Chapter 214

Humans on Earth had no shortage of rituals when it came to courtship, engagements, and marriage.

The same was true on Annwn.

Arvellian traditions differed from those of Morentis. Caldris did things differently than Esmoria. Even neighboring cultures often disagreed on what constituted a proper wedding.

It wasn't surprising that Morentis had written all of it down.

What was surprising was the sheer volume.

The traditions had been codified. Their histories recorded. Their evolution analyzed. Their origins debated.

Over several volumes.

Then came the volumes arguing that the first volumes were wrong. The volumes arguing that the rebuttals were wrong. The volumes discussing the origins of the arguments. The arguments about those.

All of which meant there was an unbelievable amount of conflicting information and very little of it was helpful. It was exhausting.

Morenti engagements tended to be formal affairs. Intent was declared publicly, accompanied by a gift and usually a shared meal. The gift was often a book, a piece of research, a spell formula, or some other form of knowledge. The dinner itself varied. It might involve both families, a circle of friends, or simply the couple.

The common thread was deliberate commitment.

Wedding ceremonies often included the exchange of rings, though there was considerable disagreement regarding what those rings should actually be. Gold or silver. Enchanted or mundane. Engraved or plain.

Bridal parties existed as well. Naturally, there were arguments regarding who qualified, how many attendants were appropriate, and whether attendants were necessary at all.

Vows varied from couple to couple, but their existence seemed nearly universal.

Then there was the Exchange of Truths. Each partner publicly declared one strength, one weakness, and one fear, symbolizing that the marriage began with honesty rather than illusion.

Different as it was, Morenti marriage was probably the closest thing to my own cultural expectations. At its core, it was a willing partnership between equals.

Goblins felt far more foreign. Partly because they were matriarchal. Partly because they were polyamorous. Mostly because they approached the entire subject with a level of practicality that bordered on indifference.

Courtship was traditionally initiated by a woman, usually through a meaningful gift.

The wedding itself was a glorious disaster. Vows. A cord tied around the couple's wrists. A communal stew. And enough food, drink, dancing, arguments, and questionable decisions to keep several villages entertained for days.

Orcs were different still. Patriarchal. Warlike.

A prospective husband publicly announced his intentions, then challenged the woman's family and rival suitors to combat.

Assuming he survived the experience, the wedding involved placing a shield before the bride and swearing to make her enemies his own. Bracers were exchanged as symbols of the oath and the responsibility that came with it.

As different as those traditions appeared on the surface, the people participating in them were still fundamentally similar to humans.

Their lives were finite. Their concerns familiar. They raised families. Built homes. Worried about the future.

Once you moved beyond that, things became both simpler and far stranger.

Dragons only occasionally formed pair-bonds. Mating did not require pair-bonding. Pair-bonding did not require mating.

The bond itself was a conscious choice and represented the merging of hoards - an act of extraordinary trust.

Dragons did not trust easily.

When they chose to court someone, the process began with the gift of treasure or death.

Treasure wasn't simply something valuable from your hoard. It had to be exceptional. Lost treasure. Ancient treasure. Something difficult to obtain and harder to surrender.

Death meant slaying a powerful foe.

In both cases, the purpose was the same - to demonstrate worth. To capture attention. To prove you were impossible to ignore.

If the gift was accepted, the bond was formed. There was no ceremony. No officiant. No vows.

Pair-bonding was a choice made every day. And like trust itself, it could be broken at any time.

For creatures who might live a thousand years, there were many opportunities for trust to fail. For creatures who were naturally solitary, there was little social pressure to remain together if it did.

Serah and I had effectively pair-bonded already.

When she fled her father, she abandoned her hoard - a thing dragons were notoriously unwilling to do. She chose our children as her new hoard - something virtually unheard of.

Then she gifted me the Emberheart - an enormous aquamarine and powerful magical artifact capable of protecting what its owner held most dear.

I embedded it above the main door of the keep. It still hung there today.

Even so, I wanted to do something for her. A renewal of vows. Or whatever the dragon equivalent might be.

The strangest customs belonged to the earth elementals.

Elementals had no courtship. No engagements. No marriage. Sexual reproduction simply wasn't part of their nature.

