Page 132 of Pretense

Farrendel shifted, looking away as if uncomfortable about the fact that he witnessed this conversation that was meant to be shared by sisters without one of the brothers in question lingering nearby.

Jalissa nodded to Essie. “I will.” Then, she stepped past Farrendel, crossed the hallway, and entered the nearly identical room across the way.

Machasheni Leyleira glanced up as Jalissa entered, her now ever-present cane at her side even if she was not leaning on it. “Senasheni. I see you are ready. Your young man is going to be quite convinced of how lucky he is to be marrying you, as he ought to be.”

Jalissa approached the desk, where the silver bowl filled with eshinelt waited for her to stir in her magic. “You are rather fond of him.”

“He has a wit after my own heart.” Machasheni gestured toward the bowl. “I suggest you put in a little extra of your magic. You are providing the magic for two, after all.”

“Is that what you told Farrendel when you taught him to make the eshinelt for his wedding?” Jalissa picked up the spoon but did not yet touch it to the paint.

Machasheni speared her with a sharp look. “It is none of your business what I told him. That was his wedding. This is yours.”

“Yes, machasheni.” Jalissa drew in a deep breath and called up her magic.

Yet, as she held the spoon in one hand, her magic glowing around the other, she hesitated, an ache throbbing in her heart.

Her mother had been gone for so long now—over a hundred years—that normally the pain was dull and faded. Her mother had not known Jalissa as an adult nor had Farrendel even existed back then.

But the ache was particularly painful today, a day when Jalissa should have had a mother at her side. This moment, the final stirring of the eshinelt, was supposed to be shared between a mother and daughter.

Weylind was the only one who had their parents at his wedding. He had made his eshinelt with their father at his side. Their mother had been there, proud to see her son grown up and getting married, even as she was kept busy trying to keep Jalissa presentable. Rheva’s mother had still been alive back then, and Rheva would have treasured this moment with her. The two of them had enjoyed a wedding untainted by the ache of loss. It was hard not to be a little jealous at that.

Jalissa released a shuddering breath. Edmund had a similar pain today, missing his father. And his mother had spent much of the day here with Jalissa, filling the role of mother without trying to replace the mother Jalissa had lost.

It was the shared understanding of loss that had drawn Jalissa and Edmund together, during those quiet nights in Estyra’s library. They had both been mourning the fathers they had lost, and both worried for the brothers they might yet lose.

Blinking away the burn of tears and swallowing the lump in her throat, Jalissa let her power flow into the eshinelt, pouring all those memories of Edmund into the magic. For a moment, the eshinelt glowed with a soft green light as Jalissa stirred, before the gleam faded.

“Well done, senasheni.” Machasheni Leyleira claimed the bowl. “This will do very nicely, I should think.”

Jalissa drew in a deep breath and nodded.

When Machasheni Leyleira left, taking charge of the eshinelt until it was time for the ceremony, Jalissa returned to the room across the way, only to find it empty. While she had finished with the eshinelt, Essie, Paige, and Edmund’s macha must have left to return to the Escarlish side of the river. Rheva and Melantha had to still be busy sorting out the political problems involved in the guest list.

Jalissa sank onto the chair, thankful for a few moments of quiet to herself before the ceremony began.

If she were to have any doubts, this would be the time for them.

But, no. Even as she sat there, contemplating soon saying her vows to Edmund, the rightness of it echoed all the way from her head to the deepest reaches of her heart.

She belonged with Edmund, and he belonged with her. It had taken them several years of twists and turns to get to this moment, but they had needed that time to refine them into the people they were now.

* * *

Edmund waited just to the Escarlish side of the center of the bridge, his family beside him. Behind him, the horses’ hooves rattled against the cobbles as the drivers turned the carriages around after dropping them off. As symbolic as it would have been to walk from the Escarlish shore, the bridge was several miles long. Walking was not an option if they didn’t want their guests to grow restless with the wait.

The new bridge arched in a graceful, stone curve over the broad Hydalla River. Linder Island, that once tiny rocky island in the middle of the Hydalla where that first diplomatic meeting had been held, no longer existed. It now formed the central supporting column of the span.

Graceful wooden posts with looping, sturdy roots already ran on either side of the bridge, and Edmund could barely pick out the two telegraph wires that had been artfully concealed by the elven creations. Those telegraph lines ended at the communication hub on the far side of the river, where elves would translate the messages sent on the elven root system and pass the notes on to the Escarlish telegraphers stationed there.

The muddy water of the Hydalla rippled out to either side of him, framed by the perfectly brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows of the fall leaves decorating the Tarenhieli bank.

To Edmund’s left on the Escarlish shore, the new train yard sprawled alongside the river. All the steel rails ended there while elven root rails now extended down from the bridge to a terminal where cargo could be transferred from the elven trains to Escarlish ones.

From where he stood, he could not get a good look at the far side of the bridge or the guests gathered there. All he could see were the backs of the Escarlish guests, including members of both houses of Parliament, all the nobility since no one dared be left out of such an occasion, and Edmund’s acquaintances in the Intelligence Office and elsewhere. Trent Bourdon sat near the back, already frantically scribbling notes on a pad of paper. There was one story in the press that Edmund could count on to be favorable, at least.

A section of trolls sat near the front. The troll guests had been divided in two, with half sitting on either side of the bridge. It had been quite the kerfuffle trying to get that arranged to everyone’s satisfaction. But it had been important to have trolls represented on both sides, to signify that they were a strong member of this alliance.

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