Chapter 160 We Are Gathered Here Today
Damien
The hollow sits tucked behind the old trees, as it always has, cradled by trunks and stone and the soft curve of the mountain’s shoulder, but today human hands have shaped the space until it feels sacred. Smooth stones form a narrow line from the tree break to the centre, and people set each one into the earth so they don’t wobble under a heel or catch a boot edge. On either side of that path, workers cleared and tamped the ground until it holds steady. Someone has swept away the loose debris, carried out the smaller rocks, and stacked them neatly along the edges like a low boundary. Lanterns hang between trees in long, gentle arcs, suspended on thin ropes that disappear into shadow, each glass globe lit and steady, their light warm against bark and the pale faces beginning to gather. The breeze moves through, causing narrow strips of ribbon in deep tones, tied near the knots, to shift softly. They laid pine boughs along the outer curve of the clearing, green against the ground. Small bundles of dried mountain flowers sit at the ends of the first two rows where people will stand, and twine binds them the same way Bella’s bouquet is to be bound.
People stand where they’ve been guided. Villagers gather in a loose line, coats brushed, hair pinned back, hands clasped in front or tucked into pockets. They keep looking toward the trees, then away again, as if they don’t want to be caught hoping. The soldiers are spaced at the edge of the hollow, positioned where their eyes can sweep the paths that lead in. They stand still, and they speak rarely. Marius moves through them all with ease. He says in low tones, touching a shoulder here, nodding once there, redirecting a man who drifts too close to the path.
My hand is in my pocket again before I decide to move it. The ring sits there, wrapped in cloth, tucked into the inner seam where it won’t slip out, and I press my fingers against it through the fabric, feeling for the hard circle, the familiar weight. I pull the bundle out just enough to check it, thumb brushing the edge, then push it back into place and smooth my coat as if anyone could see what I’m doing. I take a breath, and my hand finds it again. The dragon watches from beneath my ribs, quiet and heavy, a presence that holds still until my fingers touch the ring again, then shifts as if satisfied the world is still in order. The metal is cool through the cloth. Forged by my hands and finished until it sits smooth without losing the mark of the work that made it. I check for it a third time. Then a fourth. If anyone notices, they pretend they don’t. The clearing continues to fill. A couple arrives late and slides into place along the back, heads bowed, apologetic, and Ashlyn’s head snaps toward them before Red lays a single hand on her arm to keep her still. A child tries to wander toward the path, drawn by the stones, and an elder catches the back of his coat and steers him gently away without speaking. Then the movement slows. The last voices taper off, boots stop shuffling, the lanterns hold steady, their glow catching on the rims of cups, on hairpins, on the edges of cloaks, on the fire bowl waiting at the centre like a dark eye.
My hand goes to my pocket again, and I force it to stop halfway, fingers curling, then relaxing. I breathe in through my nose and let it out slowly, shoulders dropping a fraction as if I’m making space in my body for what’s about to happen. Marius steps into his place near the fire bowl and waits. He stands where he needs to stand and lets the silence do its work. I hold my position at the centre of the path’s end, a step from the fire bowl, hands loose at my sides, the weight of the ring at my chest like a steady point I can return to if the world tilts.
There is a moment that stretches, and the mountain holds its breath. The crowd holds its. Even Ashlyn stops moving. Then the music begins...
It’s a simple stringed instrument first, a low line that slips through the clearing like a thread being pulled. A soft drumbeat follows, gentle enough to sound like a heart instead of a march. It fills the space between the lanterns and the trees, making the air feel guided, as if it knows where to go. Heads turn as one, my heart thunders in my chest. The path opens at the tree break, and Bella steps into view.
Gold catches the lantern light and turns it warmer. The dress moves with her as if made for this walk, the skirt falling in long panels that shift and settle with each step, fabric catching the light, then letting it go again. The tiara sits in her hair, gold and delicate, red gemstones set into it that resemble my dragon's fire, and her bouquet is steady in her hands. Gilfred rides her shoulder, escorting her down the aisle, ever her protector. His tail curls around a strand of hair. His little claws grip the fabric near her shoulder. He blinks slowly at the crowd with the lazy authority of a creature who has decided he is the only one worthy of that position. When a lantern flickers, he chirps once, sharp and pleased, as he approves of the lighting. Bella doesn’t slow. She doesn’t rush. She walks down the stones with her chin lifted and her shoulders settled, eyes locked on mine. My dragon rises beneath my ribs, heat spreading through my chest in a slow, controlled wave, and my hand twitches toward the pocket again before I catch it, fingers flexing once at my side instead. Bella’s steps bring her closer. The gold draws nearer. Gilfred’s tail flicks once. Her bouquet tightens in her hands for a heartbeat, then steadies again. The music continues, guiding her to the last few stones.
When she reaches me, she stops. The lantern light catches the ring on her finger as she lifts her hand to mine, and the world narrows to the space between her and me. Marius’s voice enters the silence, calm and clear.
“We are gathered here today,” he says.
And the wedding begins.