There were only so many elementals in existence, though I had no idea how many. When one died, they returned to the Earthpulse.

Gone. No afterlife. No heaven. No hell.

When the goddess deemed it appropriate, a new elemental would eventually be formed. Not reborn. Not returned. New.

Within their native realm they existed as spirits more than physical beings. Pure consciousness moving through stone and earth. They didn't eat. Had no natural predators. Weather meant nothing underground. Even earthquakes were more frightening than dangerous.

The only genuine threats were magma and death.

Caverns posed risks. Being summoned posed risks. Life on the surface posed risks.

Which meant Iolite accepted risk every moment she chose to remain with us.

What fascinated me most was that gender still existed among them.

Iolite had always identified as a girl, even before my Faith altered her appearance. Yet elementals possessed no biological sex. No sexual dimorphism. When inhabiting physical forms, they were all animated stone.

Gender instead seemed tied to their resonance with the Earthpulse itself. And they recognized more than simply male and female. There were also the ungrounded and the metamorphic.

Ungrounded elementals did not identify as male or female, resonating differently than either.

Metamorphic elementals shifted over time - between male and female, male and ungrounded, female and ungrounded, or all three.

Marriage didn't exist among elementals, but friendship did.

Elementals gathered in communities built around companionship rather than family.

Particularly close friends might travel together for decades. Name places together. Or form resonance.

That last one fascinated me. Through resonance, two elementals synchronized their connection to the Earthpulse. For a brief time they could share thoughts, memories, and emotions.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't permanent. It was more like two songs becoming a single harmony before drifting apart again.

Iolite and I had done the first two. The third still eluded us.

I wasn't even sure I could resonate the way elementals did.

I could sense the Earthpulse. I'd once managed to cast a spell through it. But beyond that, I was navigating completely uncharted territory.

All of this left me with five women who deserved rites, rituals, and expressions of love that reflected both who they were and where they came from.

The love we shared was powerful. I wanted to make it formal. I wanted to make it meaningful.

And I wanted each of them to know, beyond any shadow of doubt, exactly how much they meant to me.

* * *

“Welcome to the House of Red Lanterns,” the woman said, her smile easier than it had been during my previous visits. “How can I help you tonight?”

I supposed my apology had done some good.

Her burgundy dress had been expertly tailored to flatter without crossing into indecency, emphasizing just enough to draw the eye while leaving the rest to imagination. Gold hair spilled neatly over her shoulders. Bright blue eyes met mine with practiced warmth, though a hint of caution still lingered beneath the surface. Her makeup enhanced rather than concealed.

Everything about her was carefully cultivated to charm, impress, and put people at ease.

Her Faith reflected the same effort. Silver and orange braided together - duty and ion. Deliberately nurtured. Carefully maintained.

As always, her voice was smooth and melodic. The sort of voice people would happily listen to for hours regardless of what she was saying. She could probably read soup ingredients and hold an audience captive. Attentive. Comforting. With the faintest thread of sensuality woven through it all.

The foyer had once been magnificent. Time had softened it rather than ruined it. Dark hardwood counters gleamed from years of care. Stone carvings bore the rounded edges of age. Rich fabrics had faded gracefully rather than fallen into disrepair. Everything carried the feeling of something loved long after its prime.

Heavy velvet curtains separated the foyer from the rest of the bathhouse.

The air smelled of damp limestone and mineral steam layered beneath lavender, cedar, and sandalwood. Together they formed something soothing and heavy enough to make tired muscles ache for rest.

I offered her a warm smile. “The ninth curtain, please.”

Her expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course.” She stepped from behind the desk. “Please follow me.”

Beyond the curtains lay the communal baths. Steam drifted lazily through the cavern while a dozen patrons lounged in the hot water, entirely unconcerned with clothing. Conversations remained soft and unhurried beneath the distant strains of music echoing through the stone halls.

“I brought you a book,” I said as we walked. “I don't know if you enjoy reading - or what you enjoy reading - but I thought you might like this one.”

She stopped. Slowly, she turned toward me. Her eyes searched mine, probing for motive.

I had no doubt many patrons attempted to court her. No doubt they'd offered jewelry, flowers, expensive gifts, and promises they never intended to keep.

