No,” Selara smiled warmly. “I am just Selara. And you must be Avelina.” Talia steadied Selara as she stood and drew Avelina into a gentle embrace. “We sent visions to you hoping you would come.”

“Thank you,” Avelina nodded, her eyes pooling with uncertain tears. “I saw leaves falling and a ruby star dimming. And a pyre with my father’s sigil.”

“I grieve with you,” Selara said gently.

Avelina took a deep breath. “My family needs me. I understand this now. Thanks to you.”

“Come,” Selara invited, “share breakfast while we dress. Then we shall surprise your brother at the wedding.”

Talia fetched honey-cakes while Selara helped Avelina chose a shimmering gold dress from a collection Cassian delivered. When drums boomed in the court below, all three women were refreshed, dressed, and ready for the festivities.

Talia’s fingers closed around Selara’s wrist, gentle, yet firm as living vine, and steered her, Avelina, and the younger Rootborn attendants down a moss-soft path veiled by flowering briar. Lyra’s Glade lay only a few paces ahead, but the screen of broadleaf and bloom granted a sliver of privacy before ceremony swallowed them all. In the hush beneath the petals Selara could still hear the gathering; the low burr of voices sharing nervous pleasantries accented by clinks of Fireforged cuirass and Rootborn leaf-mail.

They stepped off the path and into a secluded alcove where Veyla awaited them, breath-stealing in a gown of deep tourmaline blue rather than her customary emerald. Silk panels clung to her tall frame, then fell in waterfall drapes from open sleeves, each fold shot through with threads of bronze that caught stray sunbeams and made her seem wrapped in flickering starlight. A filigree girdle wrought of living ivy twined about her waist, its tender tips blooming with pearl-sized buds that opened at each breath, while a collar of hammered leaf-gold framed her throat like a sunrise crown.

At Veyla’s murmured invitation Selara gave a shy spin, letting her own attire flare. The bride’s dress was palest dawn-rose, with an ombré transition to wine at the hem; layers of gauzy root-silk floated as she turned, revealing under-panelsembroidered with interlocking vines and ember-motifs, root and flame knotted in endless unity. Her hair, usually a simple priestess braid, had been coaxed into cascading waves and gathered half-up beneath a circlet of tiny fire-lilies and moon-moss, the blossoms glittering with dew-stones. Soft light kissed the honeyed highlights in her dark curls, and when she stilled, the entire glade seemed to hush as if acknowledging a sovereign bloom come fully into flower.

The sisters embraced joyfully, Veyla inspecting Selara’s radiance. “It is impossible to imagine that just yesterday-” her voice choked. “I’m just so grateful.” She finished, giving her sister another warm hug.

Talia let out a low whistle. “Selara, you have got to see this.” She motioned her friend over to a spot where they could watch the gathering through the branches, unseen by the guests. Lyra’s ancient statues glowed honey-gold; guests milled among tables laden with ember-roasted treats and blossom wine. Smoke from cedar braziers curled into the canopy, carrying the light scent of juniper and the warm undertones of frankincense in equal measure.

“There, look,” Talia pointed through the shadowy leaves.

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