I wasn't trying to do that. What I offered was simply a gift. No obligation. No expectation. No hidden price. Something told me that was rare for a woman like her.

I held out the package. Plain brown paper protected it from sea spray and humidity.

After a moment, she accepted it. “Thank you.” Then she continued walking.

The limestone corridor curved deeper into the cliff. Velvet curtains framed private chambers along either side. Some stood open, revealing polished wooden doors beyond. Others remained closed, signaling occupied rooms.

At the final chamber she drew aside the curtain and knocked lightly on the hidden door. A moment later it cracked open.

She listened, then stepped aside. “The mistress will see you now.”

“Thank you.” I slipped through the doorway.

Dozens of candles flickered throughout the chamber, casting pools of warm light and soft shadow. Dark velvet draped the walls, swallowing the edges of the room and making it feel smaller, more intimate than it truly was.

The scent of jasmine and frankincense lingered above the mineral warmth of the springs.

As always, a steaming pool occupied one corner while an absurdly luxurious bed occupied another. Between them sat a low table laden with fruit, delicate pastries, a bottle of spiced wine, and two waiting glasses.

Oriselle reclined upon a fainting couch within arm's reach of the spread.

She smiled as our eyes met. “I wondered when you would return.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks. Not the flush of embarrassment - the perpetual blush she always wore. Wine-black hair spilled freely to her shoulder blades. Burgundy eyes ringed with gold watched me over dark-lined lids. Crimson silk and black velvet whispered softly as she shifted.

The door clicked shut behind me.

“I'm sorry for keeping a lady waiting.”

To my surprise, her blush deepened. Actually deepened. “Please,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “Sit.”

I smiled and took the offered chair. “Thank you.”

“The apple tarts are fresh from the oven,” Oriselle said. “You should try one.”

I plucked one from the tray while she sat up and poured two glasses of wine.

The tart was incredible. Flaky crust. Soft apples. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. Still warm. A dollop of cream melting across the top.

I closed my eyes as I chewed. For a moment, I simply enjoyed it.

When I opened my eyes again, Oriselle was watching me. Amusement danced behind her smile.

“Do I have something on my face?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I paused. “What?”

“A smile.”

I laughed. “Is that unusual?”

She shook her head, dark hair shifting slightly. “For you? No.”

My smile widened. “I brought you something.”

Her posture straightened immediately. “You did?”

“Two things, actually.” I retrieved a small package wrapped in brown paper and handed it across the table. “This is the first.”

She accepted it and looked between the package and me.

I leaned back. “Go ahead.”

The grin that spread across her face wasn't her usual predatory amusement. It was almost childlike. She tore the paper away to reveal a book.

Her brow furrowed. “The Little Prince?”

“It's from Earth.”

She flipped through several pages. “It's rather short.”

“That doesn't diminish its quality.”

“Is it about pleasure?”

“Not really,” I answered.

“Power?”

“No.”

“Desire?” She looked increasingly confused.

“Sort of.” I grinned. “It's about why people matter.”

She studied me for several long moments. Searching. Looking for the deeper meaning. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her.

A small smile touched her lips. “Thank you.” She ran a finger along the cover. “I'll read it.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. “Then we'll discuss it the next time you visit.”

“I'd like that.”

“And the second thing?” A faintly hungry smile returned.

“My thanks.”

Confusion crossed her face. “For what?”

I leaned forward. “For everything.”

Immediately, her expression changed.

“I know you helped Ruk during the storm.”

Panic flashed across her face.

“And I know you tripped the rider during the ambush.”

The panic deepened.

“And I know you scared Vin badly enough that he ran from the Covenant.”

She looked away.

“And I know you helped protect my children while I was gone.”

Her cheeks had turned bright red.

“There may be other things I'm unaware of. Those are simply the ones I know about.”

Silence stretched between us.

“I wanted to thank you.”

She cleared her throat. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

I smiled. “I don't even need my Faith to know that's a lie.”

Her blush somehow deepened.

“We don't have to discuss it,” I said gently. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it. It means a lot to me.”

For several long moments she looked anywhere except at me.

I lifted my glass and took a sip. “The wine is excellent. Morenti?”

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

“Esmori